Nationalism and nation in the Quebec context

Quebec nationalism awakens in the 1960s with the Quiet Revolution (Gellner in Smith, 36). Former French-Canadians living within the borders of the province of Quebec, by considering themselves Quebeckers, wanted to break the subordination status imposed upon them by the English-Canadians. They proudly affirmed their specific culture and language (Ferretti, 69) and took control of the economy of the province through the creation of a Quebec welfare state. The government of Quebec became more than a mere government; it became equivalent to a modern interventionist state (Shöpflin, 299). The rallying cry of the newly born nation, “Maîtres chez nous,” prompted by Jean Lesage and his Liberal Party, perfectly illustrates what Jan Penrose identifies as the three components of the nation: the people, the territory that these people occupy, and a mystical bond between the people and the place which merge the two other components into an “immutable whole” (Penrose 1994, 163).

A nation cannot be disassociated from nationalism. Indeed, the latter invents the former by making people with similar cultural traits who live in a similar place believe that these similarities are the most basic social bond that unites people (Gellner in Anderson, 6; Gellner, 3; Penrose 2002, 279). Moreover, nationalism develops the need for a representational state-like structure, a leadership with some degree of sovereignty who can assure the well-being of the nation (Gellner, 6). The nation and nationalism are invented, or, as Benedict Anderson prefers, imagined, because it is impossible for all members of a nation to know all the other members as well as the whole territory they belong to (Anderson, 6). However, this does not mean that the nation does not exist. Nationalism, on the contrary, “is one of the most powerful forces in the world,…the most widespread and popular ideology and movement” (Smith, 37).

The specificity of a nation defines its particular identity, an identity that stands apart from other national identities. Hardt and Negri define national identity as “a cultural, integrating identity, founded on a biological continuity of blood relations, a spatial continuity of territory, and linguistic commonality” (Hardt and Negri, 95). Although the essay will later show that Quebec national identity is not based on blood relations anymore, this description is accurate. One must remember that identity is always based on exclusion. It creates an “us” and an “Other”, separating between qualified and unqualified bodies (Manning, xv). In the Quebec case, Canada is the “significant ‘Other’” who constantly plots against nationalist projects in Quebec (Juteau 2002b, 444).

The next section will analyze the two components of national identity and the need of a state apparatus to protect this nation, bearing in mind the influence of the Other on the (re)definition of national identity.

The territory

The territory, for the nationalists, is much more than a mere piece of land. Indeed, it is a homeland, the home the people recognize as theirs and to which they are deeply emotionally attached. The territory’s longevity renders it natural to the eye of the people. Thus, even though the current borders of the Quebec territory were only achieved in 1927, the territory of Quebec came into being as soon as the first French settlers dwelled in New France. This territory, even if it has been greatly modified, was meant to nurture the Quebec nation. The territory becomes natural, given, intrinsically and spiritually connected to the people.  This territory, however, is not only perceived as “time immemorial” (Smith in Penrose 2002, 281), it is also perceived as the guarantor of the nation’s history and future. Protecting and taking care of the land is therefore respecting and caring for the ancestors, while guaranteeing a thriving future for future generations to fulfill their dreams (Penrose 2002, 281, Salée 1995b, 263). In other words, it means securing the perpetuation of the nation (Salée 1995b, 263). Salée summarizes this idea:

Dans l’imaginaire collectif québécois, les limites frontalières du pays réel ne font aucun doute….Le territoire du Québec est un, indivisible et inaliénable. Patrie des ancêtres, sol d’une histoire à nulle autre pareille et source de promesses de lendemains prospères, il se pose en quelque sorte comme référent immuable et incorruptible de l’identité québécoise dans le temps et l’espace. (Salée 1995b, 263)

There is little doubt over the symbiotic relationship through time and space between the territory and the people, according to nationalists. It also is clear in the mind of nationalists that the control of their territory is essential. Indeed, whereas in the past, French Canadians would be subjected to the economic domination of American and English-Canadian interests (Ferreti, 80), by taking control of their territory through the Quebec state structure (Quebec 1997, 2), Quebecers could finally control their lives (Penrose 2002). Canada represents the major threat, thus becoming the dominant Other because it refuses to recognize the territory of the province as Quebec’s national territory (Winter 2007). Without such territorial control, the Quebec nation would disappear, and so would the people (Winter 2007). The people are therefore vital to the protection of their territory.

They, however, are not only deeply emotionally involved with their territory, they also are attached to the other members of the nation, even though they will never know every one of them (Anderson, 7).

The “distinct” people

Quebec nationalists demand the recognition of their distinct status. The people, in every nation, are represented as a harmonious and homogenous group, sharing a certain common culture, language and set of practices who act with one voice, one will (Hardt and Negri, 103; Manning, xv; Hetcher, 23). Anderson speaks of a horizontal comradeship that unites all the members of the nation (Anderson, 7), a comradeship reinforced when the nation is attacked. The people would not necessarily kill but would be ready to die for the nation (Salée 1995b, 263; Anderson, 7). Being a member of the nation, for the people, is the most important belonging there can be (Malouuf, 19, Hetcher, 94). They feel a sincere love for each other, because they assure each other of the existence of a nation (Gellner, 11). To even mildly nationalists, it is essential to preserve the nation, language, and political institutions that outlive them-their culture (Manning, xv; Gellner 1997). As Arjun Appadurai underlines, the people may have short lives, but the nation has a long history (Appadurai, 163).  Moreover, sharing this national identity is so important that any other kind of identity one can have-class, being part of a club, etc.-is subordinated to the national identity. In this hierarchy of identity, the national identity dominates the other identities and leads the people (Malouuf, 19).

The people of the Quebec nation only recognized themselves as Quebecers in the 1960s. However, the roots of the Quebec nation, for the Quebec state and its people, can be found all throughout history since the establishment of settlers in New France. The  national identity did not stay the same over the years. It has evolved to complement the changing reality. One can identify three main changes to Quebec national identity, all of them occurring in response to the Other’s actions. Butler points out that identity cannot be thought outside or beyond power relations (Butler, 30)

In the 1960s, at the awakening of the Quebec nation, national identity was more ethnically defined than it is today (Juteau 2002b, 443). Indeed, only French Canadians who shared a same history and who shared the dream of achieving modernity as well as political sovereignty were included (Juteau 2002b, 443).

After the defeat of the referendum in 1980, the national identity strives towards including non-Francophones in its definition. This is a result of the adoption of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms by Canada, which placed emphasis on the rights of minorities. Indeed, Quebeckers did not want to be perceived as antidemocratic and ethnocentrist (Beauchemin 2002, 263-4). Moreover, because of the lowering birth rate of former French-Canadians and the boost of the economy, the need for immigrants increased (Beauchemin 2002, 165).  The majority tried to assimilate them, which failed as the 1995 referendum showed (Juteau 2002b, 447). Since then, the Quebec national identity is constantly debated. However, most would agree to say that nationalism in the Quebec context is much more civic, that is to say based on liberal democratic values, even though it holds on to its historical culture and the French language (Taylor, 37; Winter,  482).

The national identity of the people has changed, however, the state structure remains.

The Quebec state

The state is an integral part of the nationalist’s “dream of being free” (Anderson, 7). The attachment to the nation and its identity compels the people to proclaim the existence of their nation because its survival depends on it. Anderson believes that “the gage and emblem of this freedom is the sovereign state” (Anderson, 7). Penrose adds some nuance to this argument when she explains that state sovereignty can take different forms. Therefore, state sovereignty would not necessarily mean the creation of a new nation-state with a seat at the United Nations. It implies a state structure, or its equivalent, with enough autonomy to follow the people’s will to keep the nation alive (Penrose 2002). This second explanation seems more accurate in the Quebec case since not all nationalists, even among the separatists, have the same view of what would be the best way to assure the survival of the nation (Laponce, 192; Winter, 495). Erin Manning acknowledges the importance of sovereignty:

This language of the nation is characterized, alternately, by a desire to naturalize a cohesive sense of identity and territory through official cultural and political texts that depict the nation as a harmonious entity, and by the lawful enforcement of the discourse of state sovereignty as the guarantor of liberty, equality, and fraternity. (Erin Manning, xv)

The people have faith in the Quebec state structure, and strongly believe that the state will enhance the people’s well-being.

National identity remains the most important reference in terms of identity. Even if national identity is always vaguely defined and it constantly adjusts itself to the reality in order to include more people-the more people, the stronger the nation (Schöpflin, 302) - it still is a very powerful and positive force for the people. It constructs deep emotional links between the people and the safe place. It also generates a strong attachment to the state, and a hope in it as it is the guarantor of the nation’s security.  However, national identity is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, much love resides among those who belong. On the other hand, exclusionary violence can be exerted over the Other, those who do not belong. Indeed, national identity creates a standardization of an overarching identity, which creates many borders and categorizations. The next section will identify the pitfalls of national identity.

Pitfalls of national identity

The distinctiveness of the nation is embedded in the exclusion of the Other, and arises from the existence of shared culture, language and practices that differs from the Other’s. (Hetcher, 23). The dominant Other, throughout Quebec’s history, has been Canada. However, as it will be shown, the scope of exclusion is much wider than one would initially think. The limits of national identity have been organized into three main groups- selective history, limits to membership, restrictive definition of identity-that will be analyzed individually.

Selective history

Ernest Renan, in 1882, proclaimed that a selective history is essential in order to forge a solid nation which will survive across the ages.

Or l’essence d’une nation est que tous les individus aient beaucoup de choses en commun, et aussi que tous aient oublié bien des choses. Aucun citoyen français ne sait s’il est burgonde, alain, taïfale, visigoth ; tout citoyen français doit avoir oublié la Saint-Barthélemy, les massacres du Midi au XIII e siècle. (Renan, 353)

On the one hand, he lauds the glorification of major historical events that creates the nation. On the other, he promotes the censorship of non-glorious events, even though they are at the heart of nation-building. Quebecers are proud of the Quiet Revolution, a major historical event during which Quebec made its entrée into modernity. This period coincided with the birth of the Quebec nation, the affirmation of the Quebec province as the homeland for Quebecers, and the dawn of the welfare-and employer-state (Ferretti, 77). Yet, some authors, such as Daniel Latouche and Ralph Güntzel, are more skeptical about the extent of the “revolution” (Latouche 1974; Güntzel 2001). They deconstruct the original myth by showing how the government did not significantly become more responsible towards its people and how many workers were facing problems with the employer-state (Latouche 1974; Güntzel 2001). Moreover, the period preceding the Quiet Revolution, during which le petit peuple québécois was under the yoke of the Catholic Church and the industrial sector of its economy was under the control of foreigners-Americans or English-Canadians-is depicted as a dark age during which Quebecers became backwards (Mathieu 2002). However, most forget that it is during those years that national identity developpped in Quebec. Indeed, people living in Quebec began to envision the province as their homeland, largely as a result of the Catholic Church refusing to allow conversion to Protestantism (Hossay, 189). Moreover, it is because of the commonality of the Catholic religion that many Irish supported the French-Canadians in their various struggles towards greater state sovereignty (Hossay, 163).

A nation’s history is always based on lack of memory (oubli) and romanticism. It distorts the reality, which entails that many historical actors, other than the main “we” and “them” are forgotten or their role becomes minimal. One can think of the Aboriginal people, the Irish and black communities as potent examples.

Limits to membership

The notion of nation, as demonstrated earlier, is inherently connected to the notion of territory. But the territory is determined by borders, natural or manmade. This means, therefore, that there always is a demarcation between those who are on the territory-and who should belong to the nation-and those who do not belong (Manning 2003).

The most obvious limit to the membership of nation is the Other. The Other, that is to say “the rest of Canada”, is also represented as a homogenous group who oppresses the Quebec nation. The Other is therefore excluded from any form of membership. The irony here is that without the Other, there would be no “us”. Indeed, the Other is an integral part of who the “we” is since the “we” is more often than not defined in terms of opposition to the most threatening Other (Winter, 483). The two cultures are not insular; they influenced and partly defined each other.

In spite of this clear, “natural” territorial and cultural demarcation between the “we” and the Other, one can easily detect the (normal) “abnormalities” to a such clear-cut model.

First, there are the ones who could belong but do not because they live outside the borders of Quebec. This is the case of the French-Canadians outside Quebec who are refused membership for purely territorial reasons, although they share a close history, culture and language as the Quebecers’ (Taylor 2000).

Second, there are some who live within the borders of Quebec but do not feel any attachment to the Quebec nation-this does not mean, however, that they do not want to live within the territory of Quebec, but they identify themselves with another nation, Canadian or Aboriginal. The nation, through the redefinition of national identity, constantly tries to include all of those who live on the territory within the nation so that no others will exit from the territory (Penrose 2002, 279). However, it is clear that some others within remain: most English-speaking Quebecers identify themselves primarily to the Canadian nation, most Aboriginal people with their respective nation. The Quebec state has tried to integrate them, and, facing their resistance, they used “pressure release valves” which appeased them-or satisfied the majority of the people. Thus, in the 2007 Consultation document of the Commission sur les pratiques d’accommodements reliées aux différences culturelles, the co-chairs of the commission, Gérard Bouchard and Charles Taylor clarify the mandate of the commission:

…To avoid any ambiguity [surrounding the mandate of the commission], we wish to specify that, even if our deliberations led us to re-examine Québec society’s integration model, the English-speaking minority’s particular status in Québec need not be called into question. Rights and prerogatives, e.g. the right to public services in the English language guaranteed by the Canadian Constitution must be respected. Furthermore, the National Assembly has already recognized that “there exists a Québec English-speaking community that enjoys long-established rights.” Similarly, we are not contemplating reconsidering in any way whatsoever the political and legal status of the aboriginal peoples. Once again, the Québec National Assembly has recognized the existence of the 11 nations living within Québec’s borders and their specific rights. (Quebec 2007, 3-4)

The social tensions that still occur between the minorities and the majorities, those related to the growing overt Aboriginal dissidence for instance, can and are easily discarded for the sake of the “smoothness” of national identity because those minorities do not represent a threat to the majority (Woehrling, 195).

National identity attempts to create a black and white world, which does not match with reality. Exposed in this paper are just a few examples of how reality overtakes ideologies. These phenomena, however, are not particular to the Quebec case. Indeed, all constructions of a national identity create similar problems. Canada, for example, also uses the “pressure release valves” in order to refute the need of a Quebec nation as protector of the French language. For instance, Canada recognizes French-Canadians as people from one of the two founding nations and promotes multiculturalism in order to preempt Quebec nationalism (Mathieu 2002; Winter 2007). The national identity limits the definition of identity and what the members of a nation can want and do.

Restrictive identity

The notion of national identity is restrictive in the sense that identity is defined in territorial and singular terms.. If it does accept, to some extent, other forms of belonging, it is clear that national identity will always take precedence over any other identity.

Men find themselves members of different groups at the same time. With the growth of the complexity of civilization, the number of groups of which men find themselves a part generally increases. These groups are not fixed. They have changing limits, and they are changing importance. Within these pluralistic, and sometimes conflicting, kinds of group-consciousness there is generally one which is recognized by men as the supreme and most important, to which therefore, in the case of conflict of group-loyalties, he owes supreme loyalty. He identifies himself with the groups and its existence, frequently not only for the span of his life, but for the continuity of his existence beyond his span. The feeling of solidarity between the individual and the group may go, at certain time, as far as complete submergence of the individual in the group (Kohn in Hetcher, 94-5)

However, growing numbers of diasporas challenge the supremacy of the homogenizing definition of national identity. Indeed, they belong to multiple nations. Choosing between one or the other is impossible. Still, this either/or choice is imposed upon them. Either they fully belong or they do not belong (Malouuf, 44). But diasporas do not face this problem alone. One could think of all the “frontiers” people, who, for a reason or another, share contradictory belongings to Canada and Quebec (Malouuf, 44-5). When he or she does not choose one identity over the other-and risk being rejected by the one he doesn’t choose-, he or she is often rejected by all of his national identities (Malouuf, 44-6). This causes a deep, unsolvable dilemma.

The restrictiveness of national identity is most evident with diasporas. Nevertheless, this does not mean that the people, who belong to the same nation, necessarily have much in common, or face the same reality as the other members of the nation. National identity creates a mould with some of the nation’s characteristics, as if they were inborn (Malouuf, 31). However, Butler inquires as to what extent identity is a normative ideal rather than a descriptive feature of experience (Butler, 16). Regarding gender, Butler shows how no one is born a woman but rather becomes one (Butler, 33). People are compelled to correspond to a unique and territorial definition of national identity which has previously been determined. Yet every person is composed of many belongings, many of them having nothing to do with a territory or a nation (Malouuf, 23-5). Each person constitutes a multitude that the nation successfully turns into an anonymous member of a greater, synthetic, homogenous people (Hardt and Negri, 103).

National identity, on the one hand, creates love between those who recognize themselves in it. On the other hand, however, it creates much exclusionary violence, outside as well as within. The differences within a nation cannot be ignored anymore. It seems more and more like national identity, because it is imposed upon the people rather than coming from them, is irrelevant. The Quebec state is slowly transforming national identity towards a more inclusive, pluralistic, civic, or anti-nationalist, nationalism.

The civic nation as the new ideal

The civic nation is one that is based more on territory than on ethnic terms. The member becomes a citizen, with certain rights that he can expect to be respected (Juteau 2002a). For a long time, Quebec was depicted as racist because it did not, like Canada, base the definition of its nation on liberal values such as democracy, pluralism, equality, individualism, and a market-based economy (Winter, 482). However, the Quebec nation has changed significantly in recent years, and it is clearly a much more inclusive nation (Winter, 482). The new political ethic of the nation is based on human rights, equality and democracy (Taylor, 41). This does not mean, however, that the French language and the history of the Quebec nation are put aside. On the contrary, they remain central to the new definition of its national identity (Taylor, 41). This road of ‘interculturalism’ has been adopted by the Quebec state and the different political parties (Cook, 24; Gagnon and Iacovino, 2004). The Commission sur les pratiques d’accommodements reliées aux différences culturelles, launched by the Parti Libéral Québécois is based on this principle. Bill 195, the “Law on Quebec identity” presented to the Quebec National Assembly by Pauline Marois, leader of the Parti Québécois, explicitly leans towards a more civic definition of the nation, one closer to Canada’s definition of the nation (Cook, 24).

Even though this civic nation seems more inclusive, within it lies an inherent problem: it still reproduces a national identity. But national identity, as we have seen earlier, is intrinsically based on exclusion. Appadurai reflects the new type of exclusion engendered from modern nations:

[The leaders of modern nations] rested their ideas of their new nations on the very edges of the paradox that modern nations were intended to be somehow open, universal, and emancipatory by virtue of their special commitment to citizenly virtue but that their nations were nonetheless, in some essential way, different from and even better than other nations. (Appadurai, 162)

Kropotkin’s criticism of the state becomes very useful. He observed that under the Third Republic in France the essence of the monarchical order remained; he concludes that trying to work within a system that existed historically and had a life of its own-the state apparatus-would only result in the cooptation, voluntary or not, of those Republicans.

Sincere Republicans nourished the illusion that the State organisation could be utilised to operate a change in a republican sense; and here is the result. When they ought to have destroyed the old organisation, destroyed the State, and constructed a new organisation by beginning at the very basis of society…they thought to utilise “the organisation that already existed.” And for not having understood that you cannot make an historical institution go in any direction you would have it, that it must go its own way, they were swallowed up by the institution. (Kropotkin 1947, 42 - emphasis added)

Applied to national identity, this means that no matter how a nation is transformed, as long as it is, humanity will be divided, the violence will continue. Why try to maintain this façade of unity? Why not try to go “beyond” the ideal of a single territorial allegiance, of a single national identity? Could the nation not be this spiritual horizontal comradeship? Whose interests does it serve?

Whose interests?

According to Hardt and Negri, the nation is just “another turn of the screw”, another way for the sovereign-the bourgeoisie-to fulfill its own selfish interests (Hardt and Negri, 102). Through the spirituality between the different components of the nation, the elite was and still is able to exercise a totalizing power (Hardt and Negri, 101). This means that the people are controlled, sometimes with consent, through biopolitics: the new political, bureaucratic and capitalist elite, with the help of the intelligentsia were able to convince the bulk of the population to follow them in their quest for modernity (Juteau 2002a, 203; Hardt and Negri, 109). In the case of the Quebec nation, feeding their revolution by the real frustration felt by the urban population, the capitalist bourgeoisie, unhappy with its inferior status compared to that of the Anglophone capitalist elite and the intelligentsia, pursue their own goal (Ferretti 1999). The bourgeois nationalism (Anderson 1991) was able to create and define a new identity based on entrepreneurial successes. What Quebecer is not proud of Hydro-Québec, the Cirque du Soleil, Bombardier (Arpin, 264-8)? The territory is perceived as “natural” by the people, but really, it is a great source of wealth that the elite are not ready to share with, for instance, Aboriginal people (Salée 1995b, 265). Most do not realize this bourgeois nationalism. And those who do are incapacitated by the lack of will of the population.

For example, in the early 1970s, two of the three dominant unions in Quebec were denouncing the state that was only defending the interests of the capitalist class (Güntzel, 155). In 1972, the CEQ (Centrale de l’enseignement du Québec) adopted a manifesto in which they denounced the modern-capitalist-society as “an exploitive society where all the dominant classes, and their servile servant, the state, exploit men’s work and the needs of the consumers in order to increase their profits and their power” (Güntzel, 155, translated from French). However, most workers, trusting the welfare-state, were not interested by the politicization of their unions (Güntzel, 156).

The totalizing power of the sovereign has shown its effect. Anderson’s horizontal comradeship looks more like a pyramidal structure dominated by the hegemony of the bourgeoisie (Güntzel, 157).

Conclusion

Nations and nationalism, however imagined, are the most powerful source of identity today. They bond a people to a specific territory as well as to each other. This bond is often described as spiritual or even God-given. The state supervises as well as insures the survival of the nation and constantly ignites nationalist consciousness in the people. The national identity links all these elements together into what appears to be an immutable whole. One must not forget, however, that nationalism is not natural. It has been constructed in response to power relations that are being downplayed. Thus, the traditionally ethnically-defined national identity of the Quebec nation has moved toward being more open, rights-based, and civic.

Nevertheless, such openness is never fully realized. Indeed, the identity itself is based on the rejection or the negation of “others”, and, in Quebec’s case, in opposition to Canada, the dominant Other. Although it is clear that the reality does not match this clear-cut national identity-even as it is changing-, states persist in preserving these overarching concepts. Indeed, the elite, who control the state-in Quebec’s as well as any other case-gains much power from doing so.

Because states continue to ground their power on exclusionary identities, they therefore encourage and engender constant violence, whether overt or covert. This is why we must challenge the geography of nation-states. Identities are not fixed nor are they singularly defined. Instead of trying to divide humanity on these imagined nations, it will achieve much more, and will be much more secure if the principal of mutual aid as defined by Peter Kropotkin was applied.

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Even if today new immigrants from Algeria do not hold the same high expectations about France that their fathers did, the destiny of many Algerians once on French territory is still marked by “darkness”. In October and November 2005, one such instance of “darkness” marked the lives of first, second, and third immigrants from Algeria and beyond: the emeutes in the Parisian banlieues. The emeutes started on October 27, 2005 in Clichy-sous-Bois, a Northern Parisian banlieue, with the death of two young men; during the following three weeks, the diverse instances of violence, such as burning of cars, destruction of schools, police stations, and stores, and interactions with the police forces, spread all over France. Such moments of vulnerability for the immigrant populations in France pose a series of questions which will be considered in this paper. What is the role of the national media in advancing the interests of different diasporic groups at times of intense discrimination or injustice abroad? and What is the relation between those who left and those who stayed and how is this relation connected with the history of immigration of a particular national community? One way to answer these questions and the approach I will take in this essay is to look at discourses constructed by the mass media of the country of emigration at moments when the diasporic communities are “in danger” and to account for the role of these discourses in weakening or strengthening the ties between the diaspora and the national community. This paper looks particularly at the Algerian case, analyzing the narratives constructed by the French media during the 2005 emeutes and the responses formulated by Algerian newspapers, engaged in a dialogic relation with the French media. By exploring the discourses in the French and Algerian press on the causes, actors, and development of the emeutes, I hope to shed some light on the ways in which Algeria (represented in this paper by the national media) responds to the needs and protects the rights of the Algerians in France.

To answer the previous questions, I will identify and analyze the main narratives and themes found in two sets of newspaper articles. Firstly, I chose four French newspapers based on their popularity and their diversity of political orientations: Le Monde (right), Le Figaro, Liberation and le Nouvel Observateur. Secondly, I looked at the Algerian daily newspapers El Watan, El Moudjahid, and Le Quotidien d’Oran, the top three Algerian publications. The focus will be on articles from El Watan, because it offers the most extensive coverage of the emeutes, with the first article being published on October 31, 2005. El Moudjahid offers a very modest series of articles which remain at the level of descriptive reporting. I encountered reference to Le Quotidien d’Oran in several French newspapers but the archives of the Algerian publication available online do not cover the year 2005. For both the Algerian and the French newspapers, I selected articles starting with October 27 and ending with November 30, dates which coincide with the beginning of the emeutes and with their gradual ending.

The Algerian Diaspora in France: emigrants, immigrants, and French citizens

Every nation experiences immigration differently based on particular historical, social, economic, and cultural encounters between the nation of origin and the host nation. Furthermore, a nation establishes different relations with the various populations of immigrants it receives; thus, there is no immigrant experience which resembles another, at the group and even at the individual level. Looking at the “destiny of the immigrants,” Emmanuel Todd argues that “des groupes semblables sur le plan des structures anthropologiques, Pakistanais et Algériens, Jamaïcains et Martiniquais, ont, dans des sociétés d’accueil distinctes,… , des destines divergents” (Todd, 1994, p. 12) Mireille Rosello introduces the concept of “performative encounter” which is defined as a moment of intersection between two individuals or two groups from different cultures whose past has been marked by violent national and international conflicts but who manage to create “an unknown protocol to replace the script” (Rosello, 2005, p. 1-2). From this perspective, every interaction between France and Algeria could create new dialogues and new forms of communication which do not correspond with the general narrative developed historically between a colonizer and a former colonized nation. At the same time, “the naming of an ethnic group is usually based on such a homeland, and its members will often continue to be linked to this ancestral location even after centuries living in diaspora” (Karim, 2004, p. 6). This connection with the ancestral land and with the history of that land can sometimes prevent the Algerians to be engaged in “performative encounters” with the French.

The history of the relations between France and Algeria is marked by colonialism, by the memory of the Algerian War, and by a conflictual process of Algerian immigration to France. Charles-Robert Ageron describes the decade of 1830 as “a time of unrestricted colonization, in fact of anarchy, [when] a flight of human vultures swooped on the country [Algeria], trafficking in real estates in the city, grabbing hold of land and cutting down the woods” (Ageron, 1991, p. 24). The destructive forces of French colonialism which occupied Algeria for more than one hundred and thirty years acted as erasers of “autonomous regions of social, political, and economic difference” (Silverstein, 2004, p. 45). The cultural and political infrastructure of the country ceased to exist, being replaced with artificial bodies of power, with policies extending the legislation of the metropole, and with economies which favored the French. All these new structures eliminated the Algerian out of Algeria, transforming the North African country into l’Algérie francaise. On November 1, 1954, the Algerian National Liberation Front (FLN) “proclaimed the start of the revolutionary struggle for the liquidation of the colonial system, the abandonment of all relics of reformism, and national independence through the restoration of the Algerian state” (Ageron, 1991, p. 108). This “revolutionary struggle” evolved into one of the most tragic wars in recent history, which ended with the Evian Agreement in 1962, leaving behind a bitter memory of the past which the French tried to ignore and the Algerians to ignite. This disjunction in the way French and Algerians interpret the same past makes “performative encounters” rather difficult to take place.

The memories of colonialism and of the Algerian war represent a powerful narrative in the larger discourse of Algerian immigration to France. Todd Shepard describes the moment of decolonization or better said the moment when decolonization was “invented” as a point in time which “allowed the French to forget that Algeria had been an integral part of France since the 1830s and to escape many of the larger implications of that shared past” (Shepard, 2006, p. 2). However, the presence of Algerian immigrants on the French soil was a constant reminder of this “shared past”. The arrival of the largest waves of Algerian immigrants is related to the need for manual labor in France, especially during the period called “les trente glorieuses”. Before decolonization, the Algerian workers came to France with short-term contracts which guaranteed their return to their country of origins. According to Michel Wieviorka, “although such workers were socially integrated in terms of labor relationships, they were politically and culturally excluded” (Wieviorka, 2002, p. 132). In the mid-1960s, the condition of the Algerian immigrants and their relation to France changes, when the French society faced the end of “noria,” described by Abdelmalek Sayad as the image of the immigration process constructed in the French imaginary as “a perpetual process of replenishment that brings into France - and removes from France - men who are always new and always identical” (Sayad, 1999, p. 30). Moreover, the politics of “regroupement familial” which developed in the 1970s brought permanence to immigration through the arrival of women and children.

Sayad highlights a consistent theoretical error in the sociologies of Algerian immigration to France, the lack of the dimension of emigration and departure from Algeria. Singled out as an immigrant, the Algerian on French territory has been historically and theoretically disconnected from Algeria. The author states, “rather than devoting our efforts to explaining the situation of emigrants purely and simply in terms of the history of their stay in France, we must take as our object the relationship between the emigrants’ system of dispositions and the set of mechanisms to which they are subjected by the very fact of their emigration” (Sayad, 1999, p. 29). Therefore, according to Sayad, the formation of an Algerian diaspora in France must constantly be measured to the relation the Algerian immigrants develop and maintain with the homeland. Such a view of diasporas has been recently contested by scholars such as Asu Aksoy and Kevin Robins, who define their “fundamental problem with diasporic cultural studies” in terms of the permanent connection with the “mentality of imagined communities, cultures and identities - which is grounded essentially in the national mentality” (Aksoy and Robins, 2003, p. 92). Even if Aksoy and Robins argue that “certain new developments in the migration… cannot be made sense of within this diasporic cultural frame” (ibid), the case of Algerian immigrants in France cannot be understood outside the emigration/immigration dialectic and without considering the role of national memory. Therefore, I argue that the Algerian diaspora experiences its relation to France through both a national and transnational perspective.

In order to prove the strong liaison between emigration and immigration and the effects of this connection on Algerians both in France and Algeria, Sayad constructed a genealogy of immigration formed by three ages. The three ages of immigration, presented through the dual lens of emigration/immigration, “correspond to phases that can be distinguished within processes of transformation internal to… communities that produce emigrants” (Sayad, 1999, p. 32). The first age of immigration, “an orderly emigration,” developed as a way to allow the small rural communities in Algeria to survive supported by the financial gains of the migrant workers. The immigrant, always male, married, and middle aged, was chosen by his community and invested with a very precise mission, limited in time and objectives. The “good” emigrant was that who “succeeded in remaining the authentic peasant he once was,” without being influenced by the life in the urban environment (Sayad, 1999, p. 34). Therefore, the first age of immigration produces the least changes in the structure of the homeland.

The second and third ages of immigration represent the spaces of transformation of the Algerian social landscape. The second age, “the loss of control,” embodies the first moments of rupture from the community of origins, while the immigrant becomes the element of disintegration. This new phase is characterized by a strong process of “depeasantification” of both the laborer in France and of the village in Algeria and brings to life a new type of peasant who replaces “the good peasant,” “the peasantless peasant” (Sayad, 1999, p. 41). During the second age, more and more men of different ages and social positions leave for France, changing the demographics of departure. Moreover, the money gained in France are no longer returned to the villages of origins, resulting in the degradation of rural communities in Algeria. This process of degradation produces “a major exodus of rural populations, [which] transferred potential emigrants to France to towns within Algeria itself” (Sayad, 1999, p. 41). The third age of immigration, “an Algerian ‘colony’ in France,” represents the continuation of the previous phase, accentuating to an extreme some of its traits. Sayad points out the permanent structure of the Algerian immigration to France, due to the fact that “every new wave of emigrants that came to France found an established community made up of earlier emigrants into which it could incorporate itself” (Sayad, 1999, p. 57). The permanence of the new waves of immigration creates a “little country” (Algeria) within France, reproducing social and professional structures from home. However, according to Sayad, the Algerians in France are “torn between two times, between two countries, and between two conditions,” unable to find a true home either in France or Algeria (Sayad, 1999, p. 58).

As the homeland but also as a country of emigration, Algeria cannot act as a space of identity for those who left for France, mainly due to the nature of the “break” between the immigrant and the nation, historically grounded in the memories of colonization. Using Mieke Bal’s theory of “trauma recall,” Patricia Lorcin argues that “in the Franco-Algerian context it is the collective experience of trauma that left its mark on both nations: the trauma of colonial experience as well as the trauma of decolonization” (Lorcin, 2006, p. xxi). Through media, governmental policies, and official discourses, the Algerian diaspora is constantly reminded by the trauma of the Franco-Algerian past and by the problematic position of the immigrant community in the social and cultural French context. The Algerian immigrant is never allowed to forget his marginal position and his duty to assimilate to the new society, leaving behind any identitary markings. However, “an immigrant brings a lot of baggage with him. That suitcase tied together with string is only the tip of the iceberg. The rest is in his head, his heart, his glance, and his memory” (Ben Jelloun, 1999, p. 21). From an emigration perspective, Sayad points out the fact that “there is probably not a single family in Algeria that does not have its emigrant in France, but this does not prevent anyone from speaking of emigrants in terms of denunciation, accusation, stigmatization” (Sayad, 1999, p. 111). Emigrating to the metropole, mainly in the case of the first generation of immigrants, was perceived as an act of treason if looked at through the colonial lens of memory.

In defining the Algerian diaspora, if such a definition is required, one must not get lost in overemphasizing the transnational dimension as a creator of new subjectivities while diminishing the symbolic and material presence of the national. The optimism of Silverstein’s belief that “the creation of these infranational and transnational boundaries results in the formation of new categories of political subjectivity, of new formulations of solidarity and belonging across spatial and ethnic divides” (Silverstein, 2004, p. 239) tends to minimize the role of the national element in the identities of the diasporic individual. Even the members of second and third generations of Algerians in France, who are no longer immigrants but French citizens, are placed in the general category of immigrants, especially in moments of tension and violence, as exemplified by the 2005 Parisian emeutes. Therefore, young Algerians, who may not have even stepped on Algerian soil, thus in a way members of the transnational generation and producers of “performative encounters” become part of the popular discourse of the “immigrant problem”. The national is constantly re-inserted into their experience of France thorough media and political narratives. Such narratives were used repeatedly by the French media during the 2005 emeutes. What was the response of Algerian mainstream newspapers to these narratives and how do the homeland media discourses address the safety and the rights of the diaspora? Some possible answers will be developed in the following two sections of the paper.

Narratives of the Emeutes in the French Media

Several articles from El Watan make direct references to the ways in which the French press engaged with the events in the banlieue. Remi Yacine writes “a l’exception notable de Libération et de l’Humanité, toute la presse a fait sienne la version officielle… Les medias reprennent sans le conditionnel de rigueur ‘le prêt-a-être-diffusé’ mixé par les autorités et dénient aux jeunes la moindre affirmation” (Yacine, 2005c). One of the major complaints of El Watan regarding the coverage of the events by the French journalists was the over-use of sensationalism and simplification of the causes of the emeutes. Therefore, the readers might get the impression that “la banlieue est musulmane, et par conséquent, les émeutiers qui la composent sont tous musulmans… A écouter, lire, et voir les informations, aucune des voitures brûlées, aucun des magasins saccagés n’ont été l’oeuvre de Pierre, Paul, David ou Jacques. Les coupables sont Mouss, Kader et Momo” (Mekbel, 2005). The vilification of the French press, with the few mentioned exceptions, is not entirely grounded in reality. Generally, the French mainstream press adopted a moderate tone in the depiction of the emeutes, maybe in an attempt to impartiality required by such sensitive issues such as immigration, Islam, violence in the banlieue, and social insecurity. A series of main narratives were developed by the French press, most of them already familiar to the French audiences: the causes of the emeutes, the social and cultural problems associated with the banlieue, and the potential failure of the French model of integration.

The causes of the emeutes have been consensually agreed upon by the French media. The French public finds out from the December 29, 2005 edition of Le Monde, that “les violentes emeutes de Clichy-sous-Bois, [ont commence] dans la nuit du jeudi 27 au vendredi 29 octobre, a la suite de la mort de deux jeunes réfugiés dans un transformateur EDF pour échapper la police” (”Les violences urbaines,” 2005). Only a few articles in Le Monde mention the names of the two victims, Zyed and Bouna, names with a clear non-French and ethnic resonance and none of the consulted articles make reference to the age of the two boys. Moreover, the emphasis on the accidental death of Zyad and Bouna prevails in the majority of the articles (”Un petit Mai-68 des banlieues,” 2005; “Quatrieme nuit,” 2005). However, the highly simplified narrative presented by Le Monde becomes more refined in other publications, who inform the readers about the background of the two victims. Le Nouvel Observateur enters into the private space of Bouna’s life in order to depict his last moments - “Jeudi 27 Octobre, Bouna Traoré repasse son tee-shirt pour être beau, ce soir, dans les rues de Clichy-sous-Bois… Bouna, 15 ans, enfant d’une famille mauritanienne aime faire du vélo en équilibre sur la roué arrière. S’hydrate la peau à la Nivea après la douche. Comme son copain Zyed, 17 ans” (Askolovitch, 2005). For Michel Wieviorka, writing for le Figaro, the event presented by Le Monde as an accident becomes a drama which happened in circumstances not yet clarified (Wieviorka, 2005). No longer framed as an accident, the death of the two boys opens a series of questions which refer to the relation between the French police and the youth in the banlieues.

The linear narrative of the tragic yet accidental death of Bouna and Zyed is fragmented by the uncertainty surrounding the role of the police. Libération is one of the first newspapers to question the innocence of the French police by asking, “Alors? Poursuivis? Pas poursuivis? Et ce cambriolage… Qu’est-il devenu, ce cambriolage, qui avait d’abord justifie la poursuite par la police des deux garçons de Clichy-sous-Bois” (Schneidermann, 2005). Stéphane Beaud and Michel Pialoux define the daily experiences of many young inhabitants of the French banlieues as “une culture de provocation” which manifests itself through various factors: exclusion from the job market, inability of the education system to integrate the youth, constant harassment from the police forces which are a permanent presence on the streets of the various suburban neighborhoods (Beaud & Pialoux, 2003, p. 346-7). Resonances of this “culture de provocation” can be found in articles from Le Figaro, who reflect on the role of “des contrôles musclés, parfois racistes, de la part de forces de police qui agissent d’autant plus brutalement qu’elles sont elles-mêmes saisies par la peur” (Wieviorka, 2005). Marwan Mohammed and Laurent Muchielli interpret the encounter between the police and the youth of the banlieue in terms of territoriality, emphasizing the negative effects of the daily presence of the police and of the random identity checks on the banlieusards (Mohammed & Muchielli, 2006, p. 101).

The nuanced interpretations of the causes of the emeutes provided by some French newspapers are nevertheless rooted in the dominant-hegemonic narrative of “the immigrant problem” which prevails in France since the 1970s and which tends to reduce the immigrants of all generations to producers of the social and economic crisis of the French society. Silverstein traces the history of the narrative to the first waves of permanent immigration from various former colonies, when “these movements of people, commodities and ideas from the postcolonial periphery to metropole have been represented, within party programs and scholarly literature alike, as novel, unnatural, and potentially threatening to European host societies” (Silverstein, 2004, p. 23). Pascal Blanchard connects the present discourses on immigration in France with the incapacity of the Hexagon to escape “la matrice coloniale” and to cease imagining the immigrant as “indigènes a éduquer” (Blanchard, 2005, p. 181). Therefore, concludes Blanchard, “le constant est clair, ce sont des immigres a part, des citoyens de seconde zone, sur eux pèse une certain malédiction qui induit une relégation systématique, réelle et symbolique, aux marges de la société” (ibid.). The majority of the consulted articles reproduce this image of the immigrant, who is nameless, without a specific ethnicity, and deprived of a personal history. Therefore, for the most part, the aspects of emigration, colonization, and memory are left out from the media narratives, being replaced with discourses on violence in the banlieues, social insecurity, and inefficiency of the French government (especially Minister of Interior Nicolas Sarkozy) to put an end to the emeutes.

The banlieue, which is par excellence the space of the immigrants, has been constructed in the French imaginary as dangerous, violent, dirty, insecure, and isolated. The emeutes brought back these images, opening new debates on old themes. Le Monde reminds the Parisian readers of the net separation between “they” and “us”. Adopting the rhetoric of Sarkozy, one article defines the banlieue through the metaphor of “nette séparation entre ‘eux’ et ‘nous’; eux, ce sont les deliquants, les voyous, la racaille; par ‘nous,’ il faut comprendre les citoyens honnêtes” (”Les limites d’une politique,” 2005). The same article describes the banlieues as “lieux privilégies des incivilités, des agressions physiques et sonores, de ces grands drames et petites pollutions” (ibid.). In a chat organized by Le Monde with Eric Macé, the banlieues are described as “abandoned territories,” which function to trap large populations in urban areas which are abandoned by the public politics (Baudry & Mazzorato, 2005). For other commentators on the banlieues, the main cause of the degradation and segregation is not political but social. Therefore, “la ghettoïsation urbaine et scolaire, elles sont le fruit non d’une politique mais d’un mouvement de la société, de sa parcellisation, de l’éloignement que chacun cherche a organiser d’avec la catégorie qui lui est répute inférieure, au nom de l’angoisse du déclassement” (”Apres le choc,” 2005).

Even when the banlieues are judged based on the inefficiency of the political system and on the failure of the republican system to accommodate the immigrants, they are nonetheless depicted as negative spaces which need severe reparations in a near yet imprecise future. Very seldom can one read about positive aspects of the banlieue, as in Wieviorka’s intervention in Le Figaro, “Dans ce contexte, tout n’est pas noir : il existe aussi, dans ces ‘banlieues’ tant décriées, une vie associative, des activités culturelles, sportives, artistiques, etc.; mais tout cela est gommé sous l’effet quotidien de la disqualification médiatique et de certains événements” (Wieviorka, 2005). Several journalists, mainly in Le Figaro and Libération, approached the theme of the banlieues by asking how did the banlieues become “abandoned territories”? The answers are multiple: discrimination of the youth from the banlieue in the job market, especially in the suburbs at the North of Paris (Hugues, 2005); the feeling of exclusion from the national community (Schneidermann, 2005); the lack of respect from the part of several politicians, especially Sarkozy, who is well-known for using racist and discriminatory terms such as “racaille, voyous, Karcher” (Blecher, Durand, Laske & Wallon, 2005).

If the banlieues are “abandoned territories,” who are the banlieusards and the young émeutiers who are burning cars and destroying stores and schools? The media makes no reference to any ethnic or religious affiliations of the émeutiers and tries assiduously to disconnect the emeutes from Islam (Courage, 2005; Gabizon, 2005a). The reader cannot gather too much information on the ethnic and cultural origins of the émeutiers from the newspaper articles, since they are all placed under the label of second or third generation immigrants. Once again, the narrative comes back to the construction of the immigrant and of immigration as a problem which lacks a concrete solution. Nevertheless, the solution presented by the French government, according to Nacira Guenif-Soulamas, seems to rest with the domestication and civilizing of the immigrants. She states, “les civiliser consiste donc a les amener a se dissoudre dans la société a laquelle ils doivent appartenir… il leur faudrait lutter contre eux-mêmes pour pouvoir accéder a la qualité de citoyen” (Guenif-Soulamas, 2005, p. 203). Guenif-Soulamas refers specifically to the Muslim immigrants who are generally considered the most different in terms of cultural, religious, and social habits, thus the most difficult to control and integrate to France “une et indivisible”. Silverstein, referring specifically to the Algerian diaspora, argues that “the postcolonial production of Algerian subjectivity in France extends beyond construction, regulation, and renovation of the built environment… the French state and immigrant actors have competed and colluded for the control of the immigrant bodily practices” (Silverstein, 2004, p. 123), in an almost colonial fashion.

Therefore, the banlieusard represents for the French government the failure of a process of civilization and integration. Officially, to conform to the “equalitarian” ideology of French politics, the identity of the immigrant is not relevant since, once on French territory, everyone is supposed to become French. However, even if the majority of the newspaper articles did not reveal the ethnic background of those involved in the emeutes, the French public already knows that the immigrants who “cause” problems are mainly North African, and, more specifically, Algerian. Even if Ben Jelloun’s following statement reflects his personal experience of France two decades ago, his observations are not completely erroneous, “Anti-North African racism doesn’t bother to split hairs. It makes no distinction between Algerians, Moroccans, and Tunisians, between Arabs and Berbers, between young and old” (Ben Jelloun, 1999, p. 85).

The Dialogic Narratives of “El Watan”

For the entire period of the French riots, El Watan covered daily the events in France, developing, similarly to the French press, a series of explanatory and analytical narratives on the emeutes. If the French media did not point fingers at the Algerian diaspora in particular, what could explain the abundance of articles on the French emeutes in the Algerian newspaper El Watan? One potential answer comes from Lorcin, who states that, until June 1999, the French government did not acknowledge that a war had been fought over the decolonization of Algeria, referring to the Algerian War as “des operations de securite et de maintien de l’ordre” (Lorcin, 2006, p. xxv). Accordingly, the silence of France in terms of the colonial past and of the dramatic decolonization “meant that no dominant memory could satisfactorily emerge… Instead, there was silence” since France lacked the ability and desire to formulate a coherent narrative about its Algerian past (ibid.). At the same time, many of the post-independence immigrant politics are shaped by the memory of the Algerian war (Stora qtd. in Lorcin, 2006, p. xxvi). The memory of the colonial past and of decolonization and the bitter destiny of the first generations of Algerian immigrants to France who came with hopes for a better life haunt the daily experiences of the second and third generation Algerians. According to Olivier Masclet, the young Algerians grew up seeing their fathers humiliated, losing their dignity, and feeding from memories of the old country (Masclet, 2006, p. 115). Is the discontentment and anger of the Algerian diaspora translated by El Watan in the depictions of the emeutes? What role does memory play in the narratives constructed by El Watan?

El Watan investigates, similarly to the French press, the causes of the emeutes. Various articles in the Algerian newspaper inform the audiences about the accidental death of the two boys who were running to escape the police; however, the emphasis in the coverage of the causes rests on the ethnic origins of the victims. One article states, “à l’origine, un souffle de révolte s’était levé a Saine Saint-Denis après l’électrocution accidentelle de deux adolescents de 15 et 17 ans. Zyed Benna, un Français d’origine tunisienne de 15 ans, et Bouna Troare, un Français d’origine malienne de 17 ans” (Belabes, 2005b). Moreover, the two victims are not isolated incidents but are part of a larger pattern of violent happenings in the French banlieues which are closely connected with the abandoning of the suburbs, also called “zones sensibles” by the French authorities. Therefore, “les deux jeunes victimes de Clichy-sous-Bois s’ajoutent à la longue liste de personnes mortes dans des conditions tragiques lors de l’incendie des maisons vétustes ou elles loges. Toutes ces victimes ont en commun d’être originaires du continent africain; d’être aussi Arabo-Maghrébins” (Lofti, 2005a). The ethnicity of the victims and the connection between the two boys who died on 27 October 2005 and other tragic “accidents” in the banlieue add a dimension which was left aside from most of the French press: the connection between ethnicity, immigration, and social inequality, especially in the banlieues.

The French press offers a more moderate perspective on the causes which transformed the banlieues in “abandoned territories,” blaming both the government and the French society, but also using larger anonymous narratives such as massive unemployment, lack of integration in the educational system, or discrimination. All these narratives are used in a general manner without accompanying details of who is to blame in particular for them. For El Watan, these social and political narratives have a very precise cause: Nicolas Sarkozy. From the very beginning of the coverage of the emeutes, several journalists introduce the figure of Sarkozy as a politician who makes promises he cannot keep for the ethic groups in France. In an article entitled “25 ans de promesses et de derobades,” Malek Boutih, one of the few French politicians of ethnic origins is quoted criticizing the promises made by Sarkozy regarding the right to vote of any non-French citizen who had lived on French territory for more than five years. Boutih states, “[Sarkozy] emprunte des concepts ailleurs puis les détourne à son profit. C’est déjà le cas avec la discrimination positive et les quotas. Cela peut l’être avec le vote des étrangers. Mais son bilan ne trompe personne. Il se limite a des mots pas a des actes” (Bouzeghrane, 2005a). Azouz Begag, the Minister (of Algerian origins) in charge with equality of chances, is one of the opponents of Sarkozy’s project of affirmative action (”discrimination positive”). He states, “dans la rue, la designation noire existe, elle est socialement vivante, mais on n’a pas le droit de montrer statistiquement ce qu’elle représente dans la société. Il n’est pas honteux d’être Arabe, Kabyle, Africain” (Bouzeghrane, 2005b). Therefore, Sarkozy is constructed by the Algerian press in animosity with the interests of the various groups of immigrants, including Algerians.

Sarkozy becomes the main actor in the coverage of the emeutes in El Watan in relation to the language he used to stigmatize the banlieues. The French Minister of Interior becomes the embodiment of all the failures of the French government to accommodate the immigrant communities to the national body of France. Belabes writes in an article from early November, “les violences qui secouent depuis plus d’une semaine les banlieues parisiennes et qui s’étendent d’autres départements de France étaient prévisibles depuis le retour de Nicolas Sarkozy au ministère de l’intérieur et la multiplication des petites phrases assassines sur les banlieues” (Belabes, 2005a). These “petites phrases assassines” refer to the comments made by Sarkozy on various occasions in relations to his engagement to “clean up” the banlieues. According to him, “il fallait nettoyer les quartiers au Karcher” and punish “le racaille” (Maiche, 2005). Dominique Sopo, president of SOS Racisme believes that the strong, racist, and “politically incorrect” language used by Sarkozy represented a fuel for the emeutes (ibid.). Yacine speaks with several mediateurs from the Parisian banlieues on the rage caused by Sarkozy’s words. Nadir, mediateur in Clichy-sous-Bois, speaks with anger and disappointment, “le gouvernement a rate une belle occasion de se réconcilier avec la banlieue. En soutenant Sarkozy, Dominique de Villepin se disqualifie. Au lieu de se demarquer du pyromane, il prefere le couvrir. C’est lamentable” (Yacine, 2005a).

The Algerian journalists and commentators find Sarkozy’s words unpardonable and provocative, making the French politician responsible for the violence in the banlieues. The Algerian press is not trying to take a moderate approach; on the contrary, it takes sides with the young men and women who live in the banlieues, who are pushed to commit acts of violence by the unwillingness of the French government to treat them as citizens. Belabes points out the nature of the revolt felt by the young banlieusards, “la révolte des émigrés de seconde génération, dont l’écrasante majorité est française, n’est pas un simple effet de mode de jeunes en mal d’inspiration. Elle se nourit de ce genre d’humiliation que subissent les jeunes dans leur vie de tous les jours” (Belabes, 2005a). Moreover, the ethnical dimension of the sufferance of the immigrants comes into play in the construction of the media narratives. Belabes ends one of his articles by asking, “La France arrivera-t-elle à arrêter cette grave dérive qui tend à présenter les Maghrébins comme des êtres scongenitalement non solubles dans la République? (ibid.)

The discursive spaces which define the major gap between French and Algerian coverage of the emeutes rests in the realm of memory. The majority of the articles in El Watan link the emeutes and the situation of the immigrants and French citizens of non-European origins with the legacy of colonialism and decolonization. Similarly with the condition of the colonial subject on former colonized African territories, “l’immigre, selon les termes de Pierre Bourdieu, suscite l’embarras” (Meddi, 2005b). Furthermore, the immigration is seen as a “hot” topic in French politics due to the colonial past of France and to the constant effort to deal with the past. This failed effort is depicted in terms of the controversial law of 23 February 2005, voted by the General Assembly, which glorifies the legacy of colonialism in former colonies (ibid.). According to Meddi, the glorification of the colonial past is in great contrast with the present situation of the immigrant populations, described as “non-être social” which are products of colonization (ibid.). The social fracture which characterizes the French society, divided between the cities and their banlieues is depicted as an effect of colonialism and of the French denial of a collective memory of the past. One article states, “la fracture sociale… passé par l’établissement d’un dialogue qui a été toujours contrecarrée par les résistances d’une société française qui se refuse a admettre que son vécu d’aujourd’hui est en grande partie une séquence de son histoire et de son passé colonial” (Lofti, 2005b). For some journalists, the legacy of colonialism is most visible in the vocabulary used by Sarkozy to describe the young populations living in the banlieues, especially the term “racaille”. The readers are informed that “le mot ‘racaille’ a des relents coloniaux et je me souviens encore de l’époque ou l’on traitait couramment les Arabes de ‘bicots’, de ‘bougnoules’ ou encore de ‘ratons’, les juifs de ‘youpines’ et les Noirs de ‘nègres’” (Daouzli, 2005).

The narrative of memory which persists in the depiction of the emeutes is not generally focused on colonialism in general but it reflects specifically the concerns of the Algerians in Algeria and of the diasporas in France. In reference to the causes and developments of the emeutes and the various frames used by the French media, Ahmed Benzelikha responds, “encore une fois nous sommes rattrapés par l’histoire, représentée par ce qu’il y a de pire dans les relations franco-algériennes: la guerre, la torture, l’OAS, les ratonnades, l’état d’urgence, le racisme et une haine indicible” (Benzelikha, 2005). Benzelikha refers in his article mainly to the discourses of Jean Marie Le Pen, the leader of the extreme right French party the National Front, which are built on the damaging presence in France of “un ‘Autre’ algerien” but points out that the lepenien rhetoric spills over, being present in the “securitary populism” of Sarkozy (ibid.). Like the majority of the consulted articles, Benzelikha takes the side of the Algerian diaspora, acknowledging that “cet antialgerianisme primaire [est] induite par la présence marquée d’une nombreuse communauté algérienne ou d’origine algérienne en France, qui cristallise toutes les haines, les craintes et les dépits accumules” (ibid). As the narratives in El Watan evolve, it becomes clear that the Algerian journalists respond to the tensioned situation of the immigrant communities in France at the time of the emeutes, with a particular focus on the Algerian populations.

Conclusions

Both France and Algeria have been struggling with the memory of colonialism, adopting various strategies of collective remembering. In France, remembering has been equated with forgetting until recent times, while in Algeria, the construction of memories has been dependent on the attitude of France. Judging by the articles in El Watan, the Algerians seem comfortable with bringing back various instances of the colonial past and using them as a support for the diasporas abroad. At the same time, the usage of the colonial memories in the context of the emeutes could also be interpreted as a strategy for criticizing France at a time when the entire world is watching. Criticizing France works also as a form of empowerment for the Algerians, translated in the language of post-colonialist rhetoric, as the former colonizer state is able to criticize the metropole. Regardless of the intentions, the Algerian press fills the spaces left uncovered by the French press, especially in terms of connecting the colonial past and its legacies with the present social and cultural problems in the French society. Blaming generally unemployment, racism, and French urban development politics without creating the historical context for the current emeutes functions as a superficial depiction of the realities in the banlieues. For the most part, the French press adopted this superficial framework. By bringing in issues of memory and colonialism, El Watan offers a voice to the young men and women living in the banlieues and saves them from simplistic labels such as “delinquents” or “racaille”. If the narratives in El Watan cannot fully elucidate the relation between Algeria as a nation and the Algerian diasporas in France, they can, however, prove the existence of a certain solidarity between the Algerian public space (represented in this paper by the media) and the diasporas. The solidarity with and support for the Algerian diasporas come to life through narratives of collective memory born out of the desire to speak openly about the colonial past and its effects on those living within and outside Algeria.

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1. Denial: Up until four or five months ago, Barack Obama was not on the pundit radar. When I first heard him speak some year and a half ago, I knew he would go places in U.S. politics, but I did not expect it to be so soon, or even so far. To use that disparaging term, he was not even the ‘dark horse’ in the democratic party. But when that quickly changed and the delegate numbers started coming in, Clinton acted, with her characteristic sense of entitlement, as if Obama was merely a fly that would buzz itself out in a short time. As recently as Super Tuesday, she believed, or at least portrayed the belief that Obama was not a force to be reckoned with.

2. Anger: Quickly after her first defeat, the Clinton machine became angry - who is this usurper of my rightful ascent to power? The slurs began to fly, most recently with the pre-Texas round of negativity. One might even frame her shedding of a tear prior to New Hampshire as a sign of internal anger that this just wasn’t fair. She had big plans, good policies, a vision that deserves to be implemented. How could this happen?

3. Bargaining: When Obama passed her in total expected delegate count, advisors began deserting her campaign, and time was running out, she began to bargain. Just as one bargains with time to spare them from death, with considerable hubris, Hillary and Bill began proposing fantastical possibilities of a joint-ticket - with Obama on the second line. Obama, and the party leadership, quickly sped her along the road to the next stage when they flatly rejected such a proposal.

4. Depression: Most recently, Hillary has begun apologizing for all of the mistakes she made along the way. One could interpret this as an acceptance of loss, though this has not come formally or publicly yet. Rather, I see it as a kind of self-pitying that things could have been better and different, but they’re not. It is impossible to predict these kind of things, but I expect Hillary to campaign with significantly less vigour than before.

5. Acceptance: I believe this is still yet to come, perhaps after the Pennsylvania primary, but of course, if may come sooner - or later.

This is hardly a faithful interpretation of the model, and I do it thoroughly from a lay perspective. Alternative analyses are certainly possible, and welcome. However, putting aside this lack of scientific rigour for a moment, this outline demonstrates one thing: that Hillary responded to her slow defeat the way someone does to something that they actually ‘have’ - a partner, a job, their own mortality. In true dynastic form, Clinton ‘grieves’ over something that she shouldn’t presume to have had, but feels is her divine right. I’m not one to buy into the popular, sweeping assertions about politics in any country, in this case, the ‘Bush-Clinton dynasty’ argument. Still, if in the mind of Hillary, she viewed herself as the rightful ‘heir’ to the presidency, American politics has been saved from a dangerous turn towards further elitism.

Using key informant interviews and documentary analysis, my research explores the following two cases: (1) the 1997 review of the Patent Amendment Act; and, (2) the 2007 review of Canada’s Access to Medicines Regime (CAMR). The 1992 Patent Amendment Act revised the Patent Act to increase the patent length for pharmaceuticals and eliminate compulsory licensing. The factors leading to this amendment were rooted in negotiations around free trade and domestic electoral politics (Kuyek, 2002). By further delaying the entry of generic competition into the marketplace, these amendments resulted in increased drug costs to individuals, private insurers and the public health system (Lexchin, 2005). Enacted in 2005, CAMR revised both the Patent Act and the Food and Drugs Act. CAMR allowed for the issuance of compulsory licenses (eliminated under the aforementioned Patent Amendment Act) to manufacture and export essential generic pharmaceuticals to developing countries that were unable to manufacture their own and could not afford the high costs of brand name pharmaceuticals. To date, CAMR has not facilitated the delivery of a single pill, causing some critics to charge that it was designed to fail. Both of the parliamentary reviews mentioned above resulted in no concrete changes.

My research hypothesizes that these decisions by the federal government can be explained using the concept of ‘unequal structures of representation’ (Mahon, 1984), which emphasizes the imbalance of power among different government branches and the superior influence enjoyed by business-friendly departments (i.e. Finance and Industry) over the entire policy development process.

Not having any training as a scientist, I wonder how one might go about connecting social behavior to genes in a way that would be scientifically rigorous. These studies have all been conducted with adults in the short-term, not with a fetus that has grown into an adult over the long-term. Establishing the existence of a gene prior to socialization, and not its content, and then concluding that these genes account for our political behavior seems highly spurious. How would we determine the causality - what is shaping what - between our environmentally-influenced social values and our seemingly fixed genetic makeup?

However, the article also states that Canada has been attempting to stop the distribution of this information, so we’ll see where things go from here. Yesterday, there was a clip on NBC about this issue:

This paper will attempt to provide a more holistic set of criterion necessary for the construction of consent over neoliberalism. This concept refers to methods by which the public buy-into the neoliberal agenda. How were they convinced that neoliberalism was the most suitable method of capital accumulation?

This paper will concern itself with the discourse surrounding the ‘construction of consent’ of the neoliberal project. Who were the major actors involved? What methods did they have at their disposal to promote neoliberalism? What methods were used, how were these methods utilized, and how the discourse was articulated, at varying scalar levels of governance. It is the contention of this paper that these methods helped creates social cohesion and general public support around the neoliberal project.

This paper’s topic will be derived from the David Harvey’s article titled the ‘Construction of Consent’. He proposes that while neoliberalism was easily enforced in under despotic regimes (Chile and Argentina in the 70’s), for a broad consensus on the appropriateness of neoliberalism under such a large magnitude in democratic countries, required “the prior construction of political consent across a sufficiently large spectrum of the population to win elections. What Gramsci calls ‘common sense’ (defined as ‘the sense held in common’) typically grounds consent” (Harvey, 39).

BREAKDOWN
My paper views the construction of consent around neoliberalism, as involving the agents and collaboration from three key areas: the political, economic, and social spheres. This paper will expand upon the ways in which consent for neoliberalism was “constructed”, by illustrating several important points in these three categories. Elements from all three combined served to promote neoliberalism at the local and national level. These specific characteristics will become more apparent throughout the presentation, but more so through the construction of the paper itself.

The political sphere will emphasize the political actors, rhetoric, discourse and specific political agents involved; the economic will examine the mainly economic actors involved (institutional investors) and review the neoliberal project in general; finally, the social sphere will study the shift in public values required for the construction of consent for neoliberalism.

THEORETICAL CONNECTION
At the theoretical level, this paper will deal with Gramsci’s ‘Common sense’. How was this common sense created within democratic nations? Harvey claims that “powerful ideological influences circulated through the corporations, the media, and the numerous institutions that constitute civil society - such as universities, schools, churches, and profession associations” (40).

The paper goes on to discuss how the construction of consent occurred in different places (the United States and the UK specifically), under the democratically elected governments of Regan and Thatcher in the 1980s respectively. It is the intention of this paper to look at how this consent was constructed at various scales within select countries, including Canada, and determine the dynamics that were required to construct consent for neoliberalism at local and national state levels.

This paper will look at the types of ideological influences that were circulated among the populace, and analyze how this was done at multiple state levels. In this way, it will bring in concepts from works by Brenner and Jessop, by dealing with issues of rescaling at the national, regional and local levels.

The construction of consent can also be viewed from a theoretical perspective. In research done by Brenner and Theodore, they propose:

…to analyze actually existing neoliberalism with reference to two dialectically intertwined but analytically distinct moments: the (partial) destruction of extant institutional arrangements and political compromises through market-oriented reform initiatives; and the (tendential) creation of a new infrastructure for market-oriented economic growth, commodification, and the rule of capital (364).

This dual process, at the theoretical level, provides a basis with which to consider study this transition from a Fordist to post-Fordist system

DISCOURSE
This paper stipulates that the concept of ‘discourse’, as defined by Schmidt to be, “constituting both a set of policy ideas and values and in interactive process of policy construction and communication” (247) does matter in the development and acceptance for the neoliberal project. Her article focuses on the introduction of neoliberalism into France and Britain at roughly the same time, and moves to discuss how neoliberalism was more broadly accepted by the public in Britain than it was in France. “In France, governments of both the left and the right beginning in 1983 were in a continual search for a discourse capable of convincing the public of the appropriateness and not just the necessity of their neo-liberal policy program… In Britain, on the contrary, governments of the right beginning in 1979 developed a legitimating discourse…” (Schmidt, 248).

Given her research into this phenomenon, it can be concluded that discourse is an essential part of creating successful public “buy-in” into any sort of political-economic paradigm. The most important actors involved in this process, created a neoliberal discourse for themselves, at varying levels of government, for dissemination to the public.

PREVIOUS WOLD ORDER
What was the change to neoliberalism from? The previous mode of capital accumulation was the post-war Fordist period, from 1945 to the 1970s. After World War II, the general public had bought into the Fordist system of accumulation based on its concepts of income distribution, equalization mechanisms and equalization payments, and where the nation-state was the primary level of analysis and major unit of economic development. These values have now changed in this new global era, whereby regional economies now have to compete within, and with global national economies.

CONTEXT
The oil shocks of 1973 and 1979 added to the existing ailments and conjured high inflation throughout much of the world for the rest of the decade. Soaring oil prices compelled most American businesses to raise their prices as well, with inflationary results. The average annual inflation rate from 1900 to 1970 was approximately 2.5 percent. From 1970, however, the average rate hit about 6 percent, topping out at 13.3 percent by 1979. This period is also known for “stagflation”, a phenomenon in which inflation and unemployment steadily increased, therefore leading to double-digit interest rates that rose to unprecedented levels (above 12% per year). The prime rate hit 21.5 in December 1980, the highest in history. By the time of 1980, when President Jimmy Carter was running for re-election against Ronald Reagan, the misery index (the sum of the unemployment rate and the inflation rate) had reached an all-time high of 21.98 percent.

With the marrying of right-wing Christian fundamentalists and the Republican Party of US politics during the 1960’s and 70’s, the 1980s allowed for the mobilization of mass amounts of capital, under the form of MNCs, and the promotion of a religious tone in American Republican politics. The Democratic Party however, was hamstrung between the position of improving the material conditions of its broad public base, and the need to “succor” capitalist class support in order to win political elections; it often chose the latter over the former (Harvey, 51).

THE ECONOMIC
This section of the paper will highlight the mainly economic influences over the construction of consent. Of key importance here, are the intellectual support the movement had (the biggest players, and researchers), and what Adam Harmes writes about the influence that institutional investors have in the role of reproduction of neoliberalism. Firstly, a review of the neoliberal project will be necessary.

NEOLIBERAL PROJECT
As the previous unit of analysis within the Fordist system, the role of the state hs changed, and is not designed to: “create and preserve an institutional framework appropriate for such practices. The state has to guarantee the quality and integrity of money. It must also setup those military, defence, police, and legal structures and functions required to secure private proprerty. If markets do not exist, the state must create them.

Neoliberalism, as the dominant method of capital accumulation in the 1980s, arose in tandem with the debate over importance of globalization. Globalization was a major reason for the selling of the need for neoliberalism; only less-government, less union power, and more free-market control was needed to engage in a global economy. In the end, “The answer to the question ‘who put globalization on the agenda’ is, therefore, capitalist class interests operating through the agency of the US foreign, military, and commercial policy” (Harvey, 69).

It is interesting however, as Harvey notes, that “To make the contemporary wave of neoliberalism work, the state has to penetrate even more deeply into certain segments of political-economic life and become in some ways even more interventionist that before” (65). Neoliberalism is premised around the concept of small-government, to allow for the market to operate in the most efficient, and effective manner.

It is strange to note that the rise of neoliberalism, called for a ‘common sense’ understanding and appreciation for neoliberalism, while at the same time stressing the dismantling of communal understanding developed under the Fordist period, and instead fostered the intensification of individualism and a highly consumerist society: “Neoliberalization required both politically and economically the construction of a neoliberal market-based populist culture of differentiated consumerism and individual libertarianism” (Harvey, 42).

INSTITUTIONAL INVESTORS
This is done through predominantly two complimentary procedures: coercive and consensual ways. Coercive means that the “rise of institutional investors has led to a centralization of investment decision making and to a situation in which neoliberalism is being reproduced in a coercive fashion” (Harmes, 92). Consensual, means that “the specific characteristics of institutional investors are serving to link a broad range of interests in civil society to those of financial institutions” (Harmes 92). Taken as whole, this analysis contributes to the growing international relations scholarship which identifies the increasing power of non-state actors in the international system and their role in the contemporary process of restructuring.

THE POLITICAL
NEOLIBERAL RHETORIC
Politically speaking, the greatest supporters for neoliberalism in the developed world were Regan and Thatcher. Both popularized the work of Friedman and Hayek, when both were previously on the fringes of mainstream economic thought. Thatcher is of great importance here because she, “forged the consent through the cultivation of a middle class that relished the joys of home ownership, private property, individualism, and the liberation of entrepreneurial opportunities” (Harvey, 61).

Otherwise known as TINA, the slogan refers to Margaret Thatcher’s belief that there was and is no conceivable alternative to the process of economic and political globalization, and that neoliberalism would be required to shock the apathy out of the state, to capitalize in the new global economy. Schmidt expands upon the seemingly harsh attitude espoused by Thatcher:

Moreover, she insisted that their success also demanded a return to traditional ‘Victorian’ values of hard work and self-reliance; the rollback of the welfare state in order ‘to change Britain from a dependent to a self-reliant society. From a give-it-to-me to a do-it- yourself nation; to a get-up-and-go instead of a sit-back-and-wait-for-it Britain;’ and the recognition that inequalities were necessary to encourage the ’spirit of entrepreneurship’ (257).

During this time, as prices rose, the public grew weary of increased inflation and the burdens of high unemployment and a burgeoning welfare system. The vote for change was dramatic.

Reagan himself was a staunch supporter of pro-market economy, minimal government. He is quoted as having said, “The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help’.”

THE WASHINGTON CONSENSUS
In the United States, the concept and name of the Washington Consensus were first presented in 1989 and 1990 by John Williamson, an economist from the Institute for International Economics, an international economic think tank based in Washington, D.C.. The consensus included ten broad sets of recommendations:

• Fiscal policy discipline;
• Redirection of public spending from indiscriminate (and often regressive) subsidies toward broad-based provision of key pro-growth, pro-poor services like education, health and infrastructure investment;
• Tax reform - broadening the tax base and adopting moderate marginal tax rates;
• Interest rates that are market determined and positive (but moderate) in real terms;
• Competitive exchange rates;
• Trade liberalization - liberalization of imports, with particular emphasis on elimination of quantitative restrictions (licensing, etc.); any trade protection to be provided by low and relatively uniform tariffs;
• Liberalization of inward foreign direct investment;
• Privatization of state enterprises;
• Deregulation - abolition of regulations that impede market entry or restrict competition, except for those justified on safety, environmental and consumer protection grounds, and prudent oversight of financial institutions; and,
• Legal security for property rights.

A contentious part of this section is that a “consensus” has not actually occurred among all economists regarding the “best” monetary policy. ‘TATA’ is commonly refered to by Susan George as being, “There Are Thousand Alternatives” in response to Thatchers ‘TINA’. The criticism is that the Washington Consensus only refers to consensus built upon by Washington based economists, and those working at Washington based institutions (IMF, WB, US State Treasury), in an attempt to solve the economic crises in Latin America at the time.

Although Thatcher was never right to claim that “there is no alternative” to the neoliberal vision of a free economy and a minimalist state, “two decades later the global hegemony of thise mode of political rationality means that the urden of proof has shifted: neoliberalism is no longer a dream of Chicago economists or a nightmare of the imaginations of leftist conspiracy theorists; it has become a commonsense of the times” (Peck and Tickell, 381).

WORKFARE VS. WELFARE
Workfare has been touted as a reasonable solution to poverty alleviation during the neoliberal phase. “One consistent theme, however, is that work requirements serve to provide the “appropriate incentives” for recipients of poor relief” (Besley, 249). This idea became more popularized in the Thatcher and Regan years; with an added sense of individualism (necessary for neoliberalism), the public became less responsive and weary of the “downtrodden” using the welfare state to support themselves, all the while slowing down the rest of the economy.

Teeple claims that the construction of consent for neoliberalism required the dismantling of the “policy culture” (the previous Keynesian Welfare State), and the creation of “popular capitalism”, which defines as “simply the most obvious method of building support and a public consensus for the policies of privatization” (97). He provides the example from Britain, during the privatization period of nationally owned companies, to the general public. He explains this concept from an institutional tax-structure perspective: “In this process, everyone becomes part of the “people’s capitalism” so created, and they find themselves “owners” of a minute fraction of what used to be a state-owned corporation… Governments promote another form of “popular capitalism” in the many variations of employee stock ownership plans (ESOPs)” (Teeple, 98). By incorporating the citizen into the “new way” of economic development, neoconservative governments were able to garnish further public support for the neoliberal agenda. Since individual citizens financial sustainability was tied to the success of these firms, governments were able (or even “forced”) to promote an agenda that created an environment where they could maximize profitability.

Therefore, popular capitalism had two objectives, according to Teeple: 1) to dismantle the KWS and the “policy culture” of the Fordist period; 2) the creation of the “new participatory capitalist system” which undermines the “sentiments in favour of trade unions and, where privatization had taken place, the outright decertification of unions or ate least the weakening of the trade union movement” (99).

The dismantling of the welfare state was a particularly difficult battle, even for someone as stoic and charismatic as Margaret Thatcher: “Here she had to do battle with the entrenched and sometimes traditional upper-middle-class attitudes of her cores supporters…The best should could do was try to force a culture of entrepreneurialism and impose strict rules of surveillance, financial accountability, and productivity on to institutions” (Harvey, 61).

CSR
The ‘Common Sense Revolution’ (CSR) reform package was markedly neo-liberal in nature, closely mirroring the platforms of British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and U.S. President Ronald Reagan during the 1980s. Philosophically it was aligned with the theories of prominent 20th century economist and political theorist Friedrich A. von Hayek.

The central foci of the CSR were tax reduction, balancing the budget, reducing the size and role of government, and an emphasis on individual economic responsibility (often summarized by an opposition to government “hand-outs”). Among other things former Premier of Ontario Mike Harris promised to reduce personal income tax rates by 30% and balance the provincial budget at the same time (which had reached a record $10 Billion deficit under the NDP). CSR was specifically tailored as a reform document. It was presented as a radical change to the status quo of provincial government business, which was widely seen to be poorly managed and inefficient. Indeed, the opening words of the document were “The people of Ontario have a message for their politicians — government isn’t working anymore. The system is broken.” An ominous sentence, similar to that said by Thatcher: there is no alternative.

What this ended up doing was “downloading” much of burden of social services from the provincial to the municipal level. Cities were more responsible for social services, but were also given decreased budgets to do a larger amount of work. The rhetoric of neoliberals at the national level by Presidents and Prime Ministers, is similar to that found at the local level by city mayors. For example, former Premier Mike Harris was quoted in Drainie (2000:78) on the topic of amalgamating cities into the Greater Toronto Area (GTA) as having said: “Anyone who says we wont save money under amalgamation is talking horseshit. But we’ll never save any money until we get rid of those lefties at city hall” (Keil, 594).

THE SOCIAL
VALUES
Which values are being referred to? This paper will build upon the values and traditions emphasized by Harvey. He writes that, “An open project around the restoration of economic power to a small elite would probably not gain much popular support. But a programmatic attempt to advance the cause of individual freedoms could appeal to a mass base and so disguise the drive to restore class power” (Harvey, 40). This was a key strategy utilized by those at the front of the neoliberal project, particularly at the time of the Cold War: associate the concepts of ‘free markets’ with ‘individual freedoms’, while concepts such as ‘communitarian’ were associated with ‘communism’, and therefore, ‘anti-individual freedoms’. This became an important part of the ‘common sense’ concept espoused by Gramsci, and utilized by Harvey in his writings.

Another important value, applicable to both local and national levels to the individual, is that of accountability. Individuals were to be held more accountable for the actions, and their responsibilities to society, as opposed to the previous Fordist system, where individuals received more intervention and state support in their welfare. Thought with notable exceptions, such as within predominantly religious communities, the majority public sentiment shifted from a communal support state to one of individualist responsibility. Pan-handlers, or people in poor socio-economic situations, were responsible for their place in society, and the mentality of middle-income earners blamed a burgeoning welfare system that supposedly supported this behaviour; “Why should they go find a job when the government pays them welfare?” is a common critique of the welfare system.

“The propaganda disseminated to directly sell free enterprise was supported by that aimed at indirectly providing legitimacy to the inequalities it created and ensuring the compliance of workers in the capitalist system” (Beder, 7).

BIG CITY vs. SMALL CITY
Different values were stressed across different geographical places at the local level. Big city values such as the Global City concept, involve large urban centers trying to drive towards being a “global city”. When people think of Ontario, or even Canada, they would immediately associate that with the cities with the most international reach or influence (eg. Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver). For example, Toronto recently bid for the right to host the next Olympics. But the global city concept also refers to the economic and financial clout, and concentration, which these large urban centers command.

Large cities also saw themselves as places of creativity and inventiveness (which ties in with economic competitiveness). Seen as “forward thinking”, this new concept produced a class of creative people, whose major concern question was “Is this place somewhere I’d like to live?” rather than moving to the city to pursue any specific job. For example, large cities such as San Francisco, Toronto, Montreal, are seen as “progressive” cities, which appeal to more “progressive minded” people.

Finally, this leads into the entrepreneurial spirit that large cities have taken over, as large financial and trading centers. Individuality and consumerism were emphasized as being the most important and dominant concepts within Western society. Neoliberalism was “sold” as a solution to all these concerns; neoliberalism (or globalization at the cultural level) would allow large cities like Toronto to access the international level to become a global city, through large exchange of ideas and culture, and also the exchange of capital.

Small cities were subject to a different set of “values” that are commonly referred to as “Bushisms”. Here, values or words such as “freedom”, “democracy”, hit a more familiar chord with any right-wing party’s broad electoral base.

“This political base could be mobilized through the positives of religion and cultural nationalism and negatively through coded, if not blatant, racism, homophobia, and anti-feminism. The problem was not capitalism and the neoliberalization of culture, but the ‘liberals’ who had used excessive state power to provide for special groups (blacks, women, environmentalists, etc)” (Harvey, 50).

INTELLECTUAL SUPPORT
Economists were still highly divided on the issues of economic reform to handle this recession of the US and UK. Keynesians offered similar advice as before: to spend more money to get out of trouble. Thatcher noted that only 6 economists supported her and the decisions she made, while another 300+ offered Keynesian advice.

This involved muddying what the term “liberal” meant, by supporting neoliberalism economically but not culturally. To be socially liberal is certainly different from being economically liberal. “The effect was to divert attention away from capitalism and corporate power as in any way having anything to do with either the economic or the cultural problems that unbridled commercialism and individualism were creating” (Harvey, 50). This lead to the current state of values, particularly in southern American states; for example, in the 2004 American election, President George Bush called Democratic contender John Kerry “another rich liberal elitist from Massachusetts who claims he’s a man of the people” (CNN, March 8th/2004). The result was that politically liberal was distanced from being economically liberal.

Think-tanks were an important part of this construction of consent as well In the US in particular, conservative foundations and large corporations established and/or funded a new set of think tanks which were ideologically compatible with right wing causes and corporate interests, promoting the free market and attacking government regulation. The famed right-wing economic journal The Economist once provided a guide to right-wing think-tanks, and had this to say about the Heritage Foundation: “First, they help to set the agenda of the political debate. They inject arguments (neatly packaged for a copy-hungry media) into the public arena before they are raised by politicians. This both softens up public opinion and pushes the consensus farther to the right” (Beder, 4). In summation, according to Beder:

The liberalization, deregulation and privatization of the 1980s that made the possibility of global markets a reality was facilitated by a shifting ideological consensus achieved by corporate-funded think tanks-many of which were set up as part of the response to the 1970s legitimacy crisis. These think tanks not only promoted free enterprise and small government but they disseminated and marketed the ideas and theories of a minority of neoconservative economists. Such theories gave a public-interest rationale to liberalization, deregulation and privatization that provided cover for the self-interested motivations of corporations (Beder, 10).

MEDIA
One of the biggest players in the proliferation of neoliberalism, Chomsky and Herman argue in Manufacturing Consent, that media corporations “…serve, and propagandize on behalf of, the powerful societal interests that control and finance them. The representatives of these interests have important agendas and principles that they want to advance, and they are well positioned to shape and constrain media policy” (Chomsky, xi). Herman and Chomsky go on to explain:

Official observers provide perfect example of the use of government controlled “experts” and “pseudo-events” to attract media attention and channel it in the direction of the propaganda line… The media take it for granted that official observers are newsworthy: they are notables, their selection by the government from “reputable” institutions adds to their credibility, and their observations will have effects on opinion and policy (139).

While the above example relates specifically to the calling of experts in to approve of “democratic elections” in Latin American states during the 70s and 80s, it does stress the importance that the government has in controlling the discourse over what the public hears, and limits alternative viewpoints and perspectives.

“The media and communications system and, above all, the so-called ‘information revolution’ brought some significant changes to the organization of production and consumption as well as to the definition of entirely new wants and needs” (Harvey, 62). Harvey refers to this concept in the development of cyberspace, but the important thing to note is that this ‘information revolution’ was instrumental to the way in which key political and business leaders “sold” neoliberalism to the public.

Media propaganda has for a long time been used by power elites as a means to promote their agenda, something that Heath and Potter emphasize througout their book. They cite the use of propaganda during the rise of Nazi power to emphasize their point:

What Nazi Germany appeared to exhibit was crowd psychology not only on an unprecentdeted scale, but also sustained over an extraordniarily long time…Broadcast radio, in particular, had allowed Nazi propaganda to reach millions of homes…Nazi Germany, in other words, marked the dawn of what came to be known as “the mass society”…Thus mass society was born: the bastard child of broadcast media and groupthink. (24-25)

The successes of lessons like this were not lost on the victorious Allied powers after World War 2. From here on, the media became a useful tool for promoting the neoliberal agendas propaganda line.

EDUCATION
Broadly conceived, the purpose of this analysis is to illustrate the downward transmission of ideological norms from the level of social formation to the level of the institution via ideological-discursive practices. Ayers main thesis is that, “insofar as the community college mission is represented through neoliberal discourse, the community college itself is instrumental in reproducing the class inequalities associated with advanced capitalism thereby supporting the position of its instrumentalist Marxist critics” (Ayers, 528).

Having quoted speeches from prominent political leaders, such as current US President George Bush, Ayers argues that “political leaders at the highest level, prominent researchers, and community college leaders [are] refashioning the purpose of education from one of cognitive and intellectual, spiritual, moral, and personal development to one of human capital development; thus, the learner is reduced to an economic entity” (538). The education system, and the select community colleges in particular that Ayers has studied, represent a fundamental shift in the underlying ideology of the KWS education system. No longer merely places for learning and personal growth, educational facilities have come to “re-tool” the population to remain competitive in the global economy.

Ayers’ methodology of analyzing the mission statements of educational institutions supports this trend. When examining the mission statement for a community college in North Carolina, it said, “The college serves as an economic catalyst by assisting business and service sector by training employees”; in Indiana, it reads, “Professional and technical education to prepare students with the knowledge, comprehension, and skills to achieve their goals, meet the needs of Indiana’s employers, and be contributing members of the Indiana economy” (Ayers, 540).

CONCLUSION
In the end, it took an “alliance” of many actors and agents to advance successfully the neoliberal project. This sentiment is emphasized by Harvey: “But I think it most useful to stress the way in which they took what had hitherto been minority political, ideological, and intellectual positions and made them mainstream” (62). A combination of political, economic and social factors was involved in the broad construction of consent for neoliberalism.

The necessity of this proliferation of corporate propaganda in recent decades supported by a massive communications industry shows that ideology still plays a vital role in supporting and legitimizing global capitalism and its goals. However, responding to economic pressures alone would have proven to be a much slower process of consent. In the end, it should be re-emphasized that the creation of the discourse itself by political and economic “right”, is what allowed the neoliberal agenda to successfully engrain itself into the very fabric of Western society, culture, and individual behaviour.

Bibliography
Ayers, D. Franklin. “Neoliberal Ideology in Community College Mission Statements: A Critical Discourse Analysis.” The Review of Higher Education 2005. Volume 28, No. 4, pp. 527-549.

Beder, Sharon. Corporate Propaganda and Global Capitalism - Selling Free Enterprise. Lacy: Manchester University Press, 2005.
ro.uow.edu.au/artspa…

Brenner, Neil and Nik Theodore. “Cities and the Geographies of “Actually Existing Neoliberalism”.” Antipode 2002: 351-379

Keil, Roger. “Common-Sense” Neoliberalism: Progressive Conservative Urbanism in Toronto, Canada.” Antipode 2002: 578-601.

Harmes, Adam. “Institutional Investors and the Reproduction of Neoliberalism.” Review of International Political Economy, 5:1 Spring 1998: 92-121

Harvey, David. A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.

Heath, Joseph and Andrew Potter. The Rebel Sell: Why the culture can’t be jammed. Toronto: HarperPerrenial, 2004.

Herman, Edward S. and Noam Chomsky. Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media. New York: Pantheon Books, 1998.

Peck, Jamie and Adam Tickell. “Neoliberalizing Space.” Antipode, 2002: 380-404.

Schmidt, Vivien A “The Politics of Economic Adjustment in France and Britain: When Does Discourse Matter?” Journal of European Public Policy 8:2 April 2001: 247-264.

Teeple, Gary. Globalization and the Decline of Social Reform. Aurora: Garamond Press, 2000.

Stiglitz begins the piece with the following line: “The world economy has had several good years.” This, he claims, is evidenced by the growth in global GDP, led by India and China. It is in his reliance upon bare GDP to judge global economic well-being where Stiglitz betrays his grounding in standard economic theory.

The past few years of growing global output have been matched by relentless resource consumption and waste production. It is not a coincidence that environmental concern has increased over the same years. We are consuming well beyond the planet’s carrying capacity. Thankfully, more and more people are recognizing this reality and trying to do something about it. Furthermore, the increase in output has not ‘trickled-down,’ and global inequality has likely worsened. But, for the likes of Stiglitz, the economy is viewed in isolation. The complex qualitative meaning beyond the numbers are obscured and largely ignored. Lip-service concern is paid to ‘workers’ and ‘consumers.’ The larger context, however, remains out-of-sight, even though stories of poverty and pollution fill the pages of the same papers that publish Stiglitz’s words. The concern expressed for the well-being of workers and consumers is frequently used to criticize environmental activists, as though jobs and the environment were entirely separate issues - with the former trumping the latter.

Stiglitz’s celebration of China and India is indicative of his narrow, economist’s vision. China’s increasing contribution to global production has come at the cost of severe environmental destruction. It has been suggested that the country’s air pollution has caused hundreds of thousands of premature deaths. High levels of water use and pollution by the growing industrial sector leave a large portion of the population without access to clean drinking water. India may be an emerging high-tech powerhouse, but it is also a model of inequality. Last year, the country passed Japan for the most billionaires in Asia with 36 members in the ten digit wealth club. At the same time, food insecurity is the reality for more than a third of the country’s population.

Stagflation is worrisome. Many people will lose their jobs, their savings and their homes. However, global production needs to be reduced if we are to avoid environmental collapse. It is the residents of the economic North who should bear the majority of the costs, as they are largely responsible for the planet’s current environmental predicament. Most of the burden should fall on the shoulders of the rich (millions of dollars), the very rich (tens of millions of dollars), the über-rich (hundreds of millions of dollars) and the obscenely über-rich (billions of dollars). Yet, these people will be the last to feel the effects of the economic and environmental crisis of their making. Certainly some fortunes will be lost, but many will also be entrenched and augmented. The wealthy will be best placed to protect themselves from the environmental consequences, while the poor will see their meager resources further depleted.

Few would deny the intimate and necessary relationship between the environment, production and consumption. Yet, the isolation of the ‘economic’ is the starting point for mainstream economists. If there was ever a time for ‘Big Picture’ analysis, this is it. That means the myopic economists need to be displaced from their perch atop the policy-advising hierarchy. The fiction that informs their world-view has contributed to the present situation and can play no part in rescuing us, except in showing us the wrong way.

One World
By Peru

I was invited to a group show in Vienna. My idea was against the theme, “Canada VS Spain”, by having a map of Pangea when they were both (and all others) the same place. There is too much fighting in the world already, its time to start helping each other, and create some unity.

On the international stage, Yvo de Boer, the UN climate chief has accused Canada of being hypocritical in its stance on climate change. But, does Canada even remain a player in addressing global climate issues?

Richard Stallman is one of the founders of the Free Software Movement and lead developer of the GNU Operating System. His book is ‘Free Software, Free Society’.

JP: Can you first of all explain the “Free Software Movement’.

RMS: The basic idea of the Free Software Movement is that the user of software deserves certain freedoms. There are four essential freedoms, which we label freedoms 0 through 3.

Freedom 0 is the freedom to run the software as you wish. Freedom 1 is the freedom to study and change the source code as you wish. Freedom 2 is the freedom to copy and distribute the software as you wish. And freedom 3 is the freedom to create and distribute modified versions as you wish. With these four freedoms, users have full control of their own computers, and can use their computers to cooperate in a community. Freedoms 0 and 2 directly benefit all users, since all users can exercise them. Freedoms 1 and 3, only programmers can directly exercise, but everyone benefits from them, because everyone can adopt (or not) the changes that programmers make. Thus, free software develops under the control of its users.

Non-free software, by contrast, keeps users divided and helpless. It is distributed in a social scheme designed to divide and subjugate. The developers of non-free software have power over their users, and they use this power to the detriment of users in various ways. It is common for non-free software to contain malicious features, features that exist not because the users want them, but because the developers want to force them on the users. The aim of the free software movement is to escape from non-free software.

JP: What was your history with the free software movement?

RMS: I launched the movement in 1983 with a deliberate decision to develop a complete world of free software. The idea is not just to produce a scattering of free programs that were nice to use. Rather, the idea is to systematically build free software so that one can escape completely from non-free software. Non-free software is basically antisocial, it subjugates it users, and it should not exist. So what I wanted was to create a community in which it does not exist. A community where we would escape from non-free software into freedom.

The first collection of programs you need in order to escape non-free software is an operating system. With an operating system, you can do a lot of things with your computer. Without an operating system, even if you have a lot of applications, you cannot do anything — you cannot run them without an operating system. In 1983 all operating systems were proprietary. That meant that the first step you had to take in using a computer was to give up your freedom: they required users to sign a contract, a promise not to share, just to get an executable version that you couldn’t look at or understand. In order to use your computer you had to sign something saying you would betray your community.

Thus, I needed to create a free operating system. It happened that operating system development was my field, so I was technically suited for the task. It was also the first job that had to be done.

The operating system we created was compatible with Unix, and was called GNU. GNU stands for “GNU is Not Unix”, and the most important thing about GNU is that it is not Unix. Unix is a non-free operating system, and you are not allowed to make a free version of Unix. We developed a free system that is like Unix, but not Unix. We wrote all the parts of it from scratch.

In 1983, there were hundreds of components to the Unix operating system. We began the long process of replacing them one by one. Some of the components took a few days, others took a year or several.

By 1992, we had all of the essential components except one: the kernel. The kernel is one of the major essential components of the system. In GNU, we began developing a kernel in 1990. I chose the initial design based on a belief that it would be a quick design to implement. My choice backfired and it took much longer than I’d hoped. In 1992, the Linux kernel was liberated. It had been released in 1991, but on a non-free license. In 1992 the developer changed the license for the kernel, making it free. That meant we had a free operating system, which I call “GNU/Linux’ or “GNU plus Linux’.

However, when this combination was made, the users got confused, and began to call the whole thing “Linux’. That is not very nice.

First of all, it isn’t nice because there are thousands of people involved in the GNU project who deserve a share of the credit. We started the project, and did the biggest part of the work, so we deserve to get equal mention. (Some people believe that the kernel alone is more important than the rest of the operating system. This belief appears to result from an attempt to construct a justification for the “Linux” misnomer.)

But there is more at stake than just credit: the GNU Project was a campaign for freedom, and Linux was not. The developer of Linux had other motives, motives that were more personal. That does not diminish the value of his contribution. His motives were not bad. He developed the system in order to amuse himself and learn. Amusing oneself is good — programming is great fun. Wanting to learn is also good. But Linux was not designed with the goal of liberating cyberspace, and the motives for Linux would not have given us the whole GNU/Linux system.

Today tens of millions of users are using an operating system that was developed so they could have freedom — but they don’t know this, because they think the system is Linux and that it was developed by a student “just for fun’.

JP: So the GNU+Linux system is not an accident.

RMS: You cannot rely on accidents to defend freedom. Accidents can sometimes help, but you need people who are aware and determined to do this. Because it was not designed specifically for freedom, it is no coincidence that the first license to Linux was non-free. In fact I don’t know why he changed it.

JP: Does the difference between the GNU project and Linux relate to the difference between “free software’ and “open source’?

RMS: As GNU+Linux came to be used by thousands, and then hundreds of thousands, and then millions, they started to talk to each other: Look at how powerful, reliable, convenient, cheap, and fun this system is. Most people talking about it, though, never mentioned that it was about freedom. They never thought about it that way. And so our work spread to more people than our ideas did.

Linus Torvalds, the developer of Linux, never agreed with our ideas. He was not a proponent of the ethical aspects of our ideas or a critic of the antisocial nature of non-free software. He just claimed that our software was technically superior to particular competitors.

That claim happened to be true: in the 1990s, someone did a controlled experiment to measure the reliability of software, feeding random input sequences into different programs (Unix systems and GNU systems), and found GNU to be the most reliable. He repeated the tests years later, and GNU was still the most reliable.

The ideas of Torvalds led by 1996 to a division in the community on goals. One group was for freedom, the other for powerful and reliable software. There were regular public arguments. In 1998 the other camp chose the term “open source’ to describe their position. “Open source’ is not a movement, in my view. It is, perhaps, a collection of ideas, or a campaign.

JP: Since we will be talking about this more, perhaps now is a good time to define “movement’.

RMS: I don’t have a definition ready, I’ll have to think of one. Let us define it as a collection of people working to promote an ideal. Or maybe, an ideal, together with an activity to promote it.

JP: So, “open source’ is missing the ideal part?

RMS: They recommend a development methodology and claim that the model will produce superior software. If so, to us, it’s a bonus. Freedom often allows one to achieve convenience. I appreciate having more powerful software, and if freedom helps that, good. But for us in the free software movement that is secondary.

JP: And in fact one should be willing to sacrifice some power and convenience of the software for freedom.

RMS: Absolutely.

The Politics of Free Software

JP: Many of ZNet’s readers see themselves as part of some movement — anti-poverty, or anti-war, or for some other form of social change. Can you say something about why such folks ought to pay attention and relate to the free software movement?

RMS: If you are against the globalization of business power, you should be for free software.

JP: — But it isn’t the global aspect of business power, is it? If it were local business power, that wouldn’t be acceptable?

RMS: — People who say they are against globalization are really against the globalization of business power. They are not actually against globalization as such, because there are other kinds of globalization, the globalization of cooperation and sharing knowledge, which they are not against. Free software replaces business power with cooperation and the sharing of knowledge.

Globalizing a bad thing makes it worse. Business power is bad, so globalizing it is worse. But globalizing a good thing is usually good. Cooperation and sharing of knowledge are good, and when they happen globally, they are even better.

The kind of globalization there are demonstrations against is the globalization of business power. And free software is a part of that movement. It is the expression of the opposition to domination of software users by software developers.

JP: How would you respond to those who suggest that free software activists lack a sense of proportion? Given the vast scale and suffering of war, invasions, occupations, poverty, doesn’t the freedom to use computers pale to insignificance?

RMS: Maybe our views have been misrepresented. It is impossible for one person to be involved in all issues. It shouldn’t be surprising that a programmer would be involved where his skills and talents are most effective.

If I thought free software was the only or most important issue, I can see how people might think that that lacks proportion. But I do not think it is the only or most important issue. I just believe this is where I can do the most good.

A problem arises when people who might be sympathetic to our ethical position, but focus on other issues, fall into the habit of helping to pressure others into using non-free software. It falls to me to tell them they are doing so, that they with their own actions are giving certain large companies more power. When you send someone a “.doc’ file, a “Word’ file, or an audio or video file in RealPlayer or Quicktime format, you are actually pressuring someone to give up their freedom. Perhaps because I constantly have to bring this up, people believe I don’t have a sense of proportion.

Sometimes people take for granted that I will participate in those activities with them. Thus, when I webcast a speech, I have to ask which format it is going to be webcast in. I am not going to go along with a webcast of my speech about freedom that you have to give up your freedom in order to hear or watch. Once I put my coat over a camera before giving my speech, when I learned it was webcasting in RealPlayer format.

JP: Gandhi, in his “Hind Swaraj’, which was originally a series of newspaper articles, asked himself and answered a similar question. He was talking about how India had to get rid not only of British control, but of all of the bad attributes of “western civilization’. He asked himself: “How can one argue against western civilization using a printing press and writing in English’? His answer was that sometimes you have to use poison to kill poison.

RMS: But knowing English doesn’t subjugate — you didn’t have to give up any freedom in India to know English. And I imagine that in India, with so many different languages, there was no better language he could use to communicate.

JP: When you say there was no better language than English, are you suggesting that it becomes an ethical issue when there is an alternative, but not before?

RMS: It becomes an ethical issue when there is a restriction. The use of English might be good or bad for India, but knowing it doesn’t take away your freedom. India regained independence but didn’t get rid of English; in fact, I learned recently that there are people in India today whose first language is English and don’t speak other languages.

By contrast, to put RealPlayer on your computer, you actually have to give up some of your freedom.

JP: Should ZNet use free software?

RMS: The alternative is herding people into giving up their freedom, which is acting contrary to the spirit and purpose of Z.

Most people have not recognized that there is an ethical choice involved in the use of software, because most people have only seen proprietary software and have not begun to consider alternative social arrangements. Z Mag is accustomed to looking at the justice of social arrangements, and could help others consider the social arrangements about software.

JP: But is there still an ethical issue if there is no alternative? If, say, there is no free software way of doing a particular job, for ZNet for example?

RMS: One can live without doing those jobs.

JP: What criteria? How can one decide such a thing?

RMS: If you absolutely must do a particular job then you should contribute to the creation of a free replacement. If you are not a programmer, you can still find a way to contribute–such as by donating money so others can develop it.

JP: So can you see no circumstances in which using non-free software would be the lesser of evils?

RMS: There are some special circumstances. To develop GNU, I used Unix. But first, I thought about whether it would be ethical to do that.

I concluded it was legitimate to use Unix to develop GNU, because GNU’s purpose was to help everyone else stop using Unix sooner. We weren’t merely using Unix to do some worthwhile job, we were using it to end the specific evil that we were participating in.

JP: So for ZNet, you wouldn’t advocate something that involved losing readers, scaling back operations ?

RMS: You wouldn’t have to.

There is a University in Brazil that decided to switch entirely to free software, but they could not find free software to do certain necessary jobs, so they hired programmers to develop the free software. (This cost a part of the money they saved on license fees.) ZNet could do that, too. If you participate in development of the free replacement for a program, then you can excuse temporarily continuing to run it.

In the case of ZNet, I doubt you would need any free software that doesn’t exist. Web sites and magazines already run with free software exclusively. You could probably switch very easily.

Capitalism and Strategy

JP: I have read other interviews with you in which you said you are not anti-capitalist. I think a definition of capitalism might help here.

RMS: Capitalism is organizing society mainly around business that people are free to do within certain rules.

JP: Business?

RMS: I don’t have a definition of business ready. I think we know what business means.

JP: — But “anti-capitalists’ use a different definition. They see capitalism as markets, private property, and, fundamentally, class hierarchy and class division. Do you see class as fundamental to capitalism?

RMS: No. We have had a lot of social mobility, class mobility, in the United States. Fixed classes–which I do not like–are not a necessary aspect of capitalism.

However, I don’t believe that you can use social mobility as an excuse for poverty. If someone who is very poor has a 5% chance of getting rich, that does not justify denying that person food, shelter, clothing, medical care, or education. I believe in the welfare state.

JP: But you are not for equality of outcomes?

RMS: No, I’m not for equality of outcomes. I want to prevent horrible outcomes. But aside from keeping people safe from excruciating outcomes, I believe some inequality is unavoidable.

JP: Inequality based on how much effort people put forth?

RMS: Yes, but also luck.

JP: You don’t want society to reward luck, though.

RMS: Luck is just another word for chance. It is unavoidable that chance has an effect on your life. But poverty is avoidable. It is horrible for people to suffer hunger, death for lack of medical care, to work 12 hours a day just to survive. (Well, I work 12 hours a day, but that’s unpaid activism, not a job — so it’s ok.)

JP: You get the chance to exercise your talents, which is rewarding. Do you think society should reward people for their innate talents?

RMS: Not directly, but people can use their talents to do things. I don’t have a problem with someone using their talents to become successful, I just don’t think the highest calling is success. Things like freedom and the expansion of knowledge are beyond success, beyond the personal. Personal success is not wrong, but it is limited in importance, and once you have enough of it it is a shame to keep striving for that, instead of for truth, beauty, or justice.

I’m a Liberal, in US terms (not Canadian terms). I’m against fascism.

JP: A definition would help here too.

RMS: Fascism is a system of government that sucks up to business and has no respect for human rights. So the Bush regime is an example, but there are lots of others. In fact, it seems we are moving towards more fascism globally.

JP: It is interesting that you used the term “escape’ at the beginning of the interview. Most people who think about “movements’ think in terms of building an opposition, changing public opinion, and forcing concessions from the powerful.

RMS: What we are doing is direct action. I did not think I could get anywhere convincing the software companies to make free software if I did political activities, and in any case I did not have any talent or skills for it. So I just started writing software. I said, if those companies won’t respect our freedom, we’ll develop our own software that does.

JP: But if we are talking about governments and fascism, what do you do when they simply make your software illegal?

RMS: Well, then you are shafted. That is what has happened. Certain kinds of free software are illegal.

JP: What is an example?

RMS: Software to play DVDs. There is a program called DECSS still circulating underground. But not only has the US outlawed it, but the US is pressuring other countries to adopt the same censorship. Canada was considering it, I’m not sure how the case turned out. The European Union adopted a directive and now countries are implementing it with laws that are actually harsher than the directive.

JP: How do you deal with that?

RMS: We are trying to oppose it in the countries that have not passed it and, eventually, we hope to get it abolished and liberate the countries that have. We cannot do that by direct action, but developing the software can still be done underground. I think that, in the US, developing it and not distributing it is not illegal.

Free Software Movement Issues

JP: Let’s conclude with some of the other issues the free software movement is dealing with.

RMS: The main issues are hardware with secret specifications, software patents, and treacherous computing.

On hardware with secret specifications: it is hard to write free software for hardware whose specifications are secret. In the 1970s the computer company would hand you a manual with information about every level of interface, from the electrical signals to the software, so you could properly use their products. But for the past 10-15 years, there has been hardware whose specs are secret. Proprietary software developers can get the specs if they sign a non-disclosure agreement; the public cannot.

So we are forced to experiment and reverse-engineer, which takes time, or pressure the companies, which sometimes works. The worst example is in 3-D graphics, in which most chip specs are secret. One company has published its specs, and drivers have been written for another without help. But the company “NVidious’ (that’s what I call it) has not been co-operative, and I think people should not buy computers with its chips.

An illustration of software patents is excerpted from my op-ed from the UK Guardian:

A novel and a modern complex programme have certain points in common: each is large and implements many ideas. Suppose patent law had been applied to novels in the 1800s; suppose states such as France had permitted the patenting of literary ideas. How would this have affected Hugo’s writing? How would the effects of literary patents compare with the effects of literary copyright?

Consider the novel Les Misérables, written by Hugo. Because he wrote it, the copyright belonged only to him. He did not have to fear that some stranger could sue him for copyright infringement and win. That was impossible, because copyright covers only the details of a work of authorship, and only restricts copying. Hugo had not copied Les Misérables, so he was not in danger.

Patents work differently. They cover ideas - each patent is a monopoly on practising some idea, which is described in the patent itself.

Here’s one example of a hypothetical literary patent:

Claim 1: a communication process that represents, in the mind of a reader, the concept of a character who has been in jail for a long time and becomes bitter towards society and humankind.

Claim 2: a communication process according to claim 1, wherein said character subsequently finds moral redemption through the kindness of another.

Claim 3: a communication process according to claims 1 and 2, wherein said character changes his name during the story.

If such a patent had existed in 1862 when Les Misérables was published, the novel would have infringed all three claims - all these things happened to Jean Valjean in the novel. Hugo could have been sued, and would have lost. The novel could have been prohibited - in effect, censored - by the patent holder.

Now consider this hypothetical literary patent:

Claim 1: a communication process that represents in the mind of a reader the concept of a character who has been in jail for a long time and subsequently changes his name.

Les Misérables would have infringed that patent too, because this description too fits the life story of Jean Valjean. And here’s another hypothetical patent:

Claim 1: a communication process that represents in the mind of a reader the concept of a character who finds moral redemption and then changes his name.

Jean Valjean would have infringed this patent too.

These three patents would all cover the story of one character in a novel. They overlap, but they do not precisely duplicate each other, so they could all be valid simultaneously; all three patent holders could have sued Victor Hugo. Any one of them could have prohibited publication of Les Misérables.

Other aspects of Les Misérables could also have run afoul of patents. For instance, there could have been a patent on a fictionalized portrayal of the Battle of Waterloo, or a patent on using Parisian slang in fiction. Two more lawsuits. In fact, there is no limit to the number of different patents that might have been applicable for suing the author of a work such as Les Misérables. All the patent holders would say they deserved a reward for the literary progress that their patented ideas represent, but these obstacles would not promote progress in literature, they would only obstruct it.

This analogy can help non-programmers see what software patents do. Software patents cover features, such as defining abbreviations in a word processor, or natural order recalculation in a spreadsheet. Patents cover algorithms that programs need to use. Patents cover aspects of file formats, such as Microsoft’s new formats for Word files. MPEG 2 video format is covered by 39 different US patents.

Just as one novel could infringe many different literary patents at once, one program can infringe many different patents at once. It is so much work to identify all the patents infringed by a large program that only one such study has been done. A 2004 study of Linux, the kernel of the GNU/Linux operating system, found it infringed 283 different US software patents. That is to say, each of these 283 different patents covers some computational process found somewhere in the thousands of pages of source code of Linux.

That’s why software patents act like landmines for software developers. And for software users, since the users can be sued too.

Treacherous computing is a plan to change the design of future PCs so that they will obey software developers instead of you. From the purpetrators’ point of view, it is “trusted”, so they call it “trusted computing”; from the user’s point of view, it is treacherous. Which name you call it expresses whose side you’re on. The new XBox is a preview–it is designed to prevent the user from installing any software without getting Microsoft’s authorization. Here’s more explanation from my essay, ‘Can you trust your computer’:

www.gnu.org/philosop…

The technical idea underlying treacherous computing is that the computer includes a digital encryption and signature device, and the keys are kept secret from you. Proprietary programs will use this device to control which other programs you can run, which documents or data you can access, and what programs you can pass them to. These programs will continually download new authorization rules through the Internet, and impose those rules automatically on your work. If you don’t allow your computer to obtain the new rules periodically from the Internet, some capabilities will automatically cease to function.

Programs that use treacherous computing will continually download new authorization rules through the Internet, and impose those rules automatically on your work. If Microsoft, or the US government, does not like what you said in a document you wrote, they could post new instructions telling all computers to refuse to let anyone read that document. Each computer would obey when it downloads the new instructions. Your writing would be subject to 1984-style retroactive erasure. You might be unable to read it yourself.

Treacherous computing puts the existence of free operating systems and free applications at risk, because you may not be able to run them at all. Some versions of treacherous computing would require the operating system to be specifically authorized by a particular company. Free operating systems could not be installed. Some versions of treacherous computing would require every program to be specifically authorized by the operating system developer. You could not run free applications on such a system. If you did figure out how, and told someone, that could be a crime.

* Photo Source: www.gerry.odonoghue….

Fair trade is a response to problems experienced with the advance of global free market capitalism—particularly to the instability of international commodity markets and to human and environmental problems of monocultural production for export. The established body to certify fair trade products, Fair Trade Labeling Organizations International (FLO), seeks to regulate trade in certain commodities, such as coffee and bananas, by setting minimum prices and promoting means to strengthen producer communities. By subordinating the market to the needs of communities, fair trade measures suggest the relevance of the theoretical work of Karl Polanyi.

My paper will rely on Polanyi’s key “conceptual tool,” on what he calls “the distinction between the embedded and the disembedded condition of the economy in relation to society” (1957: 81). The human “economy is, as a rule, submerged in … social relations” (Polanyi 1957: 65). However, in a process of disembedding, “an ‘economic sphere’” emerges and becomes “sharply delimited from other institutions of society” in such a way that they become “dependent” on the economy (1947: 63). Whereas an embedded economy is integrated with social life, a disembedded economy makes society something separate. He further draws attention to a “double movement”: the process of the disembedding of the economy from society meets with efforts to subordinate the economy to the needs of society through an at least partial re-embedding.

By using Polanyi in this paper, I follow the work of others, who have suggested the relevance of a Polanyian framework to understand current neoliberal trends in the global economy as an intensified process of disembedding. Although Polanyi believed that he had seen an end to the “self-regulating market” in the 1930s, it has been suggested that neoliberal developments in global finance involve a revitalization of the liberal market ideal (Helleiner; Benería; Burawoy). Under Polanyi’s influence, moreover, Laura T. Raynolds (2000) has explicitly described fair trade as part of a process of “re-embedding” through devices such as regulating prices, providing social premiums, and making direct links between producers and distributors. Fair trade might thus be seen as part of a “countermovement” to subordinate economic relations to social needs and processes.

Polanyi contrasted “the principle of economic liberalism” with “the principle of the social protection” (1944: 138), a principle that involves what Raynolds calls a process of re-embedding. The paper will argue that fair trade opposes the liberal free market rationale and presents an alternative that tends to re-embed the economy in social relations. Viewed in this way, fair trade can be considered part of a larger countermovement—evident in contemporary struggles for global justice that challenge the self-regulating market promoted by economic liberalism and propose alternative, more equitable, models of economic life, based on social protection.

Fair trade poses a challenge to the liberal view that free trade is fair by proposing a form of economic organization that follows an alternative logic in prioritizing cooperation and the well being of communities. Yet, fair trade’s ability to challenge the logic of unrestricted capitalism upheld by neoliberalism depends, at least in part, on whether the principles and standards of fair trade are actually being met in practice. I will draw on the case of the Windward Islands and the WTO dispute to demonstrate tendencies of disembedding, and will then turn to a discussion of the case of fair trade bananas in St. Vincent in order to demonstrate that, despite its problems, the fair trade system there has often substantially reached its goals, thereby contributing to tendencies toward re-embedding among producer communities.

Although clearly contributing to the well being of communities, fair trade is no doubt of limited significance if considered simply on its own. Nonetheless, through its promotion of an alternative economic logic, fair trade converges with much of the larger movement for global justice. Indeed, fair trade producers often view themselves as part of this movement and participate directly in its struggles. This paper first turns to an examination, at a conceptual level, of the economic logic of fair trade in relation to the movement for global justice. Attention then turns to an extended examination of fair trade practices, particularly in regard to banana production in the Windward Islands. Focusing especially on the island of St. Vincent, the paper sketches the historical context from which fair trade banana production arose, then examines fair trade practices on the island, and finally concludes with an analysis of the significance of the fair trade system both for the economy of the island and for the larger pattern of resistance to neoliberal globalization.

1. Fair Trade and Global Justice

The fair trade system resists the logic of unrestricted capitalism by offering a model of trade that subordinates economic laws of supply and demand to minimum prices while also advancing social and ecological standards that prioritize the needs of producer communities. Fair trade can thus be related to other initiatives that seek to regulate, restrict, or bypass the free market. Such efforts in the global justice or anti-globalization movement can be considered under Polanyi’s framework of the “double movement”.

Several contemporary authors have used a Polanyian interpretation to consider trends toward neoliberal globalization since the 1970s, that is, the deregulation of national markets for the freer movement of capital in an integrated global market. Such an interpretation would first point to the creation of the neoliberal market, and second, to the countermovement that emerges to reduce the social suffering produced under the free market. Helleiner, for instance, suggests some emerging “countermovements,” including transnational initiatives for a Tobin Tax as well as more local initiatives for alternative local currencies (157-159). Fair trade, another such initiative, challenges some key claims of neoliberalism, particularly the revival of the Smithian ideal of the liberal self-regulating market.

Polanyi has also challenged this ideal, arguing that before the early 19th century rise of economic liberalism in Britain the economy was “submerged” in social relations. However, there came a dramatic change when the relationship was reversed and society “was submerged in the economic system” (1947: 65). The economy’s disembedding, the cause of much human suffering, was resisted by a “collectivist” countermovement to re-embed the economy through measures of social protection. These processes of disembedding and re-embedding are what Polanyi calls a “double movement.”

Fair trade standards exhibit a tendency toward such re-embedding. The means include minimum prices and separate social premiums for development projects chosen by communities, cooperatives with democratic organization, the elimination of middlemen through direct and long-term trading relationships, observance of labour regulations set by the International Labor Organization, and methods of production attuned to health and environmental issues (Nicholls and Opal 6-7, 48; Waridel 65; Raynolds 2000: 300; FLO). Although fair trade is most commonly associated with minimum prices, the system also prioritizes the subsistence of small-scale producer communities by channeling funds, in the form of a “social premium,” to strengthen community infrastructures and basic services. The fair trade system also promotes adherence to social and ecological standards. Overall, the tendency to re-embed the economic into the social involves centering commodity production around the primary goal of providing for the well-being of producer communities. To consider the relevance of these theoretical considerations in a practical context, let us now turn to the case of fair trade banana production in the Windward Islands, beginning with attention to the historical context.

2. Historical Context of the Banana Industry in the Windward Islands

Banana production involves a history based in colonialism and the dominance of a few companies that control the majority of the banana trade. The Caribbean started producing bananas for export in the early 20th century following a decline of the sugar industries. Jamaica was the first country in the Caribbean to export bananas to the United Kingdom, followed by the Windward Island countries of Dominica, St. Lucia, St. Vincent and Grenada. St. Vincent and St. Lucia were the last of the Windward Islands to gain formal independence, which came in 1979. Indeed, the historical emergence of bananas in the Caribbean and the decline of its sugar production developed out of a colonial system of agricultural production that had depended on large-scale monocultural production and slave labour.

This colonial legacy involves both Britain’s historical commitment to provide preferential market access to its colonies and its postcolonial commitment, as part of the larger European Community, to provide tariff-free quotas to former colonies in the African Caribbean Pacific (ACP) region. Britain and the European Union’s “Banana Regimes” have taken a regulated-market approach, placing tariffs and quotas on non-ACP or “dollar bananas” (bananas grown in Latin America for US owned corporations). In contrast, the United States has taken a more liberal free-trade approach to bananas, imposing no tariffs or quotas and in fact challenging such control of banana imports by the EU on the grounds that it contradicts the rules of free trade as promulgated by the WTO and the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT).

The colonial and postcolonial systems of preferential access themselves exhibit characteristics of what Polanyi calls an “embedded” economy. Preferential access takes account of the fact that banana production on small Caribbean farms is several times more expensive than production on large Latin American banana plantations. Caribbean banana farmers have never been in a position to compete with Latin American exports, and preferential market access takes account of the specific needs of the Caribbean communities. As we will see, the regulated market system of Windward Island banana exports to the UK was challenged in the 1990s and since then has undergone a process of liberalization, or disembedding in Polanyi’s terms. The Windward Islands have resisted such liberalization, however, in a way that resembles what Polanyi called a “countermovement” in the case of Britain.

Britain introduced mechanisms to encourage the export of bananas from Jamaica in the early 1900s and later, following WWII, from the Windward Islands. In the search for alternatives to sugar production, bananas became a viable option for small-scale Caribbean farmers because bananas could be produced and harvested on a year-round basis. During the early 20th century the Windward Islands were not serious competitors with Jamaican bananas; however, following the end of WWII the small Islands began producing significant quantities of bananas for export, cutting into the Jamaican share of the UK banana market and taking part in the regulated system of preferential access for colonies. Prior to WWII the Windward Islands had supplied a small amount of bananas for export to Canada. In 1934 Dominica, St. Lucia, and Grenada signed 5-year contracts with the Canada Banana Company [owned by the United Fruit Company (UFCO)] to supply bananas for export to Montreal. St. Vincent signed a 5-year contract the following year. Large-scale banana exports from the Windward Islands, however, ended in 1942 due to war-time shipping problems.

Following WWII the Caribbean banana industry significantly changed with Britain importing reduced quantities of Jamaican bananas while also importing bananas from the Windward Islands. In conjunction with private enterprise, the British government played a large role in the growth of Windward Islands banana industries in the 1950s. For instance, the UK offered a guaranteed market to its colonies by limiting banana imports from Latin America to a 4000 ton annual quota (Meyers 20). Farmers could also get interest-free loans to purchase uncultivated land for clearing and growing bananas. According to Peter Clegg, the UK government provided significant assistance toward the development of banana industries in the Windward Islands, “in the forms of grants and loans for items such as the importation of banana suckers, the creation of nurseries, disease control, fertilizers, and for the training of agricultural officers in methods of banana cultivation” (8). In 1956 the UK tripled its import tariff on non-Commonwealth bananas, thus strengthening the protected market for Commonwealth bananas and encouraging the growth of the industries. Total exports from the Windward Islands more than quadrupled in five years, increasing from 19,700 tons in 1954 to 88,500 in 1959.

The postcolonial role of the UK and the larger European Community in providing a regulated market for bananas has developed out of this earlier commitment to assist the Caribbean colonies to increase their bananas exports. The system of preferential access, established in the early 20th century, lasted for most of that century, continuing after formal independence in the Caribbean, even after the advent of the European Community’s Banana Protocol under the first Lomé Agreement (1975). The system of preferential access also took account of the greater cost of production in the Caribbean compared to Latin America. In the Windward Islands bananas are produced on small family farms that average less than one hectare (2.4 acres) and are located on hilly terrain under threat of droughts and hurricanes. Shipping costs are also particularly high since ships have to stop at multiple ports. In comparison, large Latin American farms of several tens or hundreds of hectors occupy flat lands, have richer soil, that gives higher yields, and benefit from economies of scale. In a regime of open, unregulated competition with Latin American banana producers, the Windward Islands would simply have no chance of maintaining an adequate market share.

The British and European systems of preferential access for ACP bananas demonstrate characteristics of an embedded economy, at least to the extent that the system promotes the maintenance of producer communities through direct intervention into economic relationships. Indeed, the development of banana production in the Windward Islands has been closely linked with building infrastructure and “raising the quality of life in the islands” (Meyers 21). Since the banana industries developed out of histories of slavery and colonialism, it is evident that the economic system was not submerged in social relations and was not devoted to the needs of producers. Although the banana industries were promoted by Britain to serve its own interests, the tradition of preferential access for ACP producers clearly runs counter to the logic of the liberal free market.

A clash between the regulated and free trade systems developed mainly in the 1990s with the establishment of the European Single Market and the WTO. The system of preferential access was challenged by a process of liberalization in the 1990s that sought to fully disembed the economy, changing it into a form that was unresponsive to the needs of producer communities. This process of liberalization has significantly undermined the livelihoods of small-scale Caribbean producers in a way that leads us to question the rules of free trade.

3. The Liberalization of the Banana Trade

The decade-long banana trade dispute between the US and the EU has drastically altered a system of preferential access and has led to a significant reduction in banana production in the Windward Islands, particularly harming small-scale producers. The Windward Islands make up about 1% of world trade, but more than half of the people on the islands depend on bananas for their livelihood. More than 70% of the population in St. Vincent alone relied on income from the banana industry in 1998 (Paggi and Spreen 11; Sheller 12). Comparatively, the two largest banana companies, each holding over 25% of the world market, are the US-based Dole Foods Company and Chiquita Brands International (Banana Link).

The process of liberalizing the UK banana market was encouraged by the development of the Single European Market in 1992, which involved the formation of an EU Banana Regime that would exist within a more liberal free trade system but still maintain past commitments of preferential access for former colonies. The new Banana Regime was based on a regulated system of quotas, tariffs and import licences. The 12 “traditional” ACP producer countries (including the Windward Islands) were given tariff-free entry for their bananas up to a country-specific quota based on best annual exports prior to 1992. However, US challenges and the establishment of the WTO and its Dispute Settlement Process in 1994 would threaten the EU Banana Regime, and would start a rapid process of liberalizing banana markets.

A WTO dispute, initiated in 1995, mainly by the US, involved three major issues of conflict over the fairness of the EU Banana Regime: tariffs, quotas, and import licenses (Josling 178-182). The WTO panel submitted its report in May 1997, largely supporting the complaint. The WTO decision was, however, far from the end of the dispute. The EU proposed a new Banana Regime but it was rejected by the US and later the WTO panel, which authorized the US to introduce import duties on certain EU goods. In 2001 the EU dramatically altered its Banana Regime in order to finally reach an agreement with the US.

The new EU Banana Regime has significantly altered the historical pattern of regulated preferential access for former colonies, establishing a more liberalized system—one with fewer trade regulations—that has negatively affected small-scale Caribbean banana producers. Although these producers clearly had the most to lose throughout the WTO dispute, they were not included in the dispute process (Josling 178; Godfrey). The outcome of the WTO dispute has reinforced the free trade ideal of the “self regulating market” as the most efficient—and therefore best—system of trade. In practice, the result of trade liberalization has been to further “dis-embed” the economic system, making it increasingly unresponsive to the needs of producer communities.

The new regime has contributed to a mass withdrawal of Windward Islands farmers from banana production because they cannot afford to produce bananas without a regulated market granting them preferential access. Indeed, since 1992 total annual banana exports from the Windward Islands have dropped precipitously from 274,539 tonnes to 61,267 in 2006 (WIBDECO). This 2006 Windward Islands total is less than the amount St. Vincent alone exported in 1992. Banana exports from St. Vincent have fallen from 77,361 tonnes in 1992 to only 15,761 tonnes in 2006 (WIBDECO).

Such dramatic changes to the banana industries of the Windward Islands are significant threats to the national economies of these islands, which are heavily dependent on agricultural exports and tourism as their main sources of GDP. Of course, such changes are also most dramatically felt by the thousands of farmers who depend on bananas as their primary source of income. The total number of banana growers in the Windward Islands has fallen from about 24,000 in the 1990s to about 5000 in 2005 (Fair Trade Manager, WINFA). Farmers have few alternatives to banana production, and those who have left have mainly moved into the city, found employment in the tourist industry, emigrated from their country, become unemployed, or turned to producing other crops, particularly to illegal marijuana (Meyers 150, Godfrey 7). Indeed, the shift to producing marijuana has become common in St. Vincent, where it is now “the mainstay for a significant part of the population” (Myers 151) bringing about thirty times more profits than bananas (Godfrey 7).

Confronted by trade liberalization since the early 1990s, farmers in the Windward Islands have not been passive victims of the change, but instead have participated in large-scale protests and efforts to establish new alternative markets for their bananas. The case of the Windward Islands demonstrates, as we will see, a local movement that places itself within the context of the larger countermovement. The alternative fair trade market for bananas has been introduced in the Windward Islands as a way to allow some farmers to continue producing bananas and has, moreover, tended to re-embed the economy so as to directly serve the needs of producer communities.

4. Fair Trade Bananas in St. Vincent

We will now turn to a discussion of fair trade bananas in St. Vincent, which is based on fieldwork I conducted in St. Vincent in November 2006, consisting of interviews with 15 participants in fair trade activities. The purpose of this research was to gain an understanding of how fair trade works in practice and to see whether the people involved believe that fair trade is helping to better sustain communities of banana producers. As we will see, despite limitations with the system, fair trade in St. Vincent appears to have become crucial for producers. Fair trade representatives in St. Vincent estimate that fair trade bananas account for 80% of the export market. Fair trade has thus helped respond to the effects of the new liberalized Banana Regime, offering an alternative market for those banana producers who remain.

I visited St. Vincent for nine days and spoke with six representatives of the organizations that coordinate fair trade in St. Vincent and with nine fair trade farmers (five men and four women). Several days were spent in Kingstown, the capital of St. Vincent, interviewing representatives from the Fair Trade Labeling Organizations International (FLO), the Windward Islands National Farmers’ Association (WINFA), the St. Vincent Banana Growers Association (SVBGA), and the Windward Island Banana Development and Exporting Company (WIBDECO). My interviews with these representatives helped give me a picture of how the fair trade system operates in St. Vincent and who the key players are.

International fair trade standards are developed by FLO, which was first established in 1997 and is an association of 21 national labeling initiatives such as Transfair USA, Transfair Canada and the Fairtrade Foundation (UK), which are responsible for certifying licensees to deal in fair trade products. FLO is an umbrella body for the national initiatives and is made up of two organizations: FLO International e.v., the international non-profit association that develops fair trade standards, and FLO-Cert GMBH, a company established in 2003. FLO-Cert is the International Certification Body for fair trade producers and traders and was established by FLO in order to act in compliance with the ISO Standards for Certification Bodies (ISO 65). Fair trade standards are designed to organize the trading system in a way that provides for the needs of producer communities. Such communities of small-scale producers must be part of an organization that acts through democratic procedures to promote the social and economic development of its members, adheres to the International Labour Organization’s standards, and administers the use of a social premium based on community development projects decided upon by community members.

The organizational structure of fair trade in St. Vincent and the Windward Islands starts, at the international level, with FLO International, which has certified WINFA as the fair producer group for the Windward Islands (see Figure 1). WINFA is a non-governmental organization made up of farmers that was formed in 1982 as a group to “represent, protect and promote the interests of thousands of farmers in the Windward Islands” (WINFA pamphlet). WINFA has fought against the WTO changes to the EU Banana Regime and against UK initiatives to sign a free trade agreement with Caribbean countries. WINFA approached FLO in the late 1990s in order to arrange the development of fair trade as way to provide an alternative market for Windward Islands bananas, and by July 2000 had facilitated the first shipments of fair trade bananas.

Figure 1: Fair Trade Structure in Windward Islands

All banana exports from the Windward Islands are shipped by WIBDECO, incorporated as a private company in 1994 with shares held by all the governments and banana growers’ associations of the four islands. WIBDECO is responsible for managing the marketing, buying and transportation of Windward bananas and the payment of fair trade FOB prices to the SVBGA, which in turn, is responsible for paying farmers the fair trade farmgate price and for other operational and technical advice and monitoring. The social premium of $1 US/18.14 kg box is paid directly by WIBDECO to the National Fair Trade Committees of each of the islands.

Fair trade banana farmers on each of the islands are divided into several fair trade groups, which meet each month in schools, community centers, churches, homes, etc. to discuss the challenges that they are facing as well as the use of the social premium. In St. Vincent there are 17 groups of fair trade farmers with approximately 25 to 100 registered fair trade members per group. Each group has its own set of organizational officers, consisting of a chair, a treasurer, a secretary and a national committee representative, who are elected by the group each year. With their national representatives, the fair trade groups also participate at the National Committee level. The National Committee, with officials elected as in the smaller groups, meets at least once a month to develop a work plan for the use of the social premium. The committee and group members attend an annual General Assembly, which meets to vote on the National Committee’s work plan and to hear a report about the social projects undertaken in the previous year.

In addition to speaking to representatives of the groups and organizations that play significant roles the operation of fair trade banana production, I was able to speak with farmers at the main loading depot in Kingstown, on several farms in Georgetown, and at the Langley Park depot. I spoke with the farmers rather informally, asking them questions about how long they had produced bananas, what changes they had experienced over the years, what a typical day was like, what fair trade has meant for them, and whether fair trade had, overall, made things better or worse.

My discussions with the farmers and with representatives led me to a clear conclusion that those involved in banana production in St. Vincent consider fair trade necessary for maintaining exports to the UK. All participants pointed to several advantages of fair trade to themselves, their families, and their communities. Such advantages—in the form of higher prices, financial security, community development projects and better health standards—all provide for the needs of banana producing communities and constitute ways, moreover, in which fair trade is contributing toward tendencies to re-embed economic life in social relationships. The advantages of fair trade production in the case of St. Vincent are similar to benefits pointed to in other case studies conducted on fair trade bananas and coffee. Nonetheless, fair trade in practice also has several notable limitations, evident in St. Vincent as well as other cases.

Out of the nine farmers that I interviewed most of them said that their families had been producing bananas for two or three generations. One farmer had recently taken over her mother’s farm and had been producing bananas herself for only five years. Two of the farmers had been producing for over 10 years, five for over 20 years, and one for over 35 years. The farmers all cultivated small plots of land of about 2-5 acres, depended on banana production as a main or sole source of income, and had long family histories in the production of bananas. All of the farmers described problems involving increased pressures in banana production throughout the 1990s and the decline in prices in that period. Although some of the farmers were not satisfied with the price they get now as fair trade farmers, most emphasized that the fair trade pricing system represents an improvement. One farmer described her dependence on bananas by saying that “As a farmer and as a woman I have no other alternative. I have to keep going. Everything depends on it”.

Fair trade guarantees a minimum farmgate price of $ 7.60 US/18.14 kg box, a country-specific price that applies to all the Windward Islands and that is intended to provide price stability for farmers when market prices are low. The fair trade minimum price is determined by FLO in consultation with producer organizations, such as WINFA. This guaranteed price is called a minimum because if market prices are higher or if importers can pay higher prices, then farmers are paid the higher price. The social premium of $1 US/box, which is entirely separate from the minimum price, is used to fund community projects. Comparatively, the fair trade prices paid to the farmers—varying according to pack type—are significantly higher than prices paid to farmers for generic pack types. According to the SVBGA’s price list in February 2007, banana farmers were paid, at most, 29% more per box for fair trade bananas than they were paid for the lowest price for generic bananas. This tendency for the fair trade price to be higher is consistent with other Windward Islands. In his study of fair trade farmers in St. Lucia, Mark Moberg indicates that fair trade growers were paid, at most, 41% more for fair trade bananas than they were for the lowest price generic bananas (10).

In addition to better prices and better price stability, fair trade guarantees farmers a long-term contract (of at least one year) in which importing companies commit to buy their bananas. The National Fair Trade Committee gives farmers a weekly fair trade quota based largely on what farmers say they can produce that week. Farmers harvest and sell the bananas weekly and are paid fortnightly. In addition to predictable schedules, farmers in financial difficulty have access through fair trade to a revolving small loan fund (from which they can borrow up to $1500 EC) to assist them with their production problems.

Price stability and long-term contracts offered in the fair trade system are helping channel funds to banana producers and their families. Without a regulated market St. Vincent producers simply could not compete with Latin American producers. Indeed, several of the officials and farmers that I spoke with during my visit emphasized the importance of having the fair trade alternative market. They told me that had it not been for the introduction of fair trade, the banana industry in St. Vincent would have completely collapsed.

Whereas higher prices have been good for individuals and families, thus indirectly benefiting producer communities on the whole, the fair trade social premium is designed to directly fund community development projects. According to WINFA’s Fair Trade Manager, when WINFA got involved in fair trade the organization “had to set up the necessary structures to facilitate farmers’ participation in the decision-making process”. WINFA coordinated the establishment of community fair trade groups with annual elections of its board and its national representative.

During the meetings, the farmers decide what community projects are to be funded by the social premium. Their participation is crucial for ensuring that such projects are decided by the producers. The FLO Liaison Officer expressed enthusiasm for the increased participation of growers in decisions involving their futures. She said that, from her point of view, “the real democracy, in terms of the participation of farmers, happens in the fair trade groups before the General Assembly meets….They vote for projects in the group meetings, and this is very democratic from my point of view”. She also emphasized that such groups have helped encourage the participation of women in decision-making projects. Women have taken on an increasingly important role in banana production, many being single mothers in need of healthcare and daycare for their children. Women’s involvement in the groups has helped to advance the development of projects that specifically address their needs as mothers. Out of the 17 representatives on the National Committee, five are women.

The decisions made at the monthly meetings determine what social projects are most needed in each community, with possibilities ranging widely from chairs for people to sit on during their meetings to preschools and health clinics. The social projects funded by the social premium are perhaps the clearest way in which fair trade is directly helping to sustain communities. Records supplied to me by the National Fair Trade Committee during my time in St. Vincent show that $100,000 EC was budgeted for social projects in 2006. These funds were allocated for 36 community projects and nine national projects.

In some cases there was more than one on-going project in a community. Of the community projects, the majority were for schools and pre-schools. There were 22 school projects in total, with the social premium paying for building materials, chairs, books, computers, printers, cots, fans, refrigerators, gas cookers, and other supplies. Of the farmers I spoke with, several stressed that the fair trade social premium goes toward helping their children and future generations. Social premium funds also went toward three health projects to provide medical equipment, including diabetic supplies; toward five sports projects, providing uniforms for cricket, football, and softball teams; and toward one road project. Indeed, the FLO Liason Officer emphasized the significance of the road project in St. Croix. Before the road project some farmers had to walk more that two miles to load their bananas. This is no longer necessary, and the project has thus significantly improved the lives of people in the St. Croix community.

The national projects that are funded by the social premium mainly provide farmers with basic social and medical services. For instance, the revolving loan fund, mentioned above, is a national project. Other projects include a scholarship program, a medical health program for farmers, a retirement fund for farmers, a disaster relief fund, a program to house abandoned children (Liberty Lodge), and donations to the Salvation Army. The WINFA Fair Trade Manager indicated the importance of these national projects for the well being of banana farmers. For instance, the medical fund goes toward subsidizing the cost of annual medical checks for farmers. Since St. Vincent is subject to tropical storms, one of the groups proposed the development of a disaster relief fund, which the National Committee included its work plan, and the fund is now a national project. Thus, even national projects are influenced by the initial ideas of fair trade group members, whose suggestions are then taken to the National Committee by their representative.

Social projects funded by the fair trade social premium have significantly helped in the development of infrastructure and basic social and health services for banana producing communities. Such services are helping female producers by offering child care as well as medical attention through a health program that provides regular PAP Smear tests. Funds are also allocated to regular clean-up programs to remove waste from streams. Indeed, in addition to establishing specific programs for healthcare, fair trade sets environmental standards that ban the use of certain pesticides. Farmers who operate next to rivers are required to have grass barrier buffer zones of 16 feet without chemical application to reduce chemical run-off into rivers (Fair Trade Manager, WINFA), and one informant emphasized that a significant change that had come from fair trade was a reduction in the use of pesticides. Two farmers I spoke with said that fair trade means that they can do their work with less concern for their health. According to one farmer, fair trade means “growing a much more healthy food since, for example, fair trade uses less pesticides”. Another farmer spoke about now having to wear an apron and gloves when using chemicals and commented that fair trade means “you’re taking care of your health”.

Fair trade in practice has thus offered many advantages to farmers by imposing mechanisms to regulate the market so that it serves the needs of producing communities. Fair trade standards have facilitated the development of increased prices, long-term financial stability, community projects, enhanced participation in decision-making, increased access to health services, and new safety and environmental requirements for banana farmers in St. Vincent. Together, such benefits have contributed to a process of re-embedding the economy in social relations, promoting the “principle of social protection” instead of relying strictly upon the liberal principle of a distribution of benefits to individuals through the market mechanism.

Other case studies on fair trade bananas and coffee demonstrate similar overall advantages—as well as certain limitations—of fair trade in practice. In her study of fair trade banana production in the Dominican Republic, Aimee Shreck points to several benefits growers have experienced. Although initially the exporter decided the use of the social premium, the producers in the Azua Valley later formed fair trade groups and now decide the use of the social premium, which is going towards recovery efforts after Hurricane George and to other projects to strengthen production processes (2002: 17, 19-20). The most significant benefit, according to Shreck, is the market access and financial security that fair trade provides. Indeed, market access for banana producers in St. Vincent is also one of the most important benefits, since without fair trade more producers would have abandoned production altogether. Shreck makes a similar observation in regard to her case: “the Fair Trade market is the only reason many farmers are able to continue harvesting bananas at all” (2005: 23). In his case study of St. Lucian fair trade banana production, Moberg identifies significant collective benefits through the funding of “an array of community services otherwise beyond the reach of most rural residents” (12).

Coffee was the first fair trade certified product, and more case studies have been conducted on fair trade coffee than on any other product. For instance, the Fair Trade Research Group (Colorado State University) has conducted seven detailed studies on coffee cooperatives in Latin America, five of them in Mexico. While noting problems, all seven studies indicate that fair trade has had major community benefits (Raynolds 2002; Taylor 2002; Nigh 2002). In his overview of the reports on Mexico, Nigh states that fair trade has clearly “had an important positive impact on smallholder coffee organizations” (1). He describes the three most significant impacts as increased farmgate prices, the “empowerment” of small cooperatives, and the diversification of production (3-7). In a report summarizing and commenting upon the research conducted by the group, Peter Leigh Taylor draws particular attention to benefits such as development projects from social premium funds, access to credit, improved organizational capabilities of cooperatives, and enhanced self-esteem among community members.

Generally speaking, these case studies tend to coincide with my findings on the fair trade experience in St. Vincent. However, certain clear advantages from fair trade coffee production in Mexico, such as diversification projects and requirements from cooperatives that members switch to organic production, are not as evident in St. Vincent. Fair trade production in St. Vincent is not organic and has, indeed, experienced problems in the transition towards banning certain pesticides. When I asked the farmers if they could identify any problems with fair trade, several of them spoke of an increase of “watergrass” following a ban on certain pesticides. Thus, whereas a couple of the farmers considered this change a positive one for their health, most of the farmers pointed to it as a significant problem since it created difficulties in production. Moberg similarly identifies the development of a watergrass problem in St. Lucia (11). The grass grows wild and is a host for nematodes, which invade the root system of banana plants. FLO has granted WINFA temporary permission to use a chemical called Basta to help control the watergrass problem, on the condition that the University of the West Indies continues to work with WINFA on research and development for an alternative way to control the problem without relying on the use of harmful chemicals.

In regard to environmental impacts, the farmers in St. Vincent have to pack bunches of bananas in different plastic bags depending on the pack type of the supermarket (ASDA and Sainsbury). Although this packaging distinguishes fair trade products, it creates packaging waste. The need to package the bananas also demands increased labour from farmers. The WINFA administrator remarked that there used to be packinghouses in England but that now farmers have to pack the bananas in the special bags. In his study, Moberg raises this same problem (13) and adds that implementation of the fair trade environmental criteria also means more labour input from farmers, in terms of mechanical weeding (12).

Shreck points to several limitations of fair trade banana production in the Dominican Republic, some similar to ones in St. Vincent and some not. For instance, she indicates early problems regarding who decides how the social premium is to be spent, although she says the problem has now been resolved. The social premium is an issue that came up during my conversations with the farmers in St. Vincent, though the question of who decides was not identified as a problem. Two farmers explained that, while the social premium used to go directly to them as a bonus at the end of the year, it now goes toward community projects. Although most farmers interviewed were supportive of the collective way the social premium is used, these two indicated that they would prefer to still benefit individually. The difference of opinion concerning the use of the social premium underscores how the fair trade system includes a tendency toward re-embedding of economic relations in the community rather than following the strict allocation of benefits to individuals that market liberalism promotes.

The coffee case studies also report several limitations that coincide with findings in the case studies on bananas. However, some of these limitations were not evident in the case of St. Vincent. For instance, Shreck suggests that women do not have enough influence on how the social premium is used (2002: 20), and this problem is also identified in the coffee cases. Taylor indicates that in some of the coffee studies women did not play a large role in governance, but that the social premium did go toward some development projects for women (Taylor 11). The issue of gender came up often during my discussions with officials and farmers in St. Vincent, but these discussions always emphasized the growing involvement of women in decision-making since the emergence of fair trade. The case studies on coffee found that growers tended to have little knowledge about how fair trade works (Nigh 16, Taylor 17) and Shreck’s study on fair trade bananas indicates a similar problem (2002: 19). Nonetheless, producers in St. Vincent showed a good overall understanding about fair trade standards.

Finally, a significant limitation identified in all the cases is that, although fair trade brings material benefits to participating farmers, some are not part of the system, and even those who are do not necessarily have the opportunity to sell all of their crops at the fair trade price. In St. Vincent, although the vast majority of producers are registered to produce fair trade, not all are. Also, if registered producers exceed their weekly quota for fair trade, they then have to sell the remainder at a lower price. Such excess bananas are sold as “fair trade loose” (because they are not packaged in bags) and farmers are paid a lower price for them, though one that is still higher than the generic price.

Since fair trade operates as an alternative market within the larger context of a global market functioning largely on the principle of economic liberalism, fair trade is limited to a small share of the conventional market and cannot include all producers or even sell at the fair trade price all that is produced by those who are part of the system. Nonetheless, in St. Vincent, farmer participation in the fair trade system, begun in 2000, has grown rapidly. Fair trade banana sales from the island now make up about 80% of total banana exports, and there are indications that fair trade production will continue to increase in the future. In December 2006, Sainsbury, one of Britain’s largest food retailers, announced plans to increase its supply of fair trade bananas from the Windward Islands in order to exclusively offer fair trade bananas by July 2007 (Butler 2006; Fairtrade Foundation 2006). Sarah Butler suggests that this change is likely to result in St. Vincent switching entirely to fair trade production of bananas. In addition, according to the chair of the National Fair Trade Committee, there are emerging plans for fair trade diversification into other products, such as fresh juices.

Despite some clear limitations of fair trade in practice fair trade has, overall, clearly conferred benefits on producer communities in St. Vincent. Without fair trade, banana growers there would likely have no viable way to continue selling their bananas. According to the FLO representative: “The WINFA story and the Windward Islands’ story is really a success story in the fair trade world”. Banana farmers, despite pointing to several limitations, also generally emphasized the importance of fair trade for their continued livelihood. In the words of one woman, who had produced bananas for about 35 years, fair trade offers “a little bit of hope”.

Fair trade in St. Vincent was introduced largely through WINFA’s efforts to resist the liberalization of the Banana Regime and to help farmers sustain themselves through an alternative regulated market. The regulated fair trade market has provided producers with better incomes, more financial stability, better standards of health, programs of social development, and opportunities to directly participate in decisions affecting their communities. Such a form of re-embedding the economic relations in society, while directly providing for the needs of producer communities, constitutes a notable challenge to the principles of economic liberalism. Indeed, the fair trade system in St. Vincent offers an example of a local struggle that is part of a larger struggle against reliance upon a liberalized global market. Fair trade producers in the Windward Islands have been supported by British consumers opposed to the outcome of the WTO banana dispute, creating what Sheller refers to as a market for “‘ethical’ bananas” (15). The vast majority of fair trade bananas from the Windward Islands goes to the UK market, with four British supermarkets accounting for approximately 75% of Windward Islands fair trade fruit (Moberg 10).

Fair trade in the Windward Islands needs to be considered within the framework of a larger countermovement that involves large-scale protests against free trade agreements and organizations, efforts to promote a Tobin tax on financial markets, initiatives to cancel Third World debt, and networks that support local markets. In addition to participation in fair trade, banana farmers in St. Vincent and the other Windward Islands have made deliberate connections with the larger movement against neoliberalism, particularly engaging in protests against proposals for a free trade Economic Partnership Agreement (EPA) between the Caribbean nations (CARIFORUM) and the EU. A march was organized in St. Lucia in September 2005, and some 2000 farmers mobilized under the slogan “Get Up, Stand Up!” to coincide with a visit of the EU Trade Commissioner to discuss an EPA for the region (Banana Link 2006; SV Min. of Agriculture Sept. 2005). Hundreds of farmers gathered three weeks later in Lauders, St. Vincent; and in December 2005 another demonstration was held in Dominica against the EPA. Banana farmers, like other activists throughout the world, are taking to the streets to oppose further processes of liberalization in the region. Fair trade is thus part of a larger pattern of resistance. Indeed, the relatively successful experiences of fair trade farmers in St. Vincent, posing a significant challenge to the promotion of the free trade ideal, is aligned with other efforts in constituting what Polanyi called a countermovement.

References

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Butler, Sarah. Times Online. “Supermarkets Switch to Fairtrade Bananas”. (December 13, 2006). business.timesonline…

Clegg, Peter. “The Development of the Windward Islands Banana Export Trade: Commercial Opportunity and Colonial Necessity”. The Society for Caribbean Studies Annual Conference Papers. 1 (2000): 1-11. r0.unctad.org/infoco…

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Josling, Tim. “Bananas and the WTO: Testing the New Dispute Settlement Process” in Josling, T.E. and T.G. Taylor (Eds.). Banana Wars: The Anatomy of a Trade Dispute. Cambridge: CABI Publishing, 2003. 169-194.

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Polanyi, Karl. “Aristotle Discovers the Economy” (1957). Primitive, Archaic, and Modern Economies: Essays of Karl Polanyi. New York: Anchor Books, 1968.

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Polanyi, Karl. The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time. Boston: Beacon Press, 1944.

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Raynolds, Laura T. “Re-embedding Global Agriculture: The International Organic and Fair Trade Movements.” Agriculture and Human Values 17 (2000): 297-309.

Sheller, Mimi. STS Visiting Speaker Series. University of Oxford. “The Ethical Banana: Markets, Migrants and the Globalisation of a Fruit”. (February 24, 2005): 1-20. www.sbs.ox.ac.uk/NR/…

Shreck, Aimee. “Resistance, Redistribution, and Power in the Fair Trade Banana Initiative”. Agriculture and Human Values. 22:1 (March 2005): 17-29.

Shreck, Aimee. “Just Bananas? Fair Trade Banana Production in the Dominican Republic”. International Journal of Sociology of Agriculture and Food. 10:2 (2002): 13-23.

Slocum, Karla. “Discourses and Counterdiscourses on Globalization and the St. Lucian Banana Industry” in Banana Wars: Power, Production, and History in the Americas. Steve Striffler and Mark Moberg (Eds). Durham: Duke University Press, 2003. 253-285.

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Interviews with Representatives of Organizations in St. Vincent

Bobb, Arthur. WINFA Fair Trade Manager, November 8, 2006.

Allen, Philemon. Chair of the National Fair Trade Committee and Field Officer for the SVBGA, November 6, 2006.

Amarsy, Shemina. Liason Officer for Fair Trade Organization International, November 7, 2006.

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Rose, Ancelma. WINFA Administrative Secretary and Secretary for Gender Affairs, November 8, 2006.

Rose, Renwick. WINFA Coordinator, November 8, 2006.

THE GIN CRAZE: KEY FACTS
Prior to the eighteenth century, alcohol consumption in England was for the most part restricted to ale, beer and wine. The period referred to as the gin craze marked a significant departure from these drinking habits: between 1720 and 1751, the per capita consumption of cheap distilled spirits almost tripled. Significantly, the gin craze was an urban phenomenon mainly confined to the working class poor of the capital. As such, London is the focus of this examination.

In response to the gin craze, Parliament passed a total of eight Gin Acts between 1729 and 1751. The aims of these Acts changed over this period. Generally, however, the Gin Acts sought to reduce gin consumption and to tax the spirit in order to levy funds for war efforts. The Acts were passed to levy licensing fees, provide rewards for informers of petty hawkers, protect informers from attack, empower private individuals to arrest gin-sellers, and regulate the issuance of licenses. Some Gin Acts were passed to respond to unanticipated problems (such as attacks on informers in 1738) and previous failed policies (such as the licensing scheme and fees). For the purpose of brevity, these Acts are referred to as they pertain to the issues in analysis.

It must be noted that throughout the period of the gin craze, the Whigs remained firmly in power. Their position on gin was divided: some Whigs were prepared to tolerate it but others, such as Sir Joseph Jekyll, wanted to prohibit the drink outright. Reformers, as referred to below, refer to the latter group.

MAIN CAUSES OF THE GIN CRAZE

A. Urbanization
The problems brought about by the increasing urbanization of London created conditions that allowed the gin craze to flourish. Gin sellers thrived in the sprawling suburbs of London because the local authorities were either too weak, corrupt or simply overwhelmed by the number of problems to deal with to adequately respond to the increased consumption. This situation was exacerbated by the absence of magistrates willing or qualified to police these neighborhoods. Consequently, thousands of women and men were able to sell gin openly and without a license.

B. Economic and political factors
There were also underlying economic and political circumstances that favored the expansion of gin distilling and consumption. The rise of distilling and gin in England can be traced to William III. After he declared war on France at the end of the seventeenth century, trade between the two nations was restricted. This restriction included France’s lucrative brandy exports and, as a result, this gap in the market opened the door for the English distilling industry to flourish. An Act was passed in 1690 to encourage the distilling of brandy and spirits from corn. There also appears to have been a deliberate policy to guide British tastes towards spirits: in addition to the heavy duties imposed on French wines and brandy, duties on strong beer were doubled in 1690.

The gin craze was fueled by the ease of manufacture of gin by small distillers: during the early years of the eighteenth century and gin production in England, there was absolutely no control over the production or consumption of gin. A new Act passed in 1713 helped entrench the distilling industry by affirming that, “[a]ny person may distil brandy or spirits from British malt and such […] persons shall not be prosecuted for so doing.”

These changes coincided with a period of good grain harvests, when landowners who dominated both houses of Parliament were happy to encourage a new market for corn at a time when beer production was falling. Since domestic distillers provided a potentially inexhaustible market for surplus grain, policies were passed that reflected the alliance between distillers and landowners. The good years for farmers represented equally good years for the urban population. The average income was much higher in London than elsewhere in England and the increased spending power of this city’s working poor meant that they had discretionary income with which to indulge in gin.

Last, the economic considerations of Parliament also account for the gin craze. Funds needed to be raised to fight costly wars, and from 1720 to 1750 gin became a powerful source of revenue. Gin was an ideal substance to tax because it had become the beverage of choice of the poor, a group that had little voice to oppose such taxation.

GIN, SOCIAL UPHEAVAL & CRIME IN LONDON
When gin appeared on the streets of London, it was a new drug for which there were no rules and rituals governing its use, as there were with ale or wine, and thereby acting to limit its more harmful effects. For example, there are reports of early gin drinkers indulging in gin in the same volume as they would have ale. Widespread drinking to intoxication by both genders came to be seen as a threat to public order and social stability, though today the disastrous effects of gin consumption are believed largely exaggerated. For example, during the gin craze, the per capita consumption of beer remained relatively constant and consequently, alcohol-induced problems cannot be solely attributable to gin. Nevertheless, gin consumption was gradually linked with the increased commission of crime.

Crime or the fear of crime was a factor in the passage of the Gin Acts. Incidents of assaults, murders, and self-induced harm in gin-shops were regularly reported in London journals. Reformers turned to such accounts and concluded that gin made people violent. The fact that violence occurs most often when people happen to meet and gin-shops were frequent meeting places for the poor of eighteenth century London, was a detail omitted in such conclusions. Gin nonetheless came to be associated with a wide variety of crimes, as the following verse from The London Evening-Post, March 1751, illustrates:

This wicked gin, of all Defence bereft,
And guilty found of Whoredom, Murder, Theft,
Of rank Sedition, Treason, Blasphemy,
Should suffer Death, the Judges all agree

Adding to the fears of crime was the return of soldiers and sailors to the populace of London. During years of war, it had been difficult for Whig reformers to suggest that the Crown place restrictions on an industry that provided much needed revenue. October 1748, however, marked the end of the War of Austrian Succession and between 1749 and 1750, 79,000 soldiers and sailors returned into the civilian population. The return of these men was a cause for alarm with respect to the crimes unemployed veterans could foreseeably commit in the streets of England. Since gin was believed to be a leading cause of crime, restricting the availability of it was considered sound policy to address this fear.

GIN ACT, 1751
To pass the 1751 Gin Act, reformers exploited the public’s fear of crime. They offered a simple formula with an equally simple solution: gin, they said, led to crime; take away the first and away goes the second. The Act had the effect of raising excises on British spirits by more than fifty percent, banning sales of gin in prisons and other lockups and barring distillers and street hawkers from retailing gin. By 1751, the gin craze had effectively ended but, as seen below, this event had little to do with the legislation or, for that matter, the end of crime.

GIN ACTS AS CAUSES OF CRIME
There are striking examples of the counterproductive nature of the increased state involvement in social ordering and regulation that was sought through the Gin Acts. The 1736 Gin Act, for instance, required an exorbitantly expensive £50 license for retailing gin and through such a steep requirement, Parliamentarians sought to effectively outlaw the sale of gin. This Gin Act provoked immense backlash against the government and in the years following this Act, London was rocked by a series of popular protests that posed a much more immediate threat to public order than gin ever had. There was widespread opposition from the trade and from the London public. Rioting, an explosion at Westminster Hall, and threats to the life of Joseph Jekyll (the chief initiator of the Act) ensued. Moreover, sales of gin, after a momentary slump, actually increased after the 1736 Act in part because selling and drinking gin constituted a form of political protest against a highly unpopular government.

The rewards to informers offered under the Gin Acts of 1736 and 1737 were also a catalyst for crime. In the year following these acts, hardly a day passed in which an informer was not attacked on the streets of London, sometimes by mobs of a hundred people or more.

GIN & POVERTY
An examination of the Gin Acts and crime would be incomplete without reference to poverty and the role poverty played in exacerbating the problems that arose in London related to gin consumption. Most people who drank gin were among the city’s working class poor. Since the poor were small, malnourished, and lived in an unsanitary environment, they were ill equipped to metabolize the large quantities of alcohol gin delivered. Gin provided refuge and comfort from the harsh realities of daily London life. Gin helped relieve the pains of adaptation to unfamiliar and increasingly industrialized work routines and to unhealthy living conditions in a city that had few recreational outlets beyond the gin-shop. Evidently, the infrastructure of the day was inadequate to meet the complex challenges posed by a modern city life characterized by an increasingly heterogeneous population and the dislocation of the industrial revolution served to heighten the social and medical problems of excessive gin-drinking.

The campaign against gin presented a simple solution to the problem of poverty: gin by itself was responsible for the poor health and poor behavior of its users. People were poor and destitute because they drank gin and not the other way around. The link between gin and poverty is of particular relevance as one considers the impact of the gin craze and its accompanying legislative measures on the predominantly poor women of London.

WOMEN & GIN
Reformers sought to problematize the behavior of women who had taken to gin drinking as a way to push forward an agenda that upheld a status quo in which women had a given role and place: a role that included chastity and subordination, and a place that was in the home and not gin-shops. In the process of the regulation of gin possibilities opened for the indirect regulation of other behaviors that linked drug use with moral choice. In the case of the gin craze, these behaviors center on women with respect to sexuality, gender role, motherhood, and economic activity. Upholding the patriarchal order accounts for, in part, the disproportionate conviction of women under the Gin Acts and why the Gin Acts operated to restrict women’s access to gin. Moreover, the emphasis placed in the popular press on the evils of female gin consumption provided added momentum for reformers.

A. Gender and sexuality
The connection between women’s use of gin and crime was of particular concern for reformers. During the gin craze years, women were participating in an activity that had previously been restricted to men in ales houses; women could now drink side by side with men in gin-shops of London. This was a cause for alarm among reformers because it symbolized a transformation in the station and gender role of women.

Drinking women alarmed reformers because they believed that, “drunkenness desires lust” and that women who drank were promiscuous. Consequently, reformers considered gin-drinking women responsible for the spread of the sexual health scourge of the eighteenth century: syphilis. Evidently, this belief was inconsistent in its exclusive application to the effects of alcohol on women and did not address male responsibility in the spread of venereal disease. Women were singled out for responsibility and this contributed to the vilification of female gin drinkers and women generally, an issue examined below. The association between alcohol and sexuality also led to assumptions that drinking wives could be adulterous wives. Drinking wives could be disorderly and challenge their husbands’ authority (and by extension, the authority of the state) and thereby the natural order of things in a patriarchal society.

Along with promiscuous and adulterous behavior, gin became associated with prostitution, an issue that ranked high on the agenda of moral reformers. The association between gin and prostitution came about because gin-shops were public places that brought prostitute and customer together. It is important to note however that gin-shops were simply places where ordinary people gathered in a city where there were few other social spaces. As such, gin-shops were perhaps unfairly associated with prostitution in the sense that prostitution occurs where people happen to frequently gather. The tarnished reputation of gin shops in the eyes of reformers prompted legislation that aimed to shut down gin-shops, target petty hawkers, and disproportionately convict women.

B. Women and children
Reformers were especially critical of women whose drinking endangered the health or welfare of infants or small children. These women included pregnant women, nursing women and women who looked after their own or other people’s children. The cause of infant welfare was adopted by reformers not out of concern for the welfare of mothers or the infants themselves, but because reformers believed that the survival of the nation was jeopardized by the behavior of gin-consuming women. They believed gin to have the potential to reduce both the number and fitness of the next generation of soldiers, sailors and laborers.

In the 1740s, newspaper headlined shocking statistics, such as attributing the death of 84,000 children as a result of gin drinking since 1725. While the effects of gin on the fetus and breast fed children were not benign, as medical evidence from that period and today demonstrate, the overwhelming cause of child mortality was not gin but rather infectious diseases resulting from severe overcrowding, the lack of sanitation, polluted water supplies and inadequate nutrition. It was hence inaccurate to attribute infant death and the stagnant population growth on the gin drinking habits of poor women. Whatever the actual harms of gin drinking, the lives and health of women adversely affected were not a priority with reformers.

Other reasons underpinning the concerns of the reformers for the fitness of the next generation were far less patriotic. Contemporary mercantilist theory favored an ever-growing population as a way to ensure that the supply of labour always exceeded demand and this was a way to ensure longer working hours from the poor and to keep wages low. The loss of millions of pounds to the economy was attributed to a depressed population and gin-drinking women were among those responsible for crippling London’s economic growth.

C. Economic opportunity
The reformers’ aim was not only to control the sexuality of women, but also to maintain the status quo with respect to the economic opportunities open to women. The early eighteenth century was a period of enormous mobility in which thousands of young women descended on London every year in search of jobs and husbands. The reality they faced was bleak: the few jobs that were open to women tended to be poorly paid. Gin selling, however, was one of the few occupations from which women were not effectively or explicitly excluded and the black market in gin came to be characterized by poor, single, destitute women who supplemented their meager incomes through the sale of this spirit. Thus to criminalize the sale of gin by petty hawkers was to criminalize one of the few economic endeavors accessible to women at a time when this was one of the only ways women could raise their standard of living. Ironically, reformers failed to see that gin-selling actually provided women with an alternative to an evil they campaigned against: prostitution.

The Gin Acts of 1736 and 1737 authorized commissioners of excise to reward informers of petty hawkers who sold gin in the streets and alleys of London. As a result, thousands of Londoners, most of them women, were convicted of selling gin without a license. After the passing of these Acts, women were several times more likely than men to be charged, convicted and sent to prison once convicted. Though women accounted for less than 20 percent of all known retailers in East London and the City of London, they accounted for nearly 70 percent of the individuals charged under the Gin Act 1736.

Jessica Warner links the campaign against gin to a larger campaign to regulate the pre-industrial marketplace and drive from it occasional vendors, most of them women. It is difficult to estimate the impact these policies had on the long-term exclusion of women from economic ventures. What is known is that targeting women in this manner had an immediate impact on the welfare and potential for self-improvement of the poor women of eighteenth century London.

D. Women personifying the evils of gin
The year the most infamous of the Gin Acts was passed, marked the year witchcraft ceased to be a statutory offence in England. The ideas associated with witches continued and superposed women through the personification of the evils of female gin-drinking in “Madam Geneva.” Madam Geneva was an unholy and unnatural creature that was described as “part whore and part witch.” She is the central figure in William Hogarth’s 1751 satirical print “Gin Lane” (see image): a drunken woman sprawled on the steps in St Giles’s. She is too drunk with gin to notice the squalor around her or her child falling out of her arms. With her blouse hanging open and the sores of syphilis on her legs, the observer learns what she has had to do to pay for her gin habit, a habit that has aged and destroyed her. Madam Geneva epitomizes all the evils of gin and its corruption of women. She is the image of failed motherhood and immorality. Hogarth choice of subject was not coincidence. He was a reformer and “Gin Lane” was his attack on the evils of the gin and this piece highlights the negative female imagery of the gin craze. The highly published case of Judith Defour, that served as a rallying cry for the reformers, also contributed to the creation of this picture. Together, Hogarth’s work and the Defour murder helped make the case for the passing of the last Gin Act in 1751.

Defour was a single mother who was convicted for the murder of her young daughter, Mary. She strangled her daughter after stripping Mary of the new clothes given by a parish. Judith used the money from their sale to buy gin. The Defour case highlighted the dangers of gin that echoed those of reformers: the failure of motherhood and the murder of children.

Female gin consumption was problematized and value-loaded as an act of moral significance. This is reflected in the response of magistrates and the disproportionate convictions of women. The perception of reformers and their attempt to regulate women is a complex interplay between the lives and economic realities of women, the influence of the press and the institution of government.

THE END OF THE GIN CRAZE
The mid-eighteenth century marked a time of disastrous harvests in England. As a result, the distillation of spirits from corn was significantly reduced. As the supply dropped, the price of gin soared accordingly. The consumer power of the urban poor was by this time also in decline. By the time the final Gin Act was passed in 1751, average wages were depressed and the price of bread was high, thus leaving the working poor with little disposable income to spend on gin. The excises on gin also account for the end of the craze: these had grown by more that 1,200 percent between 1700 and 1771. Scholars have also argued that, like all crazes, the novelty of the substance had to wear off at some point. Gin was the drink of choice of a generation, similar to the choice of opium or ecstasy as a drug of choice of later generations.

LEGACY OF THE GIN CRAZE
The gin craze is a complex and multidimensional story. It is a story of industrialization and urbanization, wealth and want, gender roles, and the criminalization of certain activities. The problems reformers sought to curb with gin in eighteenth century helped shape the responses adopted by later government to phenomena of perceived widespread substance use. The ideas stemming from the gin craze also served to fuel later movements to promote complete abstinence in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. To this end, the gin craze initiated a pattern of problematizing and criminalizing behavior associated with substance use and provides insight into contemporary drug wars. The gin craze of eighteenth century London also demonstrates that the fear associated with the use of a substance is often disproportionate to the actual harm and serves to obfuscate underlying social and economic inequities.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Burnett, John. Liquid Pleasures: A Social History of Drinks in Modern Britain. (New York: Routledge, 1999).

Dillon, Patrick. Gin: The Much-Lamented Death of Madam Geneva. (Boston: Justin, Charles and Co., 2004).

Martin, A. Lynn. Alcohol, Sex and Gender in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe. (New York: Palgrave, 2001).

Warner, Jessica. Craze: Gin and Debauchery in an Age of Reason. (Toronto: Random House 2002).

Warner, Jessica et al. “On the Vanguard of the First Drug Scare: Newspapers and Gin in London, 1736-1751.” Journalism History. December 1, 2001. Vol. 27. Issue 4.

Watney, John. Mother’s Ruin: A History of Gin. (London: Peter Owen Limited, 1976).

Across the globe, the growing dominance of trade has enveloped countries, both developed and developing, into asserting whatever advantages they might boast so as to remain globally competitive. This phenomenon is best described by the term ‘globalization’. While the uses of the term reach into matters of economic (de)regulation, the overlap of business and political legislation as well as international treatises, the objective of this paper relates to globalization specifically in terms of multinational enterprises (MNE) and their growing propensity to employ sweatshop workers in developing nations. In these developing nations, the cost of living is a fraction of what is required relative to developed nations. As a result, market forces, which are best described as the “interaction of supply and demand that shape a market economy”, require that employers pay wages that are only a fraction of what would be paid in more developed economies. From the perspective of an economist, this proves favourable for both participating parties; the MNEs come in search of cost-saving measures on labour and as part of the exchange bring investment and the prospect of ameliorating a country’s overall standard of living.

It is important to note that market forces do not at all times require that a living wage - that is, a wage sufficient to fulfill one’s basic nutritional requirements and to live with dignity - be paid to workers. The reasoning behind paying insufficient wages is arguably defensible if a numbers-based macroeconomic stance is taken, but is next to impossible when basic human rights are brought into the equation. There are numerous charges raised by ‘critics’ of MNEs that involve, to name a few, the exploitation of workers, collaboration with repressive regimes and the immizeration of the economies in which they operate. In response, defenders of MNEs, whom I shall call ‘producers’, argue that arbitrary deviations from the demands of market forces, even with the right intentions, would worsen the living standards of the countries in question.

II. The Debate

Taking the side of the critics are Dennis Arnold and Norman Bowie. The overall themes of their two papers argue that sweatshop workers are not given the respect due to them as humans. The keystone argument in making in this purports that MNEs have a duty to assure their employees have the wages and conditions necessary to function as humans. To do any less would be to treat these workers, in the Kantian language, as means towards an end. Writing on behalf of the producers is Ian Maitland, who believes that MNEs have three options for how to pay their employees and that they should choose the “classical liberal standard” over the “home country” and “living wage” standards. Keeping with the stance taken by economists, Maitland contends that MNEs who cave to public pressure from critics and the like risk harming the economies in which they operate in terms of unemployment, foreign investment and the rich-poor gap.

One of the main issues taken against the defenders of sweatshops is not just the use of textbook economic theory; it’s the structure of the argument, being one that that is purely economics-based. The critics, however, are equally guilty. Neither side of the argument makes a compelling case in terms of the other’s lens. Arnold’s and Bowie’s arguments hinge on an appeal to human rights that ought to be upheld, while giving only minor attention to the macroeconomic issues. Conversely, Maitland admits that “not a single company [facing pressure from the critics] has tried to mount a serious defence of its contracting policies.” My essay will attempt to show how critics of MNEs need not address the debate so heavily in terms of human rights by neglecting the economic issues. I will make frequent appeals to the textbook economics approach that Maitland is so fond of and how its very foundation, or at the very least, its presentation, contains two substantial flaws. In the search for cheap, unskilled labour, MNEs cannot excuse themselves, whether directly or by immediate proxy, of their duties to uphold human rights. Where the conduct of MNEs in international sweatshops becomes subject to criticism, those defending it 1) fail to address the issue in terms of universal human rights and 2) employ a rudimentary economical argument that is selective in what measurements it does or does not take into consideration.

III. Human Rights

The critics hold many reasons for opposing certain forms of conduct engaged in by MNEs, one of the more popular forms being the call for human dignity and rights. These appeals, insofar as those from Arnold and Bowie, are done through application of the ethical theories of, in particular, Alan Gerwith and Immanuel Kant. Arnold outlines the requisites for human rights by retelling the writings of Gerwith, among others. He starts by noting that

“A person [is] capable of reflecting on one’s desires at a second-order level and [] must be capable of acting in a manner consistent with one’s considered preferences … it is our capacity to reflect … that distinguishes persons from mere animals.”

Thus far, it can be asserted that all persons must be unrestricted in their capacity to contemplate; to do otherwise is to treat them as something less.

The justification for human rights continues: the ability to act upon one’s desires is not possible without two requisites: freedom and well-being. Calling this a matter of rational consistency, Gerwith states that “a person must acknowledge that she is a purposive being … to deny [others their rights] … is a purposive act, [which] contradicts the proposition being asserted.” It is also contended that even if persons are prevented from exercising their rights, it does not follow that their rights bear any less weight. While the contributions of Gerwith give the critics ample grounds upon which to target MNEs for their misconduct, Arnold and Bowie also apply the works of Immanuel Kant. Even though both authors’ works could be used to defend the worker or give obligation to the manager, it is Kant’s second formulation of the categorical imperative, which states that “man cannot be used merely as a means by any man … but must always be used at the same time as an end” that places greater emphasis upon the duties of management.

The Sweatshop

The definition given to Gerwith’s precursor of freedom intentionally has a minimalist nature to it. All that is required to acknowledge one’s humanity is non-interference necessary for the capacity to reflect. It is important to parse between what actions constitute fundamental violations and what causes mere discomfort. Some of the more vocal critics contend that the producers are violating their workers’ rights, citing such points as the lengthy work hours involved. This can be refuted quite easily by claiming the workers are doing so voluntarily.

Following by implication from Kant’s second formulation, Arnold and Bowie are contending that certain sweatshop supervisors lack respect for their workers by treating them as means. In many instances, the claims are justified,while in others they are exaggerated for the purpose of shock value. As a general rule, the producers are obligated to respect their workers as moral creatures. Many times this respect falls short, thus Arnold and Bowie explore at length the violations committed by sweatshops. Their charges are categorized into violations of law, coercion, poor working conditions and unconscionable wages. As was mentioned earlier in this essay, the greater number of these charges go unanswered by the producers (or Maitland, in this case), while those that are answered employ a type of public-relations approach that resolve apples with oranges, if you will. In response to charges of workers being exposed to dangerously high levels of hazardous materials, the producer counters by noting how an increase in working standards would cost money and thus render one’s plant less competitive. In response to Kernaghan’s appeals for MNEs to respect human rights, Maitland invokes the name of Marx, which if anything was little more than sensationalist detraction. And of course, in response to charges of MNEs paying less than living wages, the producer counters by referring to wages demanded by market forces. I turn now to the economics of sweatshops and how the critics can indeed step onto the territory of the producers.

IV. Economics

Throughout this section, I will refer specifically to the type of economist that is libertarian in her philosophy. It would be highly unjust and inaccurate to refer to all economists as prioritizing the supremacy of an unregulated market over that of basic human needs. The type of economist I specifically refer to is, to paraphrase Jagdish Bhagwati, “viewing the field of study as an arid mathematical toy, rather than as a serious social science.” The reasoning this economist uses for defending the current conduct of sweatshops is oversimplified and at times frustrating for those debating against it. In arguing for the producers, Maitland takes the arid approach, as I shall illustrate.

One-Step, Two-Step

Maitland argues on behalf of the producers by use of economic theory as it relates to wages and employment. His methodology involves the use of the simple one-step and two-step macroeconomic models, which entails noting how an output will change due to the shift of movement of an input. A basic example of a one-step model would go as follows: the higher demand for firewood during the winter months enables those selling wood to temporarily increase their prices. Maitland employs both models by arguing that an increase in wages would result in higher unemployment and lower profits, which as a consequence would discourage foreign investment. The argument, by itself, will bear no criticism from me. What I do take issue with is the lack of any follow-up. In a simplified experiment using the one or two-step model, the change of an input or condition will result in at most two changes to any other variable relevant to the model. Maitland’s narrative might by implication leave some readers believing that his description of adjustments to the wage level will result in what he has outlined and nothing more. If a simplified model is used, it can follow that Maitland’s assertions are true. However, we are dealing with complex economic matters that are difficult to even model on the usual supply vs. demand graph. I will outline the details of this claim in the following section.

Ceteris Paribus

This Latin term, popular with respect to predictive sciences, means “with other things [being] the same” or “holding all else constant”. Its use is prominent in the conduct of experiments, such as using regression analysis to calculate the effect of rainfall and fertilizer on a crop of corn. Using ceteris paribus enables the experimenter to determine how much growth can be attributed to rainfall and fertilizer by themselves, as well as the overall effect. In studying economic models, one must consider multiple inputs, conditions and outputs. They are, to name a few, labour supply, wages, demand for goods, time value of money, consumption, inflation, unemployment, and so on … The use of ceteris paribus enables a professor of economics to explain, for example, how a change to the real interest rate will affect spending behaviour with much greater simplicity than if she had to consider other factors, such as changes in income or the age demographic.

It is not the concept with which I take issue, but the lethargic application of both it in conjunction with the one-step model and a related concept that I might call ceteris excludis, for lack of a better term. The producer’s defence revolves around hammering home the negative effects of wage increases via ceteris paribus, all the while (intentionally?) excluding what effects the improved incomes might have outside of what is not a sterilized laboratory, but a real-life scenario. Maitland is very much guilty of this. In denouncing the idea that MNEs ought to pay above-market wages to their employees, Maitland argued that jobs would be lost and foreign investment would be discouraged. Employment and foreign investment are macro-variables; that is, they are measured in terms of what an entire region or country has in their possession. Private consumption and savings are also macro-variables and would increase with wages, which would further stimulate the local economy, but Maitland makes no mention of either.

Further, the wage-to-unemployment theory holds true only under two rather interesting precursors, which Maitland hints at in his outline of the classical liberal approach. First, for unemployment to rise in any measurable form, wages must increase across the board. (Even in his conclusion, Maitland hints at this) Having wages increase in select factories will not necessarily affect a country’s entire economy. Similarly, the dismantling of a paper mill in rural Québec will bear no measurable effect on Montréal’s job market. Second, setting a floor on wages that might result in deadweight losses must be legislated and enforced by the public sphere. The producer that raises this argument will see it at best diminished and at worst quashed; the critics are appealing to the MNE’s, not the local governments, to raise wages. Finally, if it wasn’t bad enough for the producer-advocate, the very theory might not necessarily be true. Referred to in the Arnold-Bowie article is the Card-Krueger study, which proved, at least in the US, the “estimated effect of the minimum wage [on employment] was either zero or positive.”

The Utilitarian

Briefly, I will argue for a utilitarian argument that favours increased wages for workers in the formal sector. The term economists use to refer to a person’s well-being is utility. While there is no set method for measuring utility, a property of utility relevant to this discussion is the property of diminishing marginal returns. For each additional unit of income a person earns via ceteris paribus, the rate at which their utility increases is diminished. That is to say, a person earning efficiency wages will be more grateful for an additional ten dollars a week than would a manager already earning a premium. Add to that the sheer number of workers relative to management and the net utility gain to be had from an increase in wages is considerable.

V. Conclusion

I have stated my belief that critics of MNEs have more tools than what is normally assumed. I also believe it necessary that the critics make use of a more economics-based discussion when challenging the producers, as the justifications for their actions are oversimplified and tend to omit information relevant to worker well-being. The argument for the supremacy of human rights goes unchallenged by those who in part are violating said rights, which gives further credence to the critics. However, changes appear to be slower than what the critics are hoping for, which can be attributed to a host of factors, ranging from resource scarcity to poor law enforcement. Much like the property of human rights stating that its violation in no way invalidates its authority, the lack of care for sweatshop workers by the producers in no way diminishes the basic obligations that are due.

Aihwa Ong’s latest book, Neo-liberalism as exception, is a multifaceted exercise in expanding upon our understanding of neo-liberalism in relation to citizenship and sovereign power. As a collection of essays mostly published over the past decade, the work draws heavily on the governmentality school of socio-political thought. The book’s central thesis is one that runs counter to the dominant perspective of neo-liberalism as an economic doctrine. Instead, Ong argues that neo-liberalism can be understood as a malleable technology of governing, designed and employed to include particular types of individuals and populations while excluding others. Equally important, the empirical work included in this volume fills a void in current discussions of neo-liberalism, which often focus predominantly on the North American experience. In offering an alternative and revealing analysis, Ong covers a wide spectrum of issues from the East Asian and South-East Asian regions. Of particular interest to the author are the ways in which different regimes employ technologies of neo-liberalism, be they authoritarian, democratic or communist.

Ong’s anthropological and ethnographic approach to neo-liberalism and citizenship is presented in part as a critique of authors such as Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, who contend, inter alia, that a uniform global labour regime is emerging. Rather, Ong argues in favour of more localized and situated analyses of labour regimes, focusing on the various manifestations of ‘translocal publics’, for example, where specific interests intersect and are given particular formulations (p. 62). As an alternative to examining ‘identities’, which are often simplified interpretations of national groups or ethnic communities possessing considerable diversity, the book emphasizes that the concept of translocal publics describes ‘the new kinds of borderless ethnic identifications enabled by technologies and forums of opinion making’ (p. 63). Ong’s work examines a wide range of regional events and assemblages, from the Chinese diaspora after the 1997 Asian financial crisis (chapter 2), to foreign domestic workers in Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong (chapter 9).

Neo-liberalism as exception is also a critique of juridical-legal interpretations of the connections between citizenship and government. Ong argues that this method is evident in Giorgio Agamben’s focus on the bifurcation of the population into two halves: zones of citizenship, consisting of political beings, and zones of bare life, consisting of those without citizenship protections (p. 22). Instead, Ong contends that a ‘temporal conceptualization of the politics of exception’ is a more appropriate means for recognizing the validity of other ethical regimes - such as the various world religions - that also ‘operate along the continuum of inclusion and exclusion, though without mapping onto the same division between citizens and bare life’ (p. 197). In contrast to Agamben, Ong argues that new modes of analysis are necessary for examining the ways in which those without territorialized citizenship might make claims, whether through local communities, NGOs or corporations (p. 24). While most of the book’s content consists of essays already published elsewhere, Ong also presents new contributions, and has reworked and reorganized the existing material to provide an ethnographic perspective critical to an understanding of the global economy and socio-political systems. By placing each article in a particular context that reveals new insights into neo-liberal transformations of citizenship and sovereignty, Ong brings theoretical potency and empirical energy to a growing field of scholarship.

Originally published in: International Affairs 83(4), 2007.

The book is presented in the form of a medical analysis, beginning with the ‘Diagnosis’ in which terrorism is examined through the lenses of war, crime and emergency. Ackerman argues that terrorism is distinct from war, in that acts of terror do not directly threaten the political survival and constitutional system of the state. Additionally, he points out that terrorism is not a crime, since criminal organizations, such as the mafia, do not seek to openly confront the legitimacy of government and political order-what Ackerman calls ‘effective sovereignty’ (p. 41). As such, criminal law is not only inadequate, but also incapable of addressing terrorism, given that ‘the normal operation of the criminal law presupposes the effective sovereignty of the state, but a major terrorist attack challenges it’ (p. 43). In dismantling the war-crime dichotomy, Ackerman argues that the period immediately after a terrorist attack is a state of emergency, and it calls for special measures ‘to reassure the public by moving aggressively against a second strike without allowing the president to damage civil and political liberties on a permanent basis’ (p. 67). There is, of course, the danger of normalizing the rhetoric of emergency, as expressed in the United States shortly after September 11 by Dick Cheney as the ‘new normalcy’. This is exactly what Ackerman opposes in advocating terrorism as emergency, and not as war or crime. The most effective method of preventing a perpetual state of emergency, the author argues, is through a unique constitution.

The second part of the book, under the title of ‘Prescription’, offers detailed guidelines for establishing an emergency constitution. Placing primacy on the US tradition of political checks and balances, Ackerman presents three core components of his proposal. First, the political element of the emergency constitution is the ’supermajoritarian escalator’, in which the continuation of a state of emergency would require ‘an escalating cascade of supermajorities’ in Congress to protect against normalization (p. 80). Second, the legal component is embodied by time limits on the detention of terror suspects, and a ‘rigorous respect for decency [by the courts] as long as the traditional protections of the criminal law have been suspended’ (p. 119). Third, the economic factor entails financial compensation for detainees found innocent of any wrongdoing. The book argues that a special constitution consisting of these three components would present the state of emergency as a limited regime, tolerated only as a regrettable necessity and always on the path towards termination. For Ackerman, restoring ‘equilibrium’ between the Executive, Congress and the judiciary is the only way to prevent abuses of emergency power (p. 139). This new configuration is especially relevant to the current political environment, most notably in the United States, where the Military Commissions Act and the National Defence Authorization Act were passed in late 2006, with ominous consequences for the writ of habeas corpus and posse comitatus. These recent events, occurring after the book’s publication, indicate a political and legal movement away from Ackerman’s project of protecting civil liberties, and it is unfortunate that the author was unable to address this dilemma.

Apart from questions on the possibilities for the actual implementation of Ackerman’s emergency constitution, there is also the problem of preventing a ‘first strike’. It is common to hear the argument that constant vigilance and a perpetual state of emergency are now necessary mechanisms for preventing a terrorist attack. This counter-argument is no doubt flawed, but it reflects the dominant perspective on modern counter-terrorism, and could have been addressed more closely in the text. If a ‘cure’ for terrorism is indeed possible, prevailing heads of state and policy-makers working to protect civil liberties in liberal democratic regimes will find value in taking a dose of Ackerman’s juridical prescription for political change. However, it is worth noting that a preventive approach to addressing terrorism and its causes remains in need of research, for it is less effective to treat the symptoms than it is to prevent the disease.

Originally published in: International Affairs 83(3), 2007.