Governing Rural Development: Discourses And Practices of Self-help in Australian Rural Policy (Perspectives on Rural Policy and Planning) (Perspectives on Rural Policy and Planning)

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GOVERNING RURAL DEVELOPMENT

Perspectives on Rural Policy and Planning Series Editors: Andrew Gilg University of Exeter, UK Keith Hoggart King’s College London, UK Henry Buller University of Exeter, UK Owen Furuseth University of North Carolina, USA Mark Lapping University of South Maine, USA Other titles in the series The City’s Hinterland Dynamism and Divergence in Europe’s Peri-Urban Territories Edited by Keith Hoggart ISBN 0 7546 4344 1 Women in Agriculture in the Middle East Edited by Pnina Motzafi-Haller ISBN 0 7546 1920 6 Winning and Losing The Changing Geography of Europe’s Rural Areas Edited by Doris Schmied ISBN 0 7546 4101 5 Critical Studies in Rural Gender Issues Edited by Jo Little and Carol Morris ISBN 0 7546 3517 1 Contesting Rurality Politics in the British Countryside Michael Woods ISBN 0 7546 3025 0

Governing Rural Development Discourses and Practices of Self-help in Australian Rural Policy

LYNDA CHESHIRE The University of Queensland

© Lynda Cheshire 2006 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Lynda Cheshire has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. Published by Ashgate Publishing Limited Gower House Croft Road Aldershot Hampshire GU11 3HR England

Ashgate Publishing Company Suite 420 101 Cherry Street Burlington, VT 05401-4405 USA

Ashgate website: http://www.ashgate.com British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Cheshire, Lynda Governing rural development : discourses and practices of self-help in Australian rural policy. - (Perspectives on rural policy and planning) 1. Rural development - Government policy - Australia 2. Australia - Rural conditions I. Title 307.7'2'0994 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Cheshire, Lynda. Governing rural development : discourses and practices of self-help in Australian rural policy / by Lynda Cheshire. p. cm. -- (Perspectives on rural policy and planning) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-7546-4024-0 (alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-7546-4024-8 (alk. paper) 1. Rural development projects--Australia--Citizen participation. 2. Rural development-Political aspects--Australia. 3. Rural development--Government policy--Australia. I. Title. HN850.Z9C63315 2006 307.1'4120994--dc22 2006020607

ISBN-10: 0-7546-4024-8 ISBN-13: 978-0-7546-4024-0 Printed and bound in Great Britain by MPG Books Ltd, Bodmin, Cornwall.

Contents List of Figures Acknowledgements 1 Introduction: The Problem of Self-help

vii ix 1

2 Power and Government: A Governmentality Perspective

21

3 Contemporary Discourses of Self-help

39

4 A Problematics of Government: Self-help as Discursive Practice

57

5 Technologies of Capacity Building: Disciplining and Regulating Conduct

77

6 Relations of Rule: Self-help in Warmington and Woomeroo

91

7 Docile Bodies? Translating Self-help

113

8 Conclusion: Implications for Rural Development

137

Bibliography Index

151 171

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List of Figures 1.1

4.1

Map of Australia showing approximate location of case study sites Copyright © Commonwealth of Australia, Geoscience Australia (2005)

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The Healthy/Unhealthy Communities Balance Sheet (The IDEAS Group, undated)

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Acknowledgements Writing a book is a lonely undertaking, yet it is not conducted in isolation. Indeed, there is a whole range of people who have made this publication possible. Without their support and encouragement, it might never have been started, let alone completed. Much of the research upon which this book is based was conducted as part of my PhD studies at Central Queensland University, Bundaberg, and I am particularly indebted to my supervisors, Daniela Stehlik and Geoffrey Lawrence who provided me with guidance, advice and critical, but always positive, feedback. What is presented here is a much improved and updated version of that thesis, thanks largely to the helpful insights and recommendations of my examiners, Jim Ife, Pat O’Malley and Neil Ward. The effort of turning a PhD thesis into a commercial book ended up being far greater than I expected, particularly when combined with a new academic career. Fortunately, the School of Social Science at The University of Queensland (UQ) provided a supportive and stimulating environment, which made the process a little less painful. As Head of School, Geoff Lawrence took on the role of mentor and friend but there are others at UQ who have been equally important – Belinda Hewitt, Carol Richards, Zlatko Skrbiš, Jo-Anne Everingham, John Western and Janeen Baxter. Intellectual input and general encouragement were also forthcoming from Vaughan Higgins, Kristen Lyons, Mike Woods, Dimity Lawrence and Michael Herbert, as well as my English and Australian families who would have been proud of me regardless. Finally, the assistance of the participants in this research – the people of Warmington and Woomeroo – must be acknowledged. For weeks, not only did they tolerate my relentless questions, but also welcomed me to their meetings, invited me into their homes and patiently explained things that were new to me. I will always be grateful to them for their kindness and generosity. The map on page 12 is copyright © Commonwealth of Australia, Geoscience Australia. All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of the Chief Executive Officer, Geoscience Australia, Canberra, ACT. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced by any process without prior written permission from Geoscience Australia. Requests and inquiries concerning reproduction and rights should be addressed to the Manager Copyright, Geoscience Australia, GPO Box 378, Canberra ACT 2601, or by email to [email protected].


Chapter 1

Introduction: The Problem of Self-help It would seem somewhat obvious from the title of this book that it is about ‘self-help’ and its application in the pursuit of economic and social reform in rural areas of the advanced western world. As such, it would add to the ever growing list of other books on self-help that are published each year on topics as diverse as alcoholism, stress management, interpersonal relations, bladder control and piggery management. But it should be stated from the outset that this is not a ‘self-help’ book, and will not guide the reader along the path towards self-improvement and personal development. While it demonstrates the extent to which rural development policies of advanced western nations have come to be dominated by such themes, and shows – through empirical analysis – how local self-help efforts have been mobilised in rural areas, this book is not a celebratory account of the virtues or achievements of self-help as a rural development strategy. What it offers, instead, is a critical, theoretical examination of self-help as a guiding framework for contemporary rural policy, and an analysis of the discourses, forms and outcomes of such an approach as they are played out in specific locales. In spite of the burgeoning market for self-help manuals in recent decades, the idea of individuals and communities taking responsibility for their own well-being and ‘pulling themselves up by their own bootstraps’, is not a recent phenomenon. For well over a century, social commentators, development agencies and political activists have suggested that disadvantaged populations are more likely to be ‘empowered’, and development opportunities more sustainable, when the disabling structures of paternalism and welfare dependency are replaced with bottom-up programmes of self-determination and endogenous action (Smiles, 1859 [1986]; Burkey, 1993; United Nations Development Project, 1997). Yet, over the last two decades, these long-established discourses have been incorporated into the rural development policies of contemporary political authorities with a voraciousness that warrants further examination. Could it be that, in seeking new solutions to the downturn facing many rural areas across the globe, national governments are simply returning to the basics (Kretzmann, 1995)? Or, is there something about these contemporary discourses of self-help that distinguish them from their earlier manifestations and invite us to develop new conceptual devices for making sense of them. Defining Self-help Before answering this question, it is worth taking a step back to consider what we mean by self-help and to see how it links with related concepts such as voluntarism

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Governing Rural Development

and active citizenship. In general parlance, self-help refers to the act of supporting or improving oneself without relying upon the assistance of others. Within this definition, it is possible to distinguish between two variations of the term: self-help as manifested through traditional activities of volunteering and mutual community aid, and self-help as an individual enterprise. Both understandings have gained political currency in recent years despite being underpinned by very different philosophies. In the first sense of the term, self-help is a collective endeavour, defined by Williams (2002: 137) as assistance that is ‘provided for and by friends, neighbours or other members of one’s community either on an individual basis or through more organised collective groups and associations’. This is somewhat different from the charitable gesture of voluntarism where the beneficiaries of such action tend not to be involved in its provision. This collective form of self-help can also take a number of forms: informal, neighbourly activities such as car-pooling and other modes of reciprocity; the mutual support afforded by various self-help groups to individuals who share a common problem (Borman, 1992); and more formal modes of volunteering that take place through community organisations, local action groups and voluntary associations. While all types of action are actively encouraged by governments, Williams (2002) notes that more recent attempts by political authorities to harness community self-help schemes tend to be directed at more formalised modes of action than at the informal exchanges of friends or neighbours. In its second sense, self-help is much more of a private, individualistic phenomenon that involves individuals becoming personally responsible for their own lives. Samuel Smiles (1986), one of the earliest proponents of self-help, advocated such an approach when he argued that charity and welfare provision encourage dependency and provide no incentive for impoverished populations to improve their own conditions of existence. Almost a century later, these very same discourses were articulated by conservative governments who warned of the debilitating effects of welfarism upon both the state and welfare recipients, and infused their policies with a new language of personal responsibility and active citizenship (Kearns, 1995). For critical observers at the time, the promotion of self-help in this context was clearly intended as a device to save public expenditure (Rogers, 1987), not only by shifting the burden of service provision to the voluntary sector, but also by encouraging citizens to take greater responsibility for their own well-being through privatised risk management techniques such as private health and superannuation schemes. However, more recent authors, such as Giddens (1991), Bauman (1996) and Beck and Beck-Gernsheim (1996; 2002) see the privatisation of risk as rooted in a much broader process of detraditionalization, whereby traditional institutions and structures, such as class, religion and the family, have less authority and status in guiding people’s lives than they once had. They suggest that in the absence of any pre-given moral order, there is an increased sense of uncertainty in the modern world, which has given rise to a growing preoccupation with the self – not simply in terms of self-interest, but with regards to the responsibility for taking charge of ones life. This ‘age of individualism’ (Hopper, 2003) is reflected in Giddens’ claim that ‘we are, not what we are, but what we make of ourselves’ (1991: 75) and, accordingly,

Introduction: The Problem of Self-help

3

in the rising popularity of the self-help book that guides us through the on-going project of self-improvement in all aspects of our lives. In the context of rural development, contemporary governments have harnessed both the individualistic and communal expressions of self-help to a range of rural policy measures, which seek to encourage individual citizens and whole communities to develop their own revitalisation strategies, rather than relying on governments for financial or other forms of support. This is broadly consistent with the long-established principles of endogenous development, which advocate a form of development that is locally-controlled, where the required skills and resources are locally sourced, and where the benefits of development are retained within the local area (Barke and Newton, 1997: 320). The celebration of the local in this process is driven by the belief that development works best when it is tailored to the diversity and complexity of local conditions and informed by the knowledge and experiences of local people (Rogers, 1987; Berner and Phillips, 2005). Such an approach has encouraged the formulation of policies that adopt a spatial, rather than sectoral, orientation and are designed to address the whole range of economic, social and environmental issues and problems facing specific areas (Shortall and Shucksmith, 2001). The importance of community action is very much evident in this approach, not only in a spatial sense – where community frequently refers to a geographic area such as a neighbourhood, small town or local government area – but also in the assumption that it is the community (as opposed to governments or private enterprises) that should become involved in, or initiate, such development (Gibson and Cameron, 2001; Dibden and Cheshire, 2005). In addition, individualistic notions of self-help also come into play through a growing emphasis upon the role of leadership in driving local development strategies, and a perception that improving the skills, knowledge and attitudes of individual citizens will deliver trickle down benefits to the wider community (for a discussion of this see Cloke, 1990; Langone and Rohs, 1995; Gray and Sinclair, 2005). While the roots of self-help as a development strategy can be found in the colonial community development work of the 1950s, and later in the more politically-inspired community development movement of the 1970s (Midgley, 1986), its popularity is such that it now dominates the rural development agenda of national governments in a vast range of countries (for European nations see Barke and Newton, 1997; Murdoch, 1997; Ray, 1998; Nemes, High and Huzair, 2006 forthcoming; for North and South America see Korsching and Allen; 2004; Rodriguez-Bilella, 2006 forthcoming; for Africa see Nel and Binns, 2000; and for New Zealand and Australia see Phillips and Campbell, 1993; Herbert-Cheshire, 2000; Herbert-Cheshire and Higgins, 2004). The appeal of self-help also extends along both sides of the political spectrum. Those writing from a social justice perspective, for example, see enhanced self-reliance among an empowered population as having the potential to lead to positive social change (see for example, Ife, 1995). They also suggest that government policies are more likely to be sensitive to people’s needs when the groups at which they are targeted are encouraged to participate in the development process (Cheers, 1995). Conversely, self-help has also become part of a neoliberal trajectory that harnesses

4


rural development strategies to broader objectives of economic efficiency, enhanced market competition and increased entrepreneurship among the population at large. No longer content with strategies of community development, governments are now demanding that rural people become more integrated into the national and international economies, either by value-adding and niche marketing in existing industries or by diversifying their economic base through the pursuit of new industries such as tourism. Self-help as a Practice of Government Returning to the question posed earlier, this book contends that there is something quite different about the way self-help is presently being articulated in contemporary political circles. In doing so, it draws upon the work of Michel Foucault, as well as more recent authors, such as Nikolas Rose, Colin Gordon, Graham Burchell and Mitchell Dean, to examine the renewed popularity of selfhelp in the context of various changes taking place in the form and function of the state (Murdoch and Abram, 1998), and the corresponding shift towards new, advanced liberal, forms of governing (Rose, 1993; 1996a; 1996b; Rose and Miller, 1992). Such changes are generally understood in terms of a qualitative shift in the exercise of political power from government to governance. Defined by Stoker as ‘the development of governing styles in which the boundaries between and within the public and private sectors have become blurred’ (1998: 17), the attraction of governance lies in the apparent freedom of citizens from government intervention, and the impression that decisions are no longer imposed from above (O’Malley, 1996). In this sense, governance is seen to represent two apparent shifts in the relationship between the state and civil society: first, that individuals and their communities have become increasingly involved in the governing of social life; and, second, that this inclusion of local actors is seen to represent the simultaneous retreat of government ‘as rule is carried out by the community itself’ (O’Malley, 1996: 313). To date, there have been competing interpretations of this ‘rolling back’ of the state. On the one hand, advocates of these new arrangements have argued that governance is inherently more democratic than centralised forms of governmental authority because it provides increased opportunities for citizens to participate in the decision-making process (Murray and Dunn, 1995; Dryzek, 2002; Fung and Wright, 2003). On the other hand, more sceptical observers have suggested that political authorities have embraced governance, not because of any desire to empower local citizens, but because it enables them to divest themselves of the responsibility for service provision by placing it back into the hands of local people (Cruickshank, 1994; Murdoch, 1997). Moreover, these latter authors suggest that the devolution of responsibility to the local level has not been accompanied by a commensurate amount of decision-making power or resources, which have tended to remain firmly centralised.


5

These debates about the virtues of top-down versus bottom-up are fruitful to the extent that they invite a consideration of the power relations inherent in governance arrangements. Yet, as Martin (1997) points out, they also share a ‘sovereign subject’ metaphor of power that treats power as a resource that can be held, shared, given, or taken away. The effect of such analyses is to limit discussions to questions of who has power and, occasionally, to expose where power really lies. A more fruitful line of inquiry, however – and one that this book follows – is to adopt a Foucauldian analytics of power (see Foucault, 1986) that examines how power is exercised by political authorities to shape local selfhelp initiatives in such a way that certain (politically desirable) outcomes are more likely to ensue than others. From this perspective, self-help is not to be understood simply as an attempt by the state to pull back from its responsibilities to its rural citizens, nor a laudable desire to ‘empower’ them by allowing them to determine their own futures. Rather, it is to be viewed as a practice of government – a discursive practice – that manifests itself in certain ‘concrete arrangements’ (Foucault, 1985: 140) to ‘shape, guide or affect the conduct of some person or persons’ (Gordon, 1991: 2). These mechanisms for governing conduct are not based upon the use of force or the overt imposition of state will. Instead, they rely upon discursive and practical techniques of discipline and regulation that seek to create self-governing individuals and communities that ‘freely’ align their conduct with the socio-political objectives of late capitalism. Consistent with the concern for how power is exercised – as opposed to who possesses it – the purpose of this book is to address the following questions: 1. How is rural development governed when the advanced liberal democracies of the western world preach the freedom of the human subject? 2. To what ends are contemporary forms of self-help directed in the context of rural development? 3. By what means does this act of government take place? 4. What effects does this new form of rule have upon rural areas of the advanced world? 5. And, how, in turn, is power exercised by rural citizens in such a way that they might challenge, resist and reshape the discourses and practices of self-help according to their own objectives? In addressing these questions, the utility of a governmentality approach becomes most apparent as a framework of inquiry. By defining the act of government very broadly as ‘the conduct of conduct’ (Gordon, 1991: 2), a governmentality-based analysis is not limited to the activities of the state, but considers how other, non-state, actors have become bound up in the activity of modern forms of rule. In particular, it shows how an advanced liberal rationality of rule has been made possible through the rise of various disciplinary and regulatory mechanisms that enable individuals to govern their own conduct as well as that of others. Together, these mechanisms link the most micro and locally based social practices in specific rural areas with the

6


large scale organisation of state power at the national, and indeed international, level (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982: 111). In seeking to highlight this link, equal attention is paid in this book to the discourses and practices of self-help as they are articulated by those who seek to govern, and to the techniques and effects of power as they occur in local settings. In the first instance, the analysis commences with a ‘problematics’ of power and government (Foucault, 1997: 14) to examine how political authorities think about and act upon the objects or subjects to be governed. Here, the primary focus is the governmental policy texts and other such narratives through which the problems facing rural areas are defined by those who claim to ‘know them’; the various remedies identified to address those problems; and the rationalities used to justify the solutions presented. Yet, policy documents alone cannot provide a comprehensive insight into the discursive practices of self-help. As Dean (1999: 187) points out, to properly capture the notion of government as an activity, it is equally necessary to consider the practical mechanisms, or governmental technologies, adopted by contemporary governments to guide rural development initiatives. Two such techniques are considered in detail in this book: the provision of rural leadership training as a means of building the self-governing propensities of individual citizens; and community capacity building workshops and conferences that seek to motivate and empower entire communities. Both demonstrate clearly how political power is often invested with practical techniques for shaping the conduct of specific individuals and populations, and exercised by those who are seen to lie outside the realm of the state. Finally, the effects of these mechanisms at the micro level are examined through a qualitative analysis of how self-help is mobilised in rural areas, and how it is done in such a way that local citizens seemingly choose to align their conduct with the broad objectives of state agencies. To a certain extent, the empirical material presented in the book clearly supports the theoretical supposition of governmentality by showing how the act of governing in an advanced liberal manner takes place in specific rural locales. Yet, this is only half the story. What also needs to be considered is how power is exercised by rural citizens as they seek to pursue their development objectives, and how they engage with the state to negotiate, challenge and possibly transform the rural policy agenda. While the ‘conduct of conduct’ refers to any type of behaviour where one seeks to act upon the actions of another, governmentality theorists have tended to preoccupy themselves with the power of the state and its discourses, rationalities, and techniques for governing the conduct of its citizens. Where attention is paid to the individual, it is in the context of the technologies of the self and their application to an advanced liberal form of state power that is exercised at a distance. The outcome of such analyses, as O’Malley observes (1996: 312), is a silence on the question of ‘government from below’, the relationships that form between rule and resistance, and the tensions and instabilities they create. Indeed, the possibility of local people engaging with, and reshaping, the knowledge and practices of state power is rarely considered within the governmentality literature, apart from a few


7

broad statements by Rose and Miller that ‘each actor, each locale, is the point of intersection between forces, and hence a point of potential resistance’ (1992: 190). Even then, the concept of resistance is not entirely satisfactory for understanding the range of actions available to local people in engaging with state power since it offers them two options only: to accept their subjection unquestioningly, or to resist it through overt opposition (Cooper, 1994). In seeking a theoretical framework for conceptualising local agency in all its manifestations, the idea of resistance is substituted by a ‘sociology of translation’ (Law, 1992: 380) as developed in the body of work that has collectively come to be known as actor-network theory (ANT). Within this alternative model, human beings are treated as active agents who continuously reshape and transform the knowledges, practices and effects of power as they encounter them (Latour, 1986). Hence, just as ‘localised procedures of power are adapted, re-inforced and transformed by … global strategies’ (Foucault, 1980a: 142), so, too, are global strategies modified and reshaped by local agents as they are enrolled into an actor-network (Latour, 1986). Self-help in the Context of Rural Change Little has been said so far on the kinds of problems facing rural areas of the advanced western world to which these new modes of governing are being applied. It is worth considering these issues briefly, not only to understand the wider context in which self-help policies are being played out, but also to remind ourselves that the broader processes reshaping the contemporary countryside are not uniform in their effects, but impact upon different rural areas in very different ways. Following other authors (Hoggart and Paniagua, 2001; Shucksmith, 2003; Woods, 2005), it is possible to identify a number broad ‘dynamics’ that are presently driving the process of restructuring in rural areas. These dynamics are not distinctly rural phenomena, but are global in orientation and linked to a broad range of changes in the contemporary era. As Woods (2005) points out, improvements in transportation, communication and technology have lead to a profound re-shaping of both the social relations of rural life and the rural economy. As the mobility of people and goods has increased, so the ties to local community for shopping, work and recreation have loosened, thereby reshaping the demographic and social profiles of rural areas. In politicaleconomic terms, these same globalising tendencies have embedded rural producers in global networks of trade with powerful multi-national food corporations and global regulatory bodies – usually on terms over which they have little control. The outcome of these changes in rural areas has been the emergence of a ‘global countryside’, which Woods (forthcoming) sees ‘not so much as a centre of power, but rather as a site of subjugation’ by external actors through acts of globalisation. While the increasing integration of rural areas within this global trade network has enabled some places to market themselves on the basis of a regional or local identity, it has also created a situation in which global capital can exploit rural areas where low wages, poor working conditions and lower levels of government

8


regulation prevail (Shucksmith, 2003). In an attempt to pursue their advantage in this new environment, national governments of the developed world have sought to enhance the competitiveness of their primary industries through policies of deregulation and the removal of trade tariffs and other such subsidies. The intensity with which domestic governments have pursued such policies varies considerably, yet even in Europe, where agriculture has traditionally received much greater levels of protection than in countries such as Australia, concerns over rising budgets and environmental decline have impelled a reform process that has lead to the decline of a range of farm support subsidies (Stockdale, Findlay and Short, 2000). Within this new policy environment, farm numbers have declined significantly in most advanced western countries, and farm sizes have increased, as corporate-run agri-businesses comprise a growing proportion of all farming enterprises (Lyson and Welsh, 2005; Smithers, Joseph and Amstrong, 2005). Other policy changes in the areas of housing and service provision have also had a profound effect upon rural areas, both in terms of their economic prosperity, and with respect to their demographic composition and the ostensible erosion of traditional ways of life. In most parts of the developed world, the sum effect of these processes has been a decline in the relative importance of agriculture, not only in terms of its contribution to the national economy, but equally with regards to its economic, social and cultural significance in rural areas themselves. This decline is expressed in a range of ways: in the reduced role of farming in food production; in the decrease in farm employment numbers; in the so-called ‘decoupling’ of agricultural production and rural community life (Smithers et al, 2005) and in the declining contribution of primary production to farm family incomes as producers diversify their economic base by pursuing a range of off-farm employment options (Hoggart and Paniagua, 2001). While job creation in the service sector has offset the loss of farming jobs to some degree, Shucksmith (2003) argues that unemployment levels in rural areas are often higher than official statistics reveal, particularly in places that are more remote and/or reliant upon agriculture as a source of income. A further symptom of agriculture’s fall from its hegemonic position is changing land use in rural areas as conventional ways of understanding rural spaces are challenged by newly emerging environmental, consumer and urban interest groups who expect to be consulted in decisions over how rural spaces are managed. As well as leading to conflict over land use, Marsden (2003) identifies a broader shift associated with this state of affairs whereby the contemporary countryside has changed from being merely a site of production for primary groups to becoming a site of consumption by urban migrants and tourists. Under this new paradigm, rural spaces have been recoded as a consumption good ‘to be exploited, not by industrial capital, but by the urban population … centrally concerned with the construction of the rural landscape and its protection’ (Marsden, 2003: 9). To simplify matters, the impact of these processes in rural areas can be understood as taking one of two forms. In peri-urban, coastal and high amenity rural areas of countries such as Britain (Shucksmith, 2003), the US (Nelson, 2001), New Zealand (Scott, Park and Cocklin, 2000), Canada (Smithers et al, 2005) and Australia (Holmes,


9

2002), a process of counter-urbanisation has taken place in which significant numbers of older, more affluent residents have moved out of urban centres in pursuit of a rural lifestyle. As Nelson (2001) documents, for example, the rural states of America’s west have experienced significant levels of economic and population growth since the late 1980s due to in-migration, economic diversification and changing land use. He shows that between 1990 and 1998, the average net migration rate for the western counties was more than twice that of the US average (nine percent compared to 4.1 percent), with one quarter of those western counties encountering population growth rates of over 16 percent. Similarly, in the UK, Woods (2005) has observed a 12.4 percent increase in the population of rural districts in England from 1981 to 2001 compared with an increase in urban populations of only 2.4 percent during that same period. While acknowledging that this influx of relatively well-off, professional residents has enabled rural areas to ‘share in the nation’s prosperity’, Shucksmith (2003: 211) argues that the gentrification of those places has also created inequality and social exclusion as burgeoning house prices prevent all but the most affluent from entering into the rural housing market. Those generally excluded tend to be younger, working class sectors of the rural populace who are often forced to leave by the lack of affordable housing and the limited transport, social services and childcare facilities available. For the few who stay, as Hoggart and Paniagua (2001) point out, their lives are increasingly made more difficult in the absence of such services. Counter-urbanisation may be a dominant trend in the changing demography of contemporary rural areas, yet it is not a universal phenomenon. Indeed, in more remote, peripheral rural parts of Canada, Australia, France and even the US, the process is reversed (Murray and Dunne, 1995; Gray and Lawrence, 2001; Dewees Lobao and Swanson, 2003; Woods, 2005). For these places, the trajectory is one of decline rather than growth and there is little in the way of employment prospects, recreational facilities or service provision to either prevent the out-migration of existing residents or encourage new ones to move in. Those leaving also tend to be younger, wealthier, more educated sectors of the population who leave behind some of the most socially disadvantage and marginalised members of rural society. For them, the problems of living in a declining area are compounded further by a corresponding loss of rural services such as local banks, post offices, transportation and government agencies. The enthusiasm with which contemporary governments have embraced economic rationalist ideals and replaced notions of redistribution and social equity with principles of privatisation, user pays and economic efficiency have had a profound impact upon service provision in rural areas (see Tonts, 2000 for an Australian discussion of this). As population levels fall below critical mass, so services that are no longer deemed cost effective are downgraded, closed or centralised to the nearest regional centre. This, in turn, promotes further out-migration from these areas, thereby accelerating what Lawrence and Williams (1989) term the ‘dynamics of decline’. Practices of cross-subsidisation to rural areas have also declined with the advent of privatisation, as the state’s willingness or capacity to regulate or redistribute rural service provision diminishes (Tonts, 2000; Johnsen, 2004).

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The Australian Situation: Two Case Studies It is against the backdrop of, and in response to, these global dynamics of change in rural areas that discourses and practices of self-help have been formulated in much of the advanced western world. To this extent, the insights offered in this book are not restricted to a single country but are relevant to a broad range of sites in which similar rationalities and rural policy debates take place. Nevertheless, it remains important to ground the discussion in some kind of localised context, not only so the link between various governmentalities of the state and micropractices of power can be teased out in more detail, but also because the different macro policy frameworks within which self-help programmes are instituted can also play a significant role in shaping the outcomes of these programmes across different countries. In terms of rural policy, moreover, the success or failure of self-help schemes is heavily dependent upon the economic, social and political circumstances of individual rural areas and the level of skills and resources that exist in those places. While Chapter Three outlines the policy frameworks of self-help in the UK, Europe, the US and Australia, the remaining chapters focus more explicitly upon the Australian experience and present an empirical analysis of two case studies from the State of Queensland. By and large, Australia parallels the broader narrative of rural change outlined above, although counter-urbanisation has tended to be more limited there and predominantly restricted to coastal or peri-urban areas located within the vicinity of beaches, tourist areas or urban centres (Salt, 2001). As Bowie and Smailes (1998) explain, unlike the rural landscapes of Britain and Europe, which were settled initially by a feudal peasant population that eventually moved to urban centres, Australia’s settlement history since its establishment as a penal colony has been very much urban-based. Some migration inland began to take place from the mid 1800s onwards, creating rather a sparsely populated rural sector, although this trend has been in reverse since the 1960s with the growth in popularity of coastal living. Figures from the Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) demonstrate, for example, that while 43 percent of Australians lived in rural areas in 1911, this proportion steadily declined to just 14 percent in 1976 (ABS, 2002: 5). More recent figures provided by Hugo (2005: 59) indicate that the proportion of Australians living in rural areas has fallen a little lower since then to a 2001 figure of 13.7 percent. The effect of this trend overall is one of a mounting coastal dominance and a declining rural base, apart from a number of inland ‘sponge cities’ (Salt, 2001) that grow by soaking up the population of surrounding rural areas. The impact this decline has upon rural towns and regions, and the self-help efforts that are fostered in response, is demonstrated clearly in the case study sites presented later in this book. For the purpose of introduction, a brief outline of the recent experiences of these places is provided below following an exposition of the methods used in undertaking the research.


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A Statement on Method The arguments presented in this book are based upon a three-year programme of research combining primary and secondary data analysis generated through a variety of research methods. In the first instance, this involved an examination of what Foucault termed ‘true’ discourses: the dominant discourses, political rationalities or mentalities of rule that ‘serve to found, justify and provide reasons and principles for … ways of doing things’ (Foucault, 1991a: 79). Such an examination involves, not only the way those responsible for governing rural development problematise and rationalise their activities, but also the manner in which they seek to invest them with a power and authority that imbues them with the status of truth. For the purpose of this research, ‘true discourses’ consist of policy documents and parliamentary reports formulated by Australian federal, State and territory governments on issues of rural decline and development. In light of the observation that government is no longer an activity of the state, however, so the scope of analysis must be broadened to consider the role of other, non-governmental and expert, discourses in shaping rural development activities (see Rose, 1999). It is for this reason that government press releases, strategic plans, departmental discussion papers, community-sponsored workshops and expert opinions have also been included in the analysis. Second, an examination of governmental discourses should not occur at the neglect of the point where power becomes invested with practices, where it produces observable effects, and where its relationship with those who are the objects of that rule is more direct and immediate (Foucault, 1986: 233). It is at this point, moreover, that governmental thinking about self-help is translated into governmental technologies, which provide the ‘concrete arrangements’ (Foucault, 1985: 140) for governing conduct more directly. Community brainstorming activities, community audits and workshops, and leadership training courses are all such mechanisms that are worthy of exploration. For the purpose of this research, two such examples have been selected for further investigation. The first is a community capacity building workshop known as ‘Positive Rural Futures’ (PRF): an annual conference organised by the Queensland Government that provides a forum for community teams to develop plans to revitalise and remotivate their communities. The second example – a rural leadership training programme known as Building Rural Leaders (BRL) – is also an initiative of the Queensland Government. Established in 1992, Building Rural Leaders comprises a series of six separate workshops designed to build the capacity of rural people to achieve their own economic and regional development goals (BRL, undated a). Finally, if the policy documents provide access to the discursive practices of community self-help, and the sites of Positive Rural Futures and Building Rural Leaders exemplify the ‘concrete arrangements’ (Foucault, 1985: 140) or governmental technologies of power, it is through a micro-analysis of how power is exercised at the local level that its effects, and the strategies of negotiation or contestation it incites, become open to observation. In order to achieve this goal, two local action groups were chosen as ‘selective case studies’ (Hakim, 1987:

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Figure 1.1


Map of Australia showing approximate location of case study sites Copyright © Commonwealth of Australia, Geoscience Australia (2005)

62) to highlight the issues under consideration. These are the Woomeroo Action Group, located in the town of Austin approximately 600 kilometres from the Queensland capital of Brisbane, and the Warmington Revival Committee based in the Warmington Ranges region of Queensland (Figure 1.1 shows the approximate location of both sites). For reasons of confidentiality, the actual names and specific locations of the two groups are not revealed but have been substituted with pseudonyms. Fieldwork was conducted with the two groups during three trips to each research site during 1999. The principal techniques for generating data were semistructured interviews with group members, as well as employees from State and local government where appropriate. In sum, a total of 43 interviews were held; 20 in Woomeroo and 23 in Warmington. Each interview lasted between sixty and ninety minutes and all but one was tape-recorded. Participants were asked a range of questions about the kinds of issues their town or region was facing; the events that lead to the formation of the group in question; the kind of development projects it had initiated over the years; the group’s relationships with government and


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non-government organisations; and any challenges or opportunities it had faced in formulating its own development strategies. Participant observation at group meetings and various other workshops supplemented the interview material on the two groups and also generated the data for Chapter Five’s analysis of Building Rural Leaders and Positive Rural Futures. Of the five Positive Rural Futures conferences held between 1997 and 2001, three were attended for the purpose of this research, along with the first of the six Building Rural Leaders workshops, which was designed to provide an overview of the whole programme during a preliminary four-day session. Case Study 1: Austin, Woomeroo and the Woomeroo Action Group The principle town of a rural shire covering 27,793 square kilometres (Austin Tourist Brochure, undated: 1), Austin is located approximately 600 kilometres from the Queensland capital of Brisbane. Like many Australian country towns, which developed primarily as service centres along road or rail corridors (Ling, 1994), the highway runs directly through the main street of Austin, and this provides the town with a source of income from visitors travelling to the nearby National Park who stop for fuel, refreshments and overnight accommodation. Primary production is a significant source of income for both the township of Austin and the Woomeroo Shire, with well over half of all businesses comprising the category of agriculture, forestry, fishing and mining (Queensland Office of Economic and Statistical Research, 1999a: 3). The rural sector mainly consists of sheep and cattle grazing, while wheat, barley and oats are the principle crops. Timber is also an important source of income and the shire holds two of the biggest cypress pine crown licenses in Queensland (The South-West News, 7th January 1986: 11). More than half the population of Woomeroo resides in Austin, while the remainder is divided among the surrounding rural area and the smaller townships of Doveton and Tullumbungee (Woomeroo Shire Council, 1998: 2). Consistent with the trend of negative growth that characterises much of inland Australia, the shire’s population has been decreasing steadily since the 1950’s census figure of 3,117 (Commonwealth Bureau of Census and Statistics, 1954) and now stands at approximately 1,875 (Queensland Office of Economic and Statistical Research, 2005a: 2). This decline has impacted most upon Doveton and Tullumbungee, which now consist of barely more than a single store and a hotel to service the remaining properties in the surrounding region. Nevertheless, the effects upon Austin have also been significant. In the early 1990s, a combination of drought, poor commodity prices, falling population levels and government service rationalisation prompted the Queensland daily newspaper, The Courier Mail, to include Austin in its special report on ‘dying’ towns (13th July 1991: 3). The symptoms of the town’s demise were numerous: the fire brigade, ambulance and hospital boards; the Telstra telecommunications company branch office; the boarding facility at the local convent school; and the local courthouse had already closed. Also imminent was the closure of the small freight depot at the local railway station and the ensuing loss of 18 local jobs.

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Prompted by these events, the Mayor of Woomeroo called a public meeting in October 1991 to discuss the challenges Austin was facing. Over 100 people attended the meeting, at the end of which the Woomeroo Action Group was formed to pressure the State Government into reconsidering some of its decisions that were now having an adverse effect upon the town. A local pharmacist was elected president of the group and the Chief Executive Officer (CEO) of the Shire Council took on the role of secretary, while financial assistance was provided by the Council in the form of a $25,000 per year grant to cover running costs. Once established, the first two issues taken up by the Action Group were the closure of Austin’s court and rail services. To this end, the group arranged to meet the State Government Transport Minister to appeal for a review of the small freight depot situation (The South-West News, 26th April 1991: 3), and presented the Queensland Justice Minister with a petition of 840 names requesting the re-opening of the Austin courthouse and a return of all its court and legal services (The South-West News, 1st February 1991: 1). Reactionary in nature, the Woomeroo Action Group’s main concern in the initial months after its formation was to prevent any further services being removed from the town. However, October 1991 marked the beginning of a new role for the group as a conduit for economic development in the region, when it hosted its first ‘Future Search Workshop’. Facilitated by a professional consultant, and jointly sponsored by the Woomeroo Shire Council and the Queensland Department of Business, Industry and Regional Development (now the Queensland Department of State Development), the purpose of the workshop was to encourage local people to take an active interest in the future development of their town and to put forward suggestions on the possible direction that development might take. More than 80 people participated in the event (Martin, 1991) to identify eight projects they considered worthy of further investigation. Participants were then assigned to working groups to develop each project and, although most eventually proved too costly or unfeasible (Mueller, 1996), two went on to yield positive outcomes. The first working group was responsible for the investigation of a possible sand mining and associated brick or cement products industry using sand dredged from the local weir. In the first instance, the group persuaded the Woomeroo Shire Council to purchase a machine for block making on a small scale, although high transportation costs hindered the group’s attempt to sell the sand outside the area. Eventually the project was taken over by the Council and the ‘Woomeroo Block’ has been made and sold locally since 1991. The second group, a tourism working group, became a subcommittee of the Woomeroo Action Group and initiated a number of tourist projects in the town including the development of a tourist brochure, the restoration of the town’s historic courthouse into an information centre, and the construction of a pool complex equipped with a hot spa, heated pool, therapy room and Internet café. While local efforts to develop alternative industries in Austin have done little to reverse the population decline facing the town, the public discourse surrounding its fate has certainly changed in the last decade. In February 2001, Austin featured in another Courier Mail report; this time to exemplify towns that had successfully ‘transformed and rejuvenated’ themselves ‘as part of a survival strategy’ (26th


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February 2000: 1). Much of the credit for this turnaround was attributed to the Woomeroo Action Group. Now facing its second decade since formation, the Action Group has continued to work closely with the Council in its attempt to attract new industries to the shire and further encourage the growth of tourism. This task has been aided in recent years by the appointment of a range of development officers within the Woomeroo Shire Council who are financed through external and local funds. By 1995, the Action Group had come to observe that significant levels of funding were available to organisations that knew how to access them, and realised that it needed to tap into these resources. How the group became aware of these opportunities is explored more fully in Chapter Six, yet the outcome was that it agreed to forfeit its $25,000 a year assistance package from the Council on the provision that the Council would match the funds to help employ an Economic Development Officer (EDO). Eventually the Council took over the payment of the EDO’s wages entirely and further expanded its expert base by recruiting a Tourist Development Officer, a Rural Youth Worker, a Library/ Cultural Development Officer and a Manager of Entrepreneurial and Marketing Services. With the assistance of these officers, the group has had significant success in securing funding for its development projects and has frequently been presented as a self-help success story in order to motivate and inspire others to follow its example. According to those interviewed for this research, the Woomeroo Action Group’s membership peaked at 150 people shortly after the Future Search Workshop in 1991, but subsequently dwindled to a ‘hard core’ of 8-10 active members who form the group’s management committee and 30 who do little more than pay their annual $10 fee. While a number of new arrivals to the town have joined the group, it is still comprised predominantly of long-term Austin residents who have also tended to be active in other areas of social life. Representatives from the rural part of the shire, or from Doveton and Tullumbungee, have generally been absent in spite of the original intentions of the group to take a shire-wide perspective. Equally noticeable is the fact that the majority of members also own local businesses in Austin, which has prompted members and non-members alike to equate the Woomeroo Action Group with a local Chamber of Commerce or business group. This image has been perpetuated further by the Action Group regularly hosting business breakfasts and an annual business awards dinner. However, as one member pointed out during his interview, Austin residents do see the Action Group as a voice for local people and have approached it on a broad range of matters. Case Study 2: The Warmington Ranges and the Warmington Revival Committee Covering an area of almost 6,000 square kilometres, and located approximately four hours from Brisbane, the Warmington Ranges is one of the richest and most varied agricultural areas in Australia (Committee for Economic Development of Australia, 1998: 7). Unlike Austin, which is directly located on a major highway, the four small townships of Warmington – Romsey, Midhurst, Warsash and Kilfenora – are located off a highway that runs between the two regional cities of Durham

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and Cleethorpes. Without the trade from passing traffic, the Warmington townships mainly act as service centres for the surrounding rural region. This means that with only a few other industries in the area, any decline in the rural economy tends to be reflected in a falling prosperity in the towns as well. Nevertheless, the Warmington Ranges continue to be an important agricultural area for the State. Beef, pork and dairy farming are the primary livestock industries in the region, while the principal crops include sorghum, sunflowers, barley, wheat, maize, lucerne and small crops. In addition to agriculture, employment is also available to local people at the shire council offices, as well as various food and grain processing plants. The smaller townships offer basic services on a day-to-day level including schooling, hospital care and recreation, although a decade of centralisation policy by the Queensland Government now means all other needs must be met either by a trip to Cleethorpes in the south or Durham in the north. Population figures for 2003 currently stand at approximately 29,347 for the region as a whole (Queensland Office of Economic and Statistical Research, 2005b: 2), which represents an increase in the 1998 figure of 27,663 (Australian Bureau of Statistics, 1991). This increase can be explained partly by improved transport services and better roads in the region, which have brought the northern townships into closer proximity with Durham. Only 30 minutes from Durham, Midhurst, for example, is increasingly recognised as a viable place to live for those working in the city but seeking a ‘country’ lifestyle. Agricultural expansion and settlement on the Warmington Ranges was frequently hindered throughout the 19th and 20th centuries by depression and drought. In spite of such setbacks, farming expanded in the region, particularly during the post-war boom when cereal and dairy farming both increased (French and Waterson, 1982: 54). By the 1980s, however, when the first phase of the modern day rural crisis was said to have reached its peak in Australia (Linn, 1999: 167), the Warmington region, along with many other rural parts, was in a difficult situation. A decade of drought, compounded by poor commodity prices, environmental decline and high debt levels (Warmington Revival Committee, undated: 1), had created a difficult situation for local farmers that was made worse by an over-zealous process of subdivision by previous councils, leaving farm sizes to small to capitalise on economies of scale. Highly dependent upon the well-being of the rural sector for their own prosperity, the townships in the region similarly began to feel the effects of the rural downturn. In 1995, members of the Warsash branch of the Queensland Grain Growers Association and the Warsash Landcare Group called a public meeting to express their concern over the long-term viability of the region’s primary industries and the subsequent effect this was having upon the townships as a whole. This had been a matter of discussion among some of the farmers in the region over the previous two years, and initial meetings had already taken place with local councillors in the region as well as with representatives from several State government departments, including the Queensland Department of Primary Industries (QDPI). Over 80 people attended the Warsash meeting (The Cleethorpes Daily News, 1st November 1995: 9), at the end of which a six-member steering committee was elected to review the


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suggestions put forward and propose an appropriate strategy for future action. At a second, follow-up meeting in November that same year, the steering committee recommended the formation of a management group whose task would be to design and implement a development strategy for the Warmington Ranges (The Cleethorpes Daily News, 5th December 1995: 10). Seven individuals – three women and four men – seen to possess the appropriate expertise, knowledge and experience to manage such a project, were duly elected to form the Warmington Revival Committee (The Cleethorpes Daily News, 1st November 1995: 9). Given the farming background of the individuals who called the 1995 meeting, and the two organisations sponsoring the event, it is not surprising that the Warmington Revival Committee considered the problems facing the local farming population its most pressing concern. While the decline of the towns and the lack of young people staying in farming were also recognised as issues to be addressed, the group regarded these problems as a consequence of the lack of long-term viability facing primary producers. Its main projects since that time have been consistent with these ambitions and have focussed upon the development of alternative enterprises to either replace the traditional crops of barley, wheat and sorghum, or add value to them. For this reason, the QDPI took an active interest in the group’s activities from an early stage, providing members with information about sources of funding and networking opportunities, as well as assistance with running costs. For the first year, that support was offered on an informal basis by a local resident in the region who was also employed by the Department in Cleethorpes. In 1996, however, the QDPI established a Rural Partnership Unit in Durham, employing a number of Rural Partnership Development Officers to offer more formal support to community organisations like the Warmington Revival Committee. With the assistance of the Rural Partnership Development Officers, the Warmington Revival Committee identified a number of projects that it believed could be feasibly established in the area. While some quickly proved to be too difficult, or showed no signs of progression, the most promising of these initiatives was the proposed development of a linseed/flax industry in the area, involving the production of linseed and flax in their raw form, and the processing of flax through the establishment of a cooperatively-owned processing plant as well. A second proposal – to establish a whisky distillery at the nearby town of Kilfenora and use locally grown barley for production – was also fuelled by a desire to add value to local crops, although the distillery was also part of a larger plan to promote tourism in the region as a way of addressing decline (The Cleethorpes Daily News, 1st August 1998: 1). In December 1998, the Warmington Revival Committee called a public meeting with the people of Kilfenora and suggested that a working party be established to investigate the idea further (The Cleethorpes Daily News, 10th December 1998: 2). Unfortunately, a feasibility study of the distillery concluded that the project would not be viable because of the high costs involved in constructing, setting up and running the distillery (The Cleethorpes Daily News, 16th March 1999: 3). A final project involved the development of an artificial drying process for lucerne as a way of enabling farmers to retain greater control over the quality of their crop and, hence,

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target higher priced niche markets. Initially formulated by a single individual who joined the Committee in the hope that doing so would help accelerate the project, the initiative was hindered by a lack of capital and was not expected to proceed in the foreseeable future. For the Warmington Revival Committee, this lack of funds was one of its greatest challenges. However, in 1998, the group was selected to pilot the Commonwealth Department of Transport and Regional Services’ (DOTARS) newly-released Rural Plan, which promised the group $100,000 worth of funding for a range of activities. In contrast to the group’s original ambitions of developing a sustainable rural sector, the objectives of the Rural Plan centred around issues of community capacity building, strategic planning and community consultation, yet most group members agreed that this was still an opportunity that was too good to ignore. With only 24 hours to prepare the funding submission, the task of writing the application was taken on by an officer from the Rural Partnership Unit in collaboration with a group member who worked at a nearby university. The application also went through an extensive process of revision before it was considered acceptable by the federal department, with a representative from DOTARS travelling to Warmington to work with the group and provide additional information on how the application might best be completed. At the end of 1999, the Warmington Revival Committee received the funding, most of which had already been allocated to a number of capacity building activities, including community consultation meetings with other groups and residents in the area, a skills audit of the district, leadership development training for several group members, and the appointment of a part-time Regional Coordinator. The expansion of its remit into matters of community development and strategic planning was also accompanied by the recruitment of new members into the group from non-farming backgrounds, as well as the departure of some of its earlier participants who opposed the new direction the group was taking. Most of the original members have remained, although occasional bouts of frustration about its lack of progress have prompted the group to consider disbanding on more than one occasion. In addition, recruitment into the group has tended to occur on an invitation-only basis, giving the group an appearance of being elitist, and limiting its membership to approximately 10 regular meeting-goers and 20 in total. Following the appointment of the Regional Coordinator, however, the group was hopeful that the membership base would enlarge as local residents become more aware of its existence and were encouraged to join its activities. Structure of the Book There are seven chapters remaining in this book, which seek to examine the political rationalities associated with the rise of self-help in rural policy, as well as the governmental technologies through which micro-practices of power are exercised in local areas. The first half of the book does this by focussing predominantly on the policy discourses of self-help, both in Australia and elsewhere, and considers


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the effects of these policy statements as they are constituted in certain institutional, normative and discursive practices. Chapter Two offers an overview of the governmentality literature on which the conceptual analysis is based, while Chapter Three provides the reader with a more detailed understanding of the policy settings in which self-help approaches to rural development have emerged. As this introductory chapter has already indicated, self-help has long been promoted as an antidote to a host of economic and social ills, yet it is suggested in Chapter Three that there is something quite distinct about more contemporary forms of self-help, which not only continues to pique interest, but also requires us to subject them to new forms of analysis. An example of this type of analysis is provided in Chapter Four, which undertakes a ‘problematics’ of government to show how discursive practices of selfhelp are articulated in such a way that certain, politically-desirable solutions and outcomes are more likely to ensue than others. Chapter Five also focuses on the objectives of those who seek to govern, but moves closer towards a micro-level analysis by focusing more sharply on the governmental technologies of Positive Rural Futures and Building Rural Leaders. In contrast, Chapter Six pays attention to the effects of power as they are experienced in rural towns and regions like Warmington and Woomeroo where local citizens are attempting to initiate their own programmes of development through various selfhelp schemes. Rather than conclude at this point that the Woomeroo and Warmington groups are powerless to the will of state agencies, Chapter Seven presents the case that, in spite of the mechanisms put in place to govern their conduct, both groups continue to articulate and pursue their own interests, leading to a rejection, modification and ‘translation’ of government policy in the process. How these various courses of action are followed in Woomeroo and Warmington, and the effects they have upon the way power is exercised through rural policy, are questions that are raised in the course of this chapter. Finally, Chapter Eight concludes by considering the wider implications of this research and the lessons learnt, and questions the extent to which self-help can effectively address the problems facing rural areas throughout the advanced world. In Australian rural policy, as elsewhere, self-help has become a panacea for rural decline, not only because it sits nicely with advanced liberal notions of individual responsibility, but also because it inspires heart-warming tales of small communities that have survived, against the odds, through positive thinking and community action. This book provides some relief to such tales, not so much by denying the importance of endogenous forms of development, but by showing that the socio-political conditions in which such forms of self-help are induced are neither neutral, nor necessarily conducive to sustainable outcomes. As such, this book contributes towards a growing body of international literature that adopts much more of a critical perspective on self-help than has previously existed, and its insights can be extended beyond the Australian case presented. It is hoped moreover, that future policy debates might also be informed by such work and that the assumptions and practices underpinning self-help in its advanced liberal mode are better understood.


Chapter 2

Power and Government: A Governmentality Perspective Since the early 1980s, the so-called ‘welfare state’ in advanced capitalist nations has come under increasing pressure. Partly due to various social, economic and demographic changes that are causing greater numbers of people to be eligible for state assistance (Bryson, 1994) and partly due to the emergence of neoliberal principles among all major political parties, the effect has been a shift towards the market as the guiding principle of government activity (Ife, 1995) and a corresponding emphasis on notions of economic efficiency, competition, individual choice and user-pays. At the beginning of the 21st century, the vision of a national welfare system, providing free and ready access to a wide range of unemployment, health, housing and educational services, is no longer a reality in many countries. In its place is what can be described better as a ‘residual’ form of welfare (Stephens, 1996: 463) in which individuals above a certain benchmark receive little in the way of state assistance while those below it are protected from further disadvantage by the maintenance of a welfare safety net (Lawrence and Stehlik, 1996). For advocates of these changes, the significance of residual state support is not so much that it heralds the triumph of free-market individualism (Barry, Osborne and Rose, 1996), but more that it represents an attempted ‘third way’ of policy making that combines a market led economy with a redistributive social policy (Goodwin, 1998). Proponents of the third way see its uniqueness in the way it seeks to transcend either/or approaches of market versus society, collectivism versus individualism and capital versus labour, recognising that such dualisms do little to maintain the well-being of the market and society (see Giddens, 1998; Latham, 1998). Third way approaches rely upon a ‘social glue’ of mutual obligation that binds individuals to the wider social community, not only through their ‘rights’ as citizens but also through their responsibilities – as citizens – to improve their own conditions of existence. In certain areas of welfare, this principle manifests itself in specific policies such as ‘work for the dole’ and literacy tests, yet it rests, more generally, on the idea of citizenship as something that now must be activated (Kearns, 1995). Active citizens are individuals who operate: … as active and free citizens, as informed and responsible consumers, as members of selfmanaging communities and organizations, as actors in democratizing social movements, and as agents capable of taking control of our own risks (Dean, 1999; 168).

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As subsequent chapters illustrate in more detail, themes of active citizenship and self-government are consistent with governmental discourses of self-help that dominate contemporary approaches to rural development in advanced liberal societies. In seeking to understand why such themes have come to replace more welfare oriented forms of government, researchers have tended to draw one of two conclusions. The first is that self-help and self-government are cheap solutions to the growing pressures upon the welfare state (Sher and Sher, 1994; see also Bryson and Mowbray, 1981; McLaughlin, 1987; Cruickshank, 1994; Murdoch, 1997). They argue that, forced to relocate many of their traditional activities into the private, voluntary or community spheres, contemporary governments have accompanied such moves with a rhetoric of community empowerment in an attempt to sell selfhelp to those who will feel the added burden of its responsibility. In light of the extent to which public sector reform has been actively pursued in countries such as Australia, New Zealand and the UK, it is tempting to conclude that the devolution of responsibility to the local level is indeed part of long-term governmental ambitions to cut back on public spending (see for example Murdoch, 1997). Nevertheless, this interpretation has little explanatory value in making sense of the various ways in which the state continues to shape and guide human action in spite of its ‘hands off’ approach. Further, the notion of the state ‘pulling back’ appears inconsistent with observations that state involvement in all aspects of social life is actually increasing. Indeed, the distinctive feature of advanced liberalism, as Hunter points out (1998), is that it involves the simultaneous curtailment and extension of governments into the private and non-governmental realms. The second problematic conclusion that often emerges from theories of state restructuring is related, but specifically concerns the ontological oppositions of state and civil society upon which such discussions rest. While third way approaches do, at least, seek to overcome the traditional dualisms of private versus public and market versus society (see Goodwin, 1998), the assumption remains that the state and society are distinct but ‘largely coextensive systems of social organisation’ (Hindess, 1996: 211) whose relationship is relatively clear and unproblematic. In the early 1990s, Rose and Miller (1992) argued that the political vocabulary of such dualisms was no longer useful for understanding the modern state. Since that time, power and rule have become even more complex following the formation of partnerships between state and non-state actors, and the further devolution of many activities formerly provided by the state to a range of quasi-autonomous nongovernment organisations (‘quangos’). Defined briefly in Chapter One, the concept of governance has been formulated to capture the extent to which governing styles are moving away from the formal powers of the state towards new partnerships between state and civil society. While a number of theorists have adopted the term governance to make sense of these shifts (see for example, Goodwin, 1998; Marsden and Murdoch, 1998; Murdoch and Abram, 1998; Ward and McNicholas, 1998a), the idea of a partnership between the two distinct spheres of state and society remains inadequate for understanding the ‘fragmented maze’ (Stoker, 1998: 19) in which the new networks of power are sited.

Power and Government: A Governmentality Perspective

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Rather than debate the issue of whether governance represents a ‘genuine’ attempt to devolve power to the local level, this chapter proposes that a more fruitful understanding of contemporary forms of government lies within an exploration of the changes taking place in the techniques of governing. In this context, the salient question becomes one of how power is exercised (see Foucault, 1986) as opposed to ‘who possesses it?’. As a way of addressing this question, while avoiding the two rather inadequate conclusions described above, this book undertakes a ‘problematics’ of power and government as postulated by the French philosopher, Michel Foucault, and later developed by more contemporary authors such as Nikolas Rose, Colin Gordon, Graham Burchell and Peter Miller. While Foucault’s thinking in the early 1970s was dominated by a more general ‘microphysics of power’ (Foucault, 1977a: 26), his later ideas on governmentality were developed from this work (Dean, 1994). Both power and government are of relevance here and provide a framework for thinking about how state power is exercised in late capitalist societies without resorting to functionalist assumptions regarding economic imperatives to reduce public outlay. By defining government as the conduct of conduct (Gordon, 1991: 2), Foucault’s usage of the term extends beyond restricted notions of government as an activity of the state to incorporate the various ways in which power – including political power – is exercised outside the traditional realm of state bureaucracies (Sawicki, 1994). As Rose (1993) argues, modern forms of government do not come from a central body known as ‘the state’ but involve a complex network of power relations that connect political institutions with the various apparatus, individuals and mechanisms that govern human conduct and, yet, remain essentially non-political. At the most micro, and apparently non-political, level lie the ‘technologies of the self’ (Foucault, 1988a), which, through the exercise of ‘self upon self’ (Foucault, 1991b: 2), involve the voluntary shaping of one’s own conduct according to established norms or truths about how individuals should think and behave. While seemingly distant from the central powers of state authorities, it is Foucault’s contention that the individual’s relationship with him or herself remains inextricably linked to the political power of the state because of the way it is utilised in contemporary strategies of government (Dean, 1999). Under advanced liberalism, political authorities are able to govern the non-political ‘at a distance’ (Rose and Miller, 1992) precisely because they have appropriated certain technologies that create citizens who are active in their own government. For this reason, it is important to appreciate that the conduct of conduct extends as much towards the idea of self-government as it does the government of others and, further, that the government cannot be understood in isolation of either. Indeed, Dreyfus and Rabinow are of the opinion that one of Foucault’s major contributions to contemporary thinking is his analysis ‘of the body as the place where the most minute and local social practices are linked up with the large scale organisation of power’ (1982: 111). The purpose of this chapter is to expound the main issues introduced so far and use them to construct a theoretical framework for the analysis that takes place later in the book. Developed around the general theme of governmentality, as advanced

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by Foucault and subsequent authors, the chapter maintains a focus on political power but will be structured according to the ‘triple domain’ (Dean, 1994: 176) of government as involving the government of others, self-government and the government of the state. Some of the advantages of this broader approach have been alluded to already, yet there are other reasons why governmentality offers itself as a superior way of understanding contemporary forms of power. Of most significance is that such analyses highlight the complex nature of the relationship between the political and the non-political sphere and, accordingly, between the advanced liberal state and the individuals, populations and territories it seeks to govern (Rose, 1993). Advanced liberalism is not about the suppression of individuals’ autonomy but rather the construction of citizens who are capable of exercising ‘a regulated freedom and caring for themselves as free subjects’ (Rose, 1993: 288). Furthermore, in considering these practices of self-government, a governmentality perspective places renewed attention on the various relations and effects of rule that take place at the rather mundane, local level of everyday life. One of the strengths of this approach is that it enables researchers to combine successfully an empirical analysis of local practices of rule with more abstract, theoretical debates on the problematics and rationalities of government (O’Malley, Weir and Shearing, 1997). Rethinking the State: Power/Knowledge/Discourse If the act of governing an advanced liberal democracy is performed increasingly by those who are seen to lie outside the domain of state institutions, traditional theories of the state as the site of political power that may be expanded or rolled back at will are unlikely to provide adequate insights into contemporary forms of government. Such ways of representing power may once have had some value, yet they are incongruous with new techniques of rule that operate by normalisation rather than law, consent rather than coercion, and that are exercised increasingly beyond the state and its legal apparatus (Foucault, 1978). In contrast, Foucault adopts an ‘analytics of government’ (Dean, 1999: 9), which challenges the self-evident categories and assumptions upon which existing theories of the state are based. From this perspective, the state is no longer seen to have a ‘quasi-naturalistic historic existence’ (Dean, 1994: 156) but is recognised as a social construct that has come to assume a particular place in contemporary discourses of government. Suggesting that the state should, first and foremost, be understood as the resultant of these discourses of rule, Rose and Miller argue that the primary question then becomes one of exploring how the state is articulated into the activity of government (1992). To answer this question, it is necessary to step back a little and consider the more general ‘analytics of power’ (Foucault, 1978: 82) from which Foucault’s governmentality work developed. Consistent with his renouncement of the state as the single site of political power, Foucault rejects the idea that power can be owned by a single person, group or institution and exercised to ensure the subservience of those beneath it (1978). Such assumptions, he claims, are based on a ‘sovereign-


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subject metaphor’ (Foucault, 1978: 89) or ‘sovereignty discourse’ (Camilleri and Falk, 1992: 2) of power, which presents power as a negative, repressive force (Foucault, 1980a) exercised by a sovereign who stands in a position of exteriority to those he or she rules. In an attempt to ‘cut off the King’s head’ (Foucault, 1980b: 121), Foucault reverses many of the traditional assumptions about power. Where he rejects power as the property of a single centre, he replaces it with a schematism of power as a strategy: exercised not held (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982); ‘power to’ not ‘power over’ (Goodwin, 1998). Where he abandons the notion of power filtering out from a single centre to encompass all those in its reach, he sees it as operating through a network of social relationships in which each individual tactic of power, or resistance, is invented and exercised from the starting point of local conditions and particular needs (Foucault, 1980c). Within this network, we find that those who govern are equally enmeshed as those who are to be governed (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982). In Foucault’s analytics, there is no clear divide between the rulers and the ruled (Foucault, 1978), for individuals may well find themselves simultaneously undergoing and exercising power at any given time (Foucault, 1986). Neither is power to be understood in terms of a relationship of domination by one class over another although Foucault does not deny that states of domination are not in existence. Instead, power relations are multiple and permeate every kind of human relationship where one seeks to act upon the conduct of another (Foucault, 1991b). Finally, where Foucault condemns the repressive, negative view of power, so he considers it a productive network that pervades the entire social body (1980b). To consider power as a productive force is to consider how power is linked inextricably to the production and functioning of truth and knowledge within discourse (Foucault, 1988b). Such considerations are of particular significance in this book, not only because they examine how certain ideas about the problems facing rural areas and the best ways of tackling them come to be seen as ‘true’, but also because they help form an understanding of how such categories as ‘state’, ‘government’ and ‘civil society’ are discursively constructed within contemporary political discourses (Rose and Miller, 1992). Defined by Kress (1985: 6) as ‘systematically organised sets of statements which … define, describe and delimit what it is possible to say and not possible to say … about a given area’, discourse is governed by particular ‘rules of right’ (Foucault, 1986: 229) that determine which particular form of knowledge is ‘true’ and which must, in consequence, be deemed ‘untrue’ (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982). Thus, discourse does not seek to capture the truth of an objective reality but involves a ‘will to knowledge’ (Foucault, 1977b: 162) that actively constructs the truth through the very process of articulating it. It is important to note, furthermore that discourse is a practical activity that bears directly on human conduct and social action (Watts, 1993/4). In order to capture this practical essence, Foucault introduces the idea of ‘discursive practices’ (1985), defined elsewhere by Clegg (1989: 153) as ‘knowledge constituted, not just in text but in definite institutional and organizational practices’. Hence, discursive practices represent the point at which power surmounts the rules of right to become embodied in various techniques, institutions and instruments of material intervention (Foucault, 1986).

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If power is no longer to be understood in terms of a sovereign prince or state, but as a network of power relationships in which both those who are the instruments and the objects of its exercise are equally enmeshed, the question of what we mean when we speak of ‘the state’ must still be addressed. While the sovereignty of the state is but one form that power may take, it remains the dominant way of understanding political power within a liberal mode of rule (Foucault, 1997; see also Miller and Rose, 1990). Discussed in more detail later in this chapter, liberalism conceptualises the activity of rule in terms of a clear demarcation between the political and nonpolitical spheres in order to create a domain that can be free from political intervention (Rose, 1993). Thus, the language of the state provides a way of articulating this form of rule by constituting certain domains as either political (i.e. the state) or non-political (society). In other words, the state is a ‘mythical abstraction’ (Rose and Miller, 1992: 175), formulated by various discursive practices of a liberal kind. Where it is seen to rule, it does so via a ‘complex network’ (Rose and Miller 1992: 176) of disparate but interdependent activities and agencies that span different levels of government and different fields of society (Jessop, 1995), and which disseminate power in a variety of directions (Rouse, 1994). These are not necessarily co-ordinated (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982) or homogeneous, but engage in a ‘complex play of supports in mutual engagement …[e]stablishing connections, cross references, complementarities and demarcations’ (Foucault, 1980c: 159). Understood this way, the apparent power of the state as a seemingly single entity is the result of what Law (1992: 380) calls the ‘consolidation’ of various activities conducted by a multiplicity of independent and government actors and more or less co-ordinated according to certain shared objectives or common understandings (see Lockie, 1998). Governmentality In its widest sense, government is a set of actions upon other actions (Foucault, 1982) or the conduct of conduct: ‘a form of activity aiming to shape, guide or affect the conduct of some person or persons’ (Gordon, 1991: 2). While the terms ‘power’ and ‘government’ appear almost interchangeable, government has a second, more restricted, meaning that relates more specifically to the activity of rule as performed by political authorities (Gordon, 1991). When adopted in its dual sense, government provides theorists with the conceptual tools for crossing the state/civil society divide (Murdoch, 1997) and for considering how the activity of government is performed both by those within the state system and those located beyond it. At the same time, it also provides a framework for considering how the general aim of conducting conduct is inextricably tied to the exercise of modern forms of political power. To understand these new forms of governing, it is necessary, not just to consider how government as an activity is performed by the state – or even how those actors defined as non-political govern their own conduct and that of others – but to identify how local relations of power are connected up to the large-scale exercise of power at a state level (see Burchell, 1996).


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Whether in its broader or restricted sense, government is, by nature, a rational, calculable activity (Hindess, 1996) that involves a series of problematisations about the territories, techniques and rationales of governing (Dean, 1999). To govern is to act according to certain mentalities of rule: certain ways of thinking about and acting upon the objects (populations, organisations, territories) and subjects (individuals, communities) that are to be governed (Rose, 1996a). These discursive and practical aspects of govern-mentalities are captured, respectively, by the dual concepts of political rationalities and governmental technologies. Political rationalities may be defined as the discursive fields in which political authorities pose themselves questions on the nature and practice of government – who or what can be governed, who should undertake that governing, how best it might take place and how it can be justified (Gordon, 1991). Importantly, as Rose and Miller (1992) observe, the language that constitutes this discourse is more than simply rhetoric, for it constructs particular truths about reality in such a way as to render it thinkable and amenable to government (Rose and Miller, 1992). To properly capture the notion of government as an activity, it is further necessary to consider the technologies (Rose, 1999) through which political authorities seek to shape the conduct of others in order to achieve certain objectives (Miller and Rose, 1990). Governmental technologies incorporate a whole range of practical mechanisms including programmes, calculations, documents and procedures (Rose and Miller, 1992: 175) that give political rationalities their concrete form (Foucault, 1988c). The inclusion of the ‘intellectual’ technologies (Dean, 1994: 187) of audit, measurement and report compilation overcomes a possible misunderstanding within the governmentality perspective that the relationship between rationalities and technologies is simply one of mental versus manual (Dean, 1994) or ideology versus practice (Valverde, 1996). Just as political rationalities themselves are discursive practices, so too can governmental technologies constitute reality and translate it into a form that makes it ‘knowable’ and more amenable to intervention (Dean, 1994; Valverde, 1996). The remainder of this chapter focuses more specifically on what Dean (1994: 176) terms the ‘triple domain’ of government. In broad terms, this refers to the government of others, the government of the self and the more restricted sense of the government of nations by a network of actors and institutions generally known as ‘the government’. As will be shown later in this book, all three elements of the conduct of conduct are highly significant to contemporary mechanisms for arresting decline in rural areas and for understanding the various means through which selfhelp development initiatives are governed according to state, rather than local, objectives. Each of the three domains of contemporary government are explicated below. The Government of Others: Disciplinary and Regulatory Controls of Bio-power Where sovereignty discourses once reflected the power of the prince to take life through death or reprieve, the 17th century witnessed the emergence of a new kind of power over life: a bio-power (Foucault, 1978) that sought to manage and care for

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the life of an emerging problem known as ‘the population’ (Foucault, 1991c: 99). In redefining the objects of power as ‘living beings’ rather than ‘subjects’ (Gordon, 1991: 12), such shifts have frequently been associated in traditional historical discourses with the emergence of humanity and a call for kinder measures of control (Foucault, 1977a). Consistent with Foucault’s rejection of this interpretation in his 1977 publication, Discipline and Punish (1977a), it is argued here that bio-power should not be understood in terms of a general aim to govern less but rather to govern better. Indeed, by mapping itself throughout the social body, bio-power is able to exercise control far more thoroughly than sovereign forms of power could ever achieve from above (Foucault, 1980d, see also Clegg, 1989). This bio-power takes two distinct forms: a disciplinary power that targets itself at the body, and various bio-political regulatory controls that focus on the population as a whole (Foucault, 1978). While the regulatory controls developed somewhat later than the disciplines, Foucault argues that, taken together, ‘the disciplines of the body and the regulations … [constitute] two poles around which the organization of power over life … [is] deployed’ (1978: 139). Foucault’s account of the rise of disciplinary power features clearly in Discipline and Punish (1977a), which, in spite of its emphasis upon the prison system, seeks to understand discipline as a general technique of power for securing capitalist accumulation within bourgeois society (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982). Located in what Foucault calls the ‘political economy of the body’ (Foucault, 1977a: 25), these techniques – the ‘disciplines’ (Foucault, 1978: 139) – target themselves directly at the human body, seeking to ‘invest it, mark it, train it, torture it, force it to carry out tasks, to perform ceremonies, to emit signs’ (Foucault, 1977a: 25). Unlike earlier, more torturous forms of punishment, however, discipline is not so much intended to act directly upon the body as it is to regulate it through various techniques of surveillance, examination and training that impose a dual state of docility-utility upon it (Foucault, 1977a). What this means is that in terms of its economic use as a potential source of labour, the body is invested with power in order to enhance its capacity for increased productivity. At the same time, this can only occur if it is also caught up in a system of subjection (Foucault, 1977a) that represses its capacity for action in political terms of obedience. Hence, discipline relies on the creation of ‘docile’ bodies (Foucault, 1977a: 138): skilled but obedient individuals whose capacity for action is not so much suppressed as it is moulded towards certain societal ends and objectives (McHoul and Grace, 1993). Moreover, since discipline is not the only form of power to target itself at the body, its distinctiveness stems from the way it redefines the body as an object of knowledge (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982). Through means of observation, documentation and classification, individuals are constituted into objects about which averages can be fixed, norms determined and categories formed (Foucault, 1977a). When non-conformity is detected, remedial techniques may be applied through a double system of gratification and punishment (Foucault 1977a) that ‘rewards simply by the play of awards … thus making it possible to attain higher ranks and places; … [it] punishes by reversing this process’(1977a: 181).


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In spite of its initial confinement to prisons, punishment and deviant populations, disciplinary power is relevant to an understanding of contemporary modes of governing because of the way it has gradually spread to extend itself throughout the social body (Foucault, 1977a). Where once its exercise was limited to the more dangerous elements of society within institutions such as prisons, hospitals and work camps (Rouse, 1994), Foucault describes how the techniques of disciplinary power have gradually ‘swarmed’ (Foucault, 1977a: 211) to incorporate society as a whole. The result is the formation of a ‘disciplinary society’ (Foucault, 1977a: 209) and a de-institutionalisation of the disciplines as they shift away from the ‘closed fortresses’ in which they once operated to become an acceptable component of society in general (Foucault, 1977a). Even though these techniques continue to form part of a disciplinary grid that perpetuates the continued subjection of individuals, the power that is exercised through them is not seen as placing a limit upon freedom because they have become an increasingly necessary and voluntary aspect of the functioning of modern society. Confined to specific populations, disciplinary power monitors, controls and remedies individual instances of deviance (see O’Malley, 1992). In contrast, biopolitics targets itself at the population as a whole, implementing various interventionist and regulatory mechanisms to define a whole range of social and biological processes as ‘problems’, and to bring them into the sphere of the political and the ‘order of knowledge and power’ (Foucault, 1978: 141-2; see also Rose, 1989). The outcome of this process is that a whole range of concerns relating to birth rates, sexual activity, public health, housing and migration are no longer considered private and personal, but have entered the public domain to become objects of ‘scientific investigation, administrative control, and social concern’ (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982: 168). In the first volume of the History of Sexuality (1978), for example, Foucault describes how an outpouring of discourses on the specific problem of sexuality rendered it visible, while the implementation of various techniques of data collection, classification, distribution and evaluation made it measurable. No longer restricted to sexuality, but extending over a whole range of social issues, these dual processes of observation and measurement ‘… bring life and its mechanisms into the realm of explicit calculation and … [make] knowledge-power an agent of transformation of human life’ (Foucault, 1978: 143). It is contended that this new form of power over life is more reliant upon continuous regulatory and corrective mechanisms for governing conduct, such as norms, than it is upon the legal sanctions of law (Foucault, 1978). Where penal law establishes a clear line between right and wrong, normalisation is more subjective and classifies populations through the construction of a discourse that concerns itself with defining what constitutes appropriate ways of thinking and behaving. This, in turn, gives rise to a series of ‘functional discriminations’ (Foucault, 1984: 276), which classify individuals according to various general categories of conduct: ‘the good poor and the bad poor, the wilfully idle and the involuntary unemployed, those who can do some kind of work and those who cannot’ (Foucault, 1984: 276). At times, the classification process may well be eased by the construction of a ‘punitive

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balance-sheet’ that quantifies the elements of each category according to various arithmetic procedures (Foucault, 1977a). Rather than forming mere discursive or ideological categories, however, these discriminations – as the name implies – are made functional, for they can be acted upon to bestow either punishment or reward upon certain ways of thinking and behaving. For this reason, Dreyfus and Rabinow (1982) extend Foucault’s claim that normalisation is one of the main instruments of power (1977a) to regard it as a ‘powerful and insidious form of domination’ (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982: 198). The Government of the Self: Self-formation and Self-knowledge The idea of bio-power is not that human action must be suppressed, nor that it should be subject to direct violence or domination. Instead, the primary objective is the development of particular skills and attributes within individuals so that they become capable of regulating their own actions according to certain standards of behaviour (see Hindess, 1996). Where techniques of surveillance encourage individuals to discipline their conduct by invoking a state of docility upon them (McHoul and Grace, 1993), normalisation induces a form of self-regulation through the very cultural meanings and self-identities that are produced (Seidman, 1994). This may be understood as a process of subjectification (Foucault, 1985) in which individuals learn to recognise themselves as subjects and engage in practices of the self to act upon and transform themselves accordingly (Foucault, 1990). It is argued consistently in this chapter that before an object can be governed, it must first be rendered knowable through various techniques of observation, documentation and measurement. In precisely the same way, self-government is dependent upon the accumulation of self-knowledge or, as Foucault puts it, the art of ‘knowing yourself’ (Foucault, 1988a) as one ‘who suffers from certain ills and who needs to have them treated, either by oneself or by someone who has the necessary competence’ (Foucault, 1990: 57). This art of knowing yourself is practised through various ‘technologies of the self’ (Foucault, 1988a), which subject individuals to a process of self-examination or self-reflection in order to know about, and subsequently act upon, themselves (Foucault, 1985). Unlike the objectifying disciplines used to govern the conduct of others, the emphasis of the technologies of the self is not so much the body of the Individual, but the soul (Foucault, 1998a) and its various thoughts, actions and dispositions (see also Rose, 1989). Another important contrast between the technologies of objectification and those of subjectification lies in the way that each construct the objects of power. Dreyfus and Rabinow contend that while disciplinary techniques operate on mute and docile objects, modern subjects are not mute but must tell the truth about themselves so that various personal characteristics can be assembled, classified, made knowable and ultimately governed. (1982). Traditionally, this obligation to talk has been achieved by means of the confession, which has been in use since the 13th century (see Rose, 1989). While initially extracted through torture, domination or force are no longer required in modern society:


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The obligation to confess is now relayed through so many different points, is so deeply ingrained in us, that we no longer perceive it as the effect of a power that constrains us; on the contrary, it seems to us that truth, lodged in our most secret nature, ‘demands’ only to surface; that if it fails to do so, this is because a constraint holds it in place, the violence of a power weighs it down and it can finally be articulated only at the price of a kind of liberation (Foucault, 1978: 60).

Foucault’s words highlight the relationship between truth and power and offer support to the contention that truth cannot exist outside power (1980b). While it may seem that the very act of telling the truth is an act of liberation and free speech, we are reminded that power cannot be understood solely in repressive terms (1977a), but seeks to produce truth within a relationship in which power resides with the one who listens to the confession, not with the one who speaks (1978: 62). Foucault also argues that the confession ‘has lost its ritualistic and exclusive localization’ (1978: 63) and has spread to a whole range of sites via such technologies as scientific questionnaires, personality tests, diary keeping, letter writing and email. The emergence of these new modes of subjectification indicates an important shift in the care of the self whereby the presence of another, either to forcefully extract or simply hear a confession, is no longer necessary for the confession to be effective. Indeed, the technologies of the self have become so effective that their application is a voluntary exercise of self-regulation in which the self becomes ‘both sinner and judge’ (Rose, 1989: 220). How individuals subject themselves freely to such mechanisms in an attempt to ‘know’ their weaknesses and act upon them in the context of rural development is demonstrated in later chapters. The Government of the State: Liberalism, Advanced Liberalism and Governing Through Community It has already been established in this chapter that the state is a construct of a particularly modern form of political discourse that schematises a distinction between the state and civil society. It has also been argued that the birth of bio-politics, as a new form of power, involved the redefinition of various social and biological processes into issues of concern for political authorities. Both developments may be seen as unquestionably linked to the rise of liberalism as a distinct rationality or problematic of government. In its various forms, liberalism is characterised by two basic principles, both of which place limits on the extent to which the state can exercise power legitimately over the non-political realms of the market and civil society (see Dean, 1994; 1999). In the first place, this occurs through the constitution of these spheres as existing outside the realm of government while, secondly, the individuals within them come to be defined as free citizens whose liberty must be protected. For Rose, such principles represent a shift away from a ‘megalomaniacal and obsessive fantasy of a totally administered society’ (1993: 289) towards a form of government that others describe as laissez-faire (Burchell, 1991; Gordon, 1991). The significance of laissez-faire is not so much that it curtails what would otherwise be an excessive form of government control (Burchell, 1991), or indeed that no form

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of intervention is required. Instead, it regards the objects of government as having their own natural mechanisms of self-regulation and, as a consequence, considers intervention in these natural processes unnecessary and undesirable (Burchell, 1991). It is a paradox of liberalism, however, that while the freedom and autonomy of the non-political sphere must be maintained, so too must the notion of public interest and general well-being. Thus, liberalism cannot be equated with anarchy (Barry, Osborne and Rose, 1996), but with an attempt to find new forms of rule that overcome the problem of maintaining citizens’ freedom while acknowledging that their private activities have political implications (Rose and Miller, 1992). It is in this context that liberalism may be understood as a form of political power in which individual autonomy is neither suppressed nor necessarily rendered ungovernable, but harnessed to political ends through a process of what Latour calls ‘action at a distance’ (1987: 219). Developed more thoroughly by Miller and Rose (1990) to describe the specific activities of the state, action at a distance relies on the use of various ‘indirect mechanisms’ (Miller and Rose, 1990) that allow political authorities to govern events, places and people without destroying their freedom. For Barry, Osborne and Rose (1996: 8), this state of balance is attained through the construction of a specific, contrived kind of freedom: ‘a well-regulated’ and ‘responsibilised’ liberty that overcomes the need for individuals to be regulated by others because they are capable of governing themselves (see also Rose, 1993). Practices of the self clearly play an important role in the exercise of modern forms of political government. As a rationality of rule, liberalism not only specifies the subjects of rule as endowed with a sense of moral responsibility and a capacity for self-regulation (Rose, 1989; 1993), but seeks to govern by harnessing the technologies of the self to wider state objectives (Dean, 1999). Put simply, liberalism governs at a distance by instrumentalising an individual’s capacity for self-government so that he or she freely shapes his or her own conduct in a way that is consistent with particular socio-political objectives (Miller and Rose, 1990). The ‘apparently illiberal’ disciplinary and regulatory mechanisms of bio-power also have a place in liberal politics. Where the bio-political strategies of measurement, classification and documentation provide the necessary means for rendering the population knowable (Rose, 1993), the disciplinary mechanisms of the body are instrumental in creating the subjective conditions of self-regulation, self-control and self-evaluation that are required in the government of free citizens (Rose, 1993; see also Rose, 1989; Burchell, 1996). Continuing to adopt these same governmental technologies for acting at a distance, advanced liberalism represents a shift from its classical origins by replacing the natural, laissez-faire approach to regulation with a kind of constructivism (Barry, Osborne and Rose, 1996; Burchell, 1996). Where classic liberalism operated upon the assumption that the market and civil society should be free to govern themselves, now it is recognised that some form of state intervention is required to create the conditions in which free competition and entrepreneurship become possible (Burchell, 1996). In this sense, advanced liberalism continues to rest on a rationality


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of self-conduct by the governed, yet the form of that conduct is no longer to be left to the uncertain forces of ‘human nature’ but: … must be determined by reference to artificially arranged or contrived forms of the free, entrepreneurial and competitive conduct of economic-rational individuals (Burchell, 1996: 23-4).

In summary, power under an advanced liberal rationality of rule operates through a range of governmental technologies that seek to create individuals who are capable of rational self-government, and yet whose conduct is consistent with the advanced liberal objectives of competition, efficiency and entrepreneurship. Another form of action at a distance, this is achieved by ‘shaping’ the discursive and practical conditions in which self-governing individuals make decisions about appropriate courses of action. Direct intervention is subsequently replaced with regulatory and incentive schemes that seek to infuse in individuals specific norms of enterprising action, not merely in terms of how they conduct business, but more as a rationality for acting upon their own conduct in all spheres of social life (see Rose, 1989; Wright, 1998). Under advanced liberalism, entrepreneurship is no longer restricted to a type of economic activity, but involves a whole range of enterprising qualities associated with personhood, self-reliance, autonomy, responsibility and accountability (Wright, 1998). Captured by the term ‘active citizenship’ discussed earlier in this chapter (see also Miller and Rose, 1990; Cruickshank, 1994; Kearns, 1995), individuals must become ‘entrepreneurs of themselves, shaping their own lives through the choices they make among the forms of life available to them’ (Rose, 1989). By their very nature, advanced liberal technologies of rule create a distinction between those who conform to the standards expected of them and exercise their citizenship responsibly (Rose, 1993), and those who lack the necessary skills or sensibilities for rational self-management. When the latter occurs, remedial technologies are to be provided through a whole range of programmes that ethically reconstruct these individuals into active citizens (Rose 1996a). Frequently referred to as ‘capacity building’ in contemporary discourses, the aim of these programmes is to ‘empower’ citizens considered to lack power or initiative by building their capacity to address their deficiencies in an appropriate manner (Cruickshank, 1994). Consistent with the (advanced) liberal rationality of action at a distance, the application of these remedial techniques is not so much the responsibility of the state as it is a network of non-state expert actors and agencies who govern on its behalf (see Cruickshank, 1994). Defined by Miller and Rose (1990: 2) as ‘the social authority ascribed to particular agents and forms of judgement on the basis of their claims to possess specialized truths and rare powers’, expertise is an integral part of advanced liberalism because it operates as a key mechanism through which the state can govern at a distance (O’Malley and Palmer, 1996). Experts embody ‘neutrality, authority and skill’ (Rose and Miller, 1992: 187), via a will to truth that has been granted to them, and legitimised, by the formal powers of the state. While they remain inextricably linked to the political sphere, they are ostensibly ‘independent

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agents’, well-positioned to form a ‘double alliance’ with those who govern and those who are governed (Rose and Miller, 1992: 180). Advanced liberalism is clearly distinct from other forms of rule because of the political rationalities and governmental technologies that enable the state to govern a nation of free citizens. In saying this, authors have more recently qualified these observations by noting that while individuals are ‘free’, they are not the disconnected, isolated atoms expounded by classical political economy, but members of heterogeneous communities that command their allegiance (Rose, 1996a). Hence, the free subject under advanced liberalism is a situated one who lives life and makes decisions within the context of various family, community, employment and cultural relationships (Dean 1999) – and whose conduct is increasingly governed within the context of those associations. According to Rose (1996a), this re-definition of the objects of rule as active, free and autonomous individuals with obligations to their families, neighbourhoods or workplaces, is reflected in the emergence of a new communitarian language in recent decades based on social solidarity, mutual obligation, cohesion and community spirit. Morally-invested, this is the language of community; a language that is now as powerful within political discourses as the amoral language of the market (Rose, 1996b). While such sentiments and practices of familial and community obligation are seen as contradictory to market rationalities (see for example, Muetzelfeldt, 1992), it is Rose’s contention that community ‘intersects with markets, contracts and consumption in complex and surprising ways’ (1996b: 331). The way in which community has evolved within contemporary discourses of development is explored more fully in later chapters. These chapters support Rose’s claim that community has long been a feature of political discourse (1996b), yet what makes it uniquely governmental is the way it has been redefined as a technique for governing in an advanced liberal way. What this means is that governments no longer see community simply as an object or territory to be governed, or even a localised site for the provision of services (see O’Malley and Palmer, 1996). Even though both these claims are true, ‘community now is a means of government’ (Rose, 1996b: 335 emphasis in original); a new way of encouraging individuals to act in morally responsible ways, not only for their own benefit but on behalf of their families and communities too. To this end, the significance of community to advanced liberalism is not so much a matter of governing community as it is governing through community (Rose, 1996b): … its ties, bonds, forces and affiliations are to be celebrated, encouraged, nurtured, shaped and instrumentalised in the hope of producing consequences that are desirable for each and all (Rose, 1996b: 335).

Emphasising Agency: Power, Resistance and Translation While power in the Foucauldian sense refers to any action where one seeks to act upon the actions of others, governmentality-inspired writers have tended to


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preoccupy themselves with the power of the state and its discourses, rationalities and techniques for governing the conduct of its citizens (see Dean and Hindess, 1998 for an example of this). Where attention is paid to the individual, it is in the context of the technologies of the self and their application to an (advanced) liberal form of state power that is exercised at a distance. The outcome of such analyses, as O’Malley (1996: 312) observes, is a silence on issues of ‘government from below’, the relationships that form between rule and resistance and the tensions and instabilities this creates. Indeed, the possibility of local people engaging with, and reshaping, the knowledge and practices of state power is rarely considered within the governmentality literature apart from a few broad statements by Rose and Miller that ‘each actor, each locale, is the point of intersection between forces, and hence a point of potential resistance’ (1992: 190). How this resistance occurs, what form it takes, and how the state responds are matters that are rarely addressed in the literature, in spite of Foucault’s own insistence that relations and strategies of power will always be accompanied by instances of resistance (1980a): … as soon as there is a power relation, there is a possibility of resistance. We can never be ensnared by power: we can always modify its grip in determinate conditions and according to a precise strategy (Foucault, 1988b: 123).

The reason why there are no relations of power without resistance is because power is exercised on free, acting subjects who will always be capable of resisting its effects (Foucault, 1980a). Indeed, Foucault sees freedom as a necessary condition for the exercise of power (1982), arguing that power presupposes, rather than invalidates, the capacity of those subjected to it to choose between different courses of action (Gordon, 1991). In spite of these observations, the concept of resistance remains relatively undeveloped in Foucault’s writings (Sawicki, 1994; Seidman, 1994; O’Malley, 1996; Kerr, 1999). When it is alluded to, moreover, it frequently remains tied to a top-down conception of power that prioritises the power of those in authority at the expense of those who feel its effects. This is well illustrated by Scheurich’s claim that ‘dominance is the master … resistance is the slave’s reaction to this master’ (1997: 72), implying, not only that the agency of ‘the slave’ is generally ignored until the slave reacts (via resistance), but also that the power of the slave is qualitatively different to that of the master – where the master exercises power, the slave exercises resistance. The impression we are left with, moreover, is one of resistance as a negative, external and reactive force (Sawicki, 1994: 308) that arises in response to an initial exercise of power. Where it does occur, it impedes power and power is said to have ‘failed’ (O’Malley, 1996: 311). Where there is no resistance, power is successful and its original intentions are seen to have been met. The problem with this perspective, as Rose acknowledges in his later work (1999: 279), is that resistance is ‘merely the obverse of a one-dimensional notion of power as domination’. Such thinking not only overlooks the possibility that people may ‘obey’ an order because it suits their own objectives – rather than because they are victims of subjection – (Latour, 1986: 268), but also leaves human beings with only

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one of two choices whenever they encounter power: either to passively accept their subjection or to resist it (Cooper, 1994). For the theorist, any activity that cannot be described as either domination or resistance cannot be accounted for. What is required, therefore, is a theoretical framework that gives as much attention to the agency of the micro actor – the rural citizen, the farmer, the local action group – as it does to the power of a macro actor such as the state, and which considers the relationships and interactions that take place between the two. Such a framework is provided by the body of work that has collectively come to be known as actor-network theory (ANT). Described by Law (1992: 380) as a theory of agency and a ‘sociology of translation’, ANT is consistent with much of Foucauldian theory. As well as sharing a concern with the mechanics of power (Law, 1992), ANT adopts a relational perspective of power (Latour, 1986) by viewing it as the effect of interactions between heterogeneous actors who are assembled into an actor-network. Within ANT, agency is not an inherent property of an individual, but becomes effective when individuals enrol or manipulate people, objects and other such entities into an ordered network according to a particular scheme (Latour, 1986). This enrolment is rarely absolute and the original command or project is likely to be ‘translated’ as other agents seek to pursue their own objectives. From this perspective, just as ‘localised procedures of power are adapted, re-inforced and transformed by … global strategies’ (Foucault, 1980b: 142), so too are global strategies modified and reshaped by local agents as they are enrolled into the actornetwork (Latour, 1986). The concept of the actor-network is based upon a rejection of two basic dualisms that confront the social sciences. First, ANT theorists seek to override the separation of nature and society into two distinct spheres. Put simply, ANT sees people and objects as ontologically no different; each gain their capacity to act through networks of heterogeneous, interacting elements that are both social and material in origin (Law, 1992). Social reality, it argues, is comprised of ‘hybrids’ of nature and culture (Latour, 1999: 10); of ‘quasi-objects, quasi-subjects’ that are assembled into actor-networks (Goodman, 1999: 25). In much the same way, ANT also rejects any analytical distinction between micro and macro actors, insisting that both can be examined in exactly the same manner. While it accepts that macro-actors do appear more powerful than micro-actors (Law, 1992): … the difference between them is brought about by power relations and the construction of networks that will elude analysis if we presume a priori that macro-actors are bigger than or superior to micro-actors (Callon and Latour, 1981: 280).

The task of ANT, therefore, becomes one of ‘deconstructing the powerful’ (Murdoch, 2000: 410) by examining the process of network construction through which taken-for-granted effects, such as macro-actors, power and inequality are generated (Law, 1992). According to Callon and Latour (1981), macro-actors are micro-actors that have forged alliances (networks) with other human and non-human elements to establish a stable, but nevertheless contingent, actor-


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like configuration (see Murdoch, 2001). When this occurs, the complex array of networks that make up this configuration are put into ‘black boxes’ (Callon and Latour, 1981: 285), ‘concealed’ (Donaldson, Lowe and Ward, 2002: 202) or ‘simplified’ (Law, 1992: 385), and their actions associated with a seemingly single and powerful actor, such as the state. Once deconstructed, however, the instability of these powerful structures becomes much more apparent and contingent upon the kinds of interactions that take place between constituent actors. Contestation and transformation are also more likely to ensue as actors negotiate meanings and objectives, rendering the act of governing much more precarious (Clark and Murdoch, 1997). This process of contestation is best captured by the term ‘translation’, which lies at the heart of ANT. Translation is a process of continuous displacement, transformation and negotiation that is generated in the process of network construction (Callon, 1986). During the course of enrolling other actors or elements into a network, an individual will seek to redefine their interests according to his or her own objectives. At the same time, however, other actors are building their own, often overlapping, networks in an attempt to establish their own rules of right. This causes networks to shift and objectives or ambitions to continuously change: Each actor builds a universe around him [sic], which is a complex and changing network of varied elements that he tries to link together and make dependent upon him. But this universe is not a separate world: other actors are building other networks, other universes, of which his own is a part (Callon, Courtial, Turner and Bauin, 1983: 193).

The reason why this process of translation takes place is because all those who have been enrolled in a network are ‘active members’ who shape and transform claims or artefacts – ‘tokens’ – according to their different projects (Latour, 1986: 268). This process cannot be understood as either active resistance or passive acceptance, but ‘the continuous transformation of a token by many different people; who slowly turn it into something completely different as they sought to achieve their own goals’ (Latour, 1986: 268). More common than either resistance or subjection are forms of conduct that do not simply reject, or even respond to a command, but involve individuals engaging with it ‘by sustaining and adapting their own practices and discourses, actively paralleling and even displacing those of political authorities’ (O’Malley, 1996: 316). At times, this may take the form of an apparent compliance with power, yet it is an active form of compliance because it is based upon the will of those who choose to comply, rather than the objectives of those who seek to enforce it. Human beings have their own reasons for accepting power and, in the course of doing so, translate it into a new form (Latour, 1986). The effect, as O’Malley points out (1996: 312), is that power and politics become ‘far more open-ended process[es] of contestation and engagement’. For the researcher, moreover, it is to suggest that the original force of a token is no more significant than any secondary encounter (Latour, 1986), and the agency of rural people no less important than that of the state.

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Conclusion It cannot be denied that, in recent decades, a growing range of services previously regarded as state provided have been shifted to the private, voluntary and community sectors. Nor can it be denied that the devolution of these services has coincided with the emergence of self-help in the context of contemporary discourses of rural development. To assume from this, however, that advanced liberalism represents a fiscal retreat by the state is to impose too restrictive an interpretation (Barry, Osborne and Rose, 1996) and ignores the extent to which the state continues to exercise influence over the conduct of its free citizens. In contrast, a governmentality perspective provides an analysis of how power under an advanced liberal formula of rule is deployed through a range of political practices, which allow political authorities to govern at a distance. With the assistance of independent and state agencies, expert knowledges, disciplinary mechanisms and regulatory norms, the project of advanced liberalism is the creation of individuals who have the capacity to govern their own conduct and yet who do so according to the socio-political objectives of free competition and entrepreneurship. On this basis, it has been demonstrated that government, as the conduct of conduct, no longer refers simply to notions of political rule by the government, or even to the more general notion of governing others. Indeed, the success of advanced liberalism in maintaining an appearance of freedom among individuals, at the same time as ensuring their continued subjection, is largely due to its adoption of the various technologies of the self. Through them, an individual constructs him or herself as an object of knowledge and transforms that self according to various standards or norms of behaviour. Consistent with a Foucauldian emphasis on the practice of power, the remainder of this book focuses on both the macro-level discourses of development that structure and shape local action, as well as the micro-level techniques of power as they are played out in specific sites. While the power of the state, together with the rationalities and technologies that accompany it, are clearly a dominant theme in this book, it is a key objective that an emphasis on the governmentalities of rule does not occur at the expense of a consideration of human agency among those who are to be governed. As Foucault argues repeatedly, power is always there but it will always be accompanied by instances of inertia, displacement and resistance (1980a). Captured by the notion of translation (Latour, 1986) rather than resistance, these instances of local action are not so much a form of counter-power that seeks to slow down the effects of power in its original force, but the continuous transformation of rule by all who are connected up in its web. How this translation occurs to reshape the discourses and practices of self-help in contemporary rural policy will be addressed in later chapters.

Chapter 3

Contemporary Discourses of Self-help The belief that rural citizens should play a part in the planning and delivery of policies and services is neither new nor necessarily contentious. Ever since Samuel Smiles first published his book Self-Help in 1859, supporters of this approach have argued that strategies to improve the economic, social and emotional well-being of ‘impoverished’ populations should be founded, first, upon a programme of selfimprovement (Smiles, 1986) that helps to overcome the apathy and fatalism that frequently besets them (Brokensha and Hodge, 1969). More recent commentators from the field of development have similarly suggested that citizen participation in the development process not only ‘empowers’ local people to become more articulate in advocating on behalf of their needs (Ashby and Midmore, 1996), but also creates a process of development that is sensitive to, and embedded in, local social and institutional patterns (Day, 1998). Given this, it is little wonder that the virtues of self-help have been extolled so extensively by governmental agencies in many advanced western nations or, indeed, that rural dwellers themselves have turned to voluntary effort and community action in seeking to arrest the decline of their industries and communities. It is apparent from this brief introduction that, as a strategy of development, selfhelp is by no means a new phenomenon. Yet its increased popularity among advanced western governments for ameliorating rural decline and disadvantage is somewhat remarkable and worthy of further investigation. The question of what it is that distinguishes contemporary discourses of self-help from their earlier manifestations is one that has been raised by others in recent decades (see for example, Rogers, 1987; Cloke, 1990; Smock, 1997), with the conclusion drawn that it is the adoption of self-help into formal policy discourses that attests to its newness. While this may be so, the fact that such claims have continued to be made throughout the past twenty years, when rural policy itself has not remained static, suggests that a closer inspection is required of the changing meanings and assumptions underpinning selfhelp, and the broader political rationalities into which it has been incorporated. In presenting an historical overview of how such ideas have been defined and adopted within government policy in Britain, Europe, the United States and Australia, this chapter identifies the central elements of contemporary discourses of self-help as they operate today. These include the long-established trend for self-help to be closely tied with neoliberal ideas of small government and active citizenship, but also – less obviously – with the promotion of rural community development and other collective forms of action. Equally significant in more recent forms of self-help is the existence of an entire network of professional experts and advisory bodies


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whose task is to provide the necessary support, guidance and assistance to those seeking to help themselves (Cloke, 1990). Each of these aspects will be examined in more detail later in the chapter. A History of Self-help Give a man fish and you’ll feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you’ll feed him for a lifetime [Anonymous].

The merit of encouraging individuals to help themselves out of their own disadvantage was first laid out by the Victorian moralist, Samuel Smiles. Writing in the late 1850s (see Smiles, 1986), Smiles believed that the well-intentioned philanthropy of the middle classes towards those who were less fortunate did little to help recipients improve their own conditions of existence. ‘Help from without is often feebling in its effects’, he wrote in Self-Help, ‘but help from within invariably invigorates’ (1986: 19). In response, Smiles put forward the view that the route out of poverty lay in the personal sacrifice, hard work, sobriety and industriousness of the individual, and not in the charity of benevolent philanthropists – nor indeed in the provision of welfare by governments. Smiles’ position on self-help was inherently individualistic and promoted personal advancement at the expense of more collective modes of conduct, yet the essence of his argument has continued to underpin a range of poverty eradication and development programmes since that time. In the 1950s, for example, British colonial efforts to develop what were considered the ‘primitive’, ‘uncivilised’ nations of the Third World adopted what was then a novel approach to modernisation known as ‘community development’ (Midgley, 1986; Wright, 1990). In contrast to earlier, more centrally driven policies, community development was predicated on the belief that raising the standard of living in local villages should be achieved through the self-help efforts of the resident population. Unlike Smiles’ approach, however, this new paradigm of self-help was based upon the recognition that since entire groups or localities were experiencing disadvantage, community, rather than individual, solutions to the problem should be applied. Not only were such schemes designed to improve living conditions within participating villages, it was also part of the plan to create responsible and self-reliant communities that could be incorporated into the modernising agenda. Largely because of this, the ideals of self-help and local empowerment were rarely observed in practice and the development objectives of the colonial rulers prevailed (Kenny, 1999). Community development fell out of favour during the 1960s, having done little to alleviate poverty and hunger in developing nations, or to distribute power and resources among local people (Wright, 1990; Haughton, 1999a). Despite this, ideas of self-help and local empowerment maintained their appeal and were reintroduced in a more radical form in developed nations during the 1970s. Inspired by the United States civil rights activism of the 1960s, British community development workers were becomingly increasingly aware that the social and political

Contemporary Discourses of Self-help

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structures in which they operated were responsible for the very problems they sought to address and, by extension, for the failure of the remedial programmes put in place (Midgley, 1986). And so, community development adopted a more political mandate of targeting the structural causes of inequality and disadvantage, and seeking to empower marginalised populations to challenge dominant ideas, structures and institutions through grassroots programmes of consciousness raising and collective action (Burkey, 1993; Warburton, 1998). Inspiration for this project also came from the work of Paulo Freire whose adult education classes in Brazil were infused with a radical Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1972) to help members of the rural poor overcome their powerless and marginalisation. Some of the more conservative aspects of community development were also incorporated into national government policy agendas in countries such as Australia (Reddel, 2002). The dilution of its radical mandate, however, meant that action tended to be confined to improving living standards and fostering citizen participation in community planning, rather than addressing the underlying structural roots of disadvantage. Ideas of self-help were also re-emerging in British politics during the 1970s, albeit of an entirely different nature, since they echoed the moralist tones of Smiles far more than the communal endeavours of community development (Kearns, 1995). The election of the Thatcher Conservative Government in Britain in 1979 precipitated a fundamental shift in British politics towards a reduction in public spending and a contraction of the welfare state. As well as privatising many services that had previously been provided by state agencies, the Thatcher administration sought to capitalise on the efforts of the voluntary sector by encouraging citizens to become more ‘active’ in providing for their own well-being (McLaughlin, 1987; Rogers, 1987). While populist notions of ‘bottom-up’ and ‘localism’ pervaded this new policy direction – particularly in the area of rural policy – it was readily apparent that the compulsion for citizens to act did not come from any community to which they belonged, but rather from a sense of personal morality and a responsibility to oneself (Kearns, 1995). Not coincidentally, this position on selfhelp was articulated forcefully in an introduction to the 1986 edition of Smiles book by leading ‘Thatcherite’, Keith Joseph, the former Secretary of State for Education and Science. In his introduction, Joseph wrote: The pendulum of welfare – however benignly intended – has swung counter-productively; and the further it swings the more relevant the philosophy of self-help becomes. The welfare state can only sensibly aspire to provide a base on which the individual can build. It was not intended to create dependency. Private savings and private provision are crucial still, morally and socially. Smiles shows how they were possible albeit difficult – even in infinitely poorer times (Smiles, 1986: 10).

The reference to welfare and poverty in Joseph’s preface is somewhat revealing. While the call for individuals to participate in their own planning and development is frequently made on the grounds of citizenship, democracy and human rights (James and Blamey, 1999), self-help has traditionally been directed at deprived or

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disadvantaged groups (Midgley, 1986) to the point where it operates – in Berner and Phillips’ words – as ‘the default strategy of the poor’ (2005: 19). These groups: those on low incomes, the unemployed, the homeless and others generally defined as at risk, are considered to lack the capacity to help themselves and subsequently become primary targets for self-help schemes by governments and community workers. With the escalation of a rural downturn in recent decades, a new kind structural poverty and disadvantage has emerged that is strongly associated with areas broadly defined as ‘rural’ (Shortall and Shucksmith, 2001). Primary producers and rural people have become the ‘new poor’ and have joined the list of other marginalised populations who can expect to rely upon the support of government welfare and subsidy payments no longer. The result is that self-help has become a dominant theme in rural policy for many parts of the advanced western world and, in spite of regional variations, displays a number of prominent characteristics, which are outlined below. Self-help Under Advanced Liberalism: Key Features The point has been made a number of times already in this chapter that self-help has a long history, not only as a moralist ideology, but also as an explicit component of government policy. Since the 1980s, rural commentators have been observing the rise of self-help in rural policy as well, and linking it with broader changes in the political rationalities of advanced western governments. In its present policy manifestation, governmental thinking about self-help is firmly underpinned by an advanced liberal mentality that promotes the ideals of small government and a much-reduced welfare state. It is this coincidence of events that has prompted observers to see self-help as an attempt by governments to divest themselves of the responsibility for welfare service provision by promoting the supposed benefits to citizens of taking on that responsibility for themselves. As argued in earlier chapters, however, the logic of this argument is not so straightforward since it overlooks the ways in which political authorities continue to intervene in rural matters, albeit through different means than they once did. Indeed, as Cloke contends (1990), one of the key features of more contemporary modes of self-help is the extent to which various support systems have been set up to promote and assist local self-help groups. Significantly, many such mechanisms lie outside the formal network of the state to form part of the realm of civil society. Moreover, in contrast to the individual forms of self-help so favoured by Smiles and Thatcher, more recent discourses on self-help emphasise the importance of community or collective forms of action that rely upon voluntary cooperation, a shared sense of purpose and the networks of trust and reciprocity that are said to comprise social capital. Combined, these elements – the market discourse of advanced liberalism, the rediscovery of community, and the rise of expertise and other support mechanisms to help build capacity for self-help – are what characterise the advanced liberal forms of self-help that we see in rural policy today. Each is addressed in more detail below.


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A Market Discourse It was argued at the beginning of Chapter Two that the 1980s and 1990s were a time of significant change in government policy in many countries of the advanced western world. While the rate of this change varied by country, the overall trend was one of social welfare provision gradually being replaced by a market discourse that sees the pursuit of economic growth as a key priority of government action. While social and environmental well-being have not been left out of the equation entirely, they have generally been regarded as flowing on from the more important task of getting the fundamentals of economic growth in place. Indeed, it is consistently argued that overcoming social exclusion is best achieved by encouraging individuals to take their place in the labour market, or facilitating the exposure of marginalised rural spaces to the global market economy (see Webb and Collis, 2000 for a discussion of this argument). One of the key drivers of this shift has been the emergence of neoliberal style thinking within contemporary governments, both at the political and the public servant levels (Pusey, 1991; Argy, 1998). In broad terms, neoliberalism may be defined as a set of ethical values which believes that a sphere of economic activity known as ‘the market’ should be free from interference unless there is clear evidence of market failure. In the event of this occurring, state intervention may be required to correct that failure (Argy, 1998: 54). On the whole, however, intervention by the state is only tolerated when it is minimal, such as the provision of a welfare safety net for social groups and individuals that are genuinely unable to compete as equal players in the market (in other words, when it is not their fault). In practice, a commitment to neoliberalism generally leads to policy measures of small government; a reliance on Gross Domestic Product as an indicator of social wellbeing; the belief that other societal goals will be met through the flow-on effects of economic growth; macro-and micro economic reform to create the conditions for the emergence of a flexible, efficient and competitive labour force; and minimal welfare provision to ensure the incentives to find employment remain high (see Argy, 1998 for a more detailed discussion of this). In the context of rural development, these same sorts of philosophical underpinnings are causing political authorities to see rural development as something that can be achieved through market forces (Keane, 1990: 292). For rural areas with limited means to development, these opportunities tend to lie in the pursuit of new industries such as tourism, local arts or telecommunications; the diversification of agricultural and grazing enterprises towards alternative products; or the pursuit of additional processing activities that add value to existing crops and allow producers to target higher value niche markets. Moreover, the emphasis on endogenous, rather that exogenous, forms of development means that the source of this market-led recovery lies in the entrepreneurial skills of local people and their ability to find new, and more innovative, ways of enhancing their competitiveness in the global economy (Webb and Collis, 2000). Rather than having governments ‘prop up’ declining regions through welfare payments or other forms of subsidies, or even relying upon ‘footloose’ capital to establish itself in local areas and generate new


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employment opportunities, the driving force of this kind of rural development is the local entrepreneur… who recognises and seizes opportunities; conveys those opportunities into workable/ marketable ideas; adds values through time, effort, money or skills; assumes the risks of the competitive marketplace to implement those ideas; and realizes the rewards from these efforts (Kurato and Hodgetts, 1998: 30).

While entrepreneurship may seem an individualistic activity, the rewards that flow from it are not to be accumulated solely by the entrepreneur, but shared among the broader community. More than that, even, entrepreneurs working on rural development initiatives are not expected to operate alone on projects – even when they have collective outcomes – but to encourage other community members to participate in the development process. Otherwise described as ‘community entrepreneurs’ in Britain (Boyett and Findlay, 1995), ‘civic entrepreneurs’ in the United States (Henton, Melville and Walesh, 1997) and ‘social entrepreneurs’ in Australia (Social Entrepreneurs Network, 2000), the motivation of the entrepreneur is no longer self-interest but the facilitation of community initiatives and the empowerment of others through the provision of leadership, motivation, passion and vision (Herlau and Tetzschner, 1994: 166). While the emphasis remains on economic growth, a discourse reminiscent of communitarianism is clearly in evidence, with individuals now expected to ‘develop the skills of self-government … and learn to serve others – not just self’ (Etzioni, 1993: 254). Community Self-help The emergence of the social entrepreneur in rural development and similar fields of practice is indicative of a broader trend among political authorities to harness themselves to the perceived benefits of community in service delivery. Used as a prefix for many governmental programmes – community policing, community economic development and community housing are but three examples – the language adopted evokes a nostalgic vision of strong, self-reliant communities in which there is an enviable sense of belonging, and where everyone pulls together for the common good. Such images have long been part of the collective conscience of the modern world – and have even pervaded sociological thinking, as demonstrated by Tönnies (1955) comparison between gemeinschaft communities, based upon kinship, status and a strong attachment to place, and the more impersonal and contractual social relations that were seen to characterise the wider society of gesellschaft. In recent decades, these same images have become endemic in governmental policy through a widespread belief that community can somehow be used – in the words of Bryson and Mowbray (1981: 255) – as a ‘spray on solution’ for the ills of society. This is particularly the case for policies of rural development, which are underpinned by a long-held belief that the type of community described above is more likely to be found in rural, rather than urban, areas. Such thinking has two key implications for the way rural policy has been formulated in recent years. On


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the one hand, the problems facing rural areas are often understood in terms of a loss of community as local social networks and support systems are weakened by demographic change, financial hardship and off-farm employment (Cheers, 1995; Gilling, 1999). When the ‘social glue’ for community is eroded in this way, feelings of isolation and demoralisation are said to set in, triggering a self-perpetuating cycle of community breakdown and a loss of civic responsibility (Chile, 1999). On the other hand, the preoccupation with community in rural policy, and the concern over its loss in declining rural areas, has prompted governments to incorporate strategies for community development into their rural development programmes. The combined effect is a programme of rural community development that emphasises the importance of rebuilding community and fostering collective development initiatives through bottom-up, endogenous forms of action. It is no accident, however, that the rediscovery of the virtues of community have coincided with the growing influence of the market over government thinking. While a renewed commitment to community development might be regarded as a good thing, the incorporation of community into contemporary discourses of rural development has occurred in a way that not only marginalises community outcomes in favour of economic growth, but frequently co-opts community in, and renders it functional to, the neoliberal policy agenda. Rather than treating community development as an end in itself because it has some moral virtue, communitybased policies tend to focus more on the instrumental role of community in meeting some broader objective – often the withdrawal of government services through the promotion of community self-help schemes (Murdoch, 1997) or attempts to invest policy decisions with a degree of legitimacy through community consultation (Smith, 1998; Lawless, 2001). The sentiments of mutual aid, trust and reciprocity that are seen to make up community have also become subject to the same logic of competition and efficiency that organises the market (Everingham, 2003), and viewed as resources through which communities can enhance their economic performance. Individual self-interest may no longer be the dominant discourse of self-help, but this does not mean it has been replaced with a concern for social inclusion and wellbeing on a broad scale. What has occurred is the replacement of the competitive individual with the competitive community and a celebration of collective selfinterest as communities work together to beat others in the race for scarce markets, funding and tourist dollars. The outcome, as Haughton, Lloyd and Meegan (1999) point out, is more a change of style in development discourses than one of substance, as economic imperatives continue to prevail. Building Capacity Through Expertise One of the more persuasive rationales for shifting to self-help in rural development policy is that sustainable development is impossible to achieve simply by plugging large amounts of money into declining regions or industries. Instead, it has been suggested that a more sensible alternative is to redirect money and energy away from attempts to prop up declining industries towards strategies that seek to

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enhance the capacity of local people to help themselves (Garlick, 1997). According to Keane (1990), such thinking represents a shift in governmental policy in terms of a movement away from investment in physical capital towards investment in developing the knowledge, skills and entrepreneurial abilities of local people to build on community strengths and address community problems and opportunities (see also Ashby and Midmore, 1996; The Aspen Institute, 1996). In recognition that many disadvantaged groups and regions often lack such skills, attempts have been made to enhance the stocks of human capital in rural areas through a process of individual and community capacity building. In the United States, capacity building has become a well-refined tool for rural development, particularly within the US think-tank, the Aspen Institute, which has written extensively on how community capacity might best be enhanced and measured (1996; see also Flora and Flora, 1993). It also has a well-established history in the international arena of community development as a process in which individuals, organisations and societies develop abilities to solve problems and achieve objectives (United Nations Development Programme, 1997). Inspired by these experiences, governments in countries such as Britain and Australia have also identified capacity building as an essential component of the development process, and have incorporated support for capacity building activities into their rural development funding schemes (Cavaye, 1999; Banks and Shenton, 2001). Unfortunately, while capacity building is clearly a long-term process, there has been a tendency among such governments to channel funding towards short-term, instrumental forms of capacity building such as the provision of leadership training and motivational courses for local leaders, or community skills audits, workshops and planning activities for entire communities (Dibden and Cheshire, 2005). At the same time, capacity building has consistently been linked with notions of empowerment, yet more critical observers suggest that rather than being a neutral mechanism for empowering populations, capacity building actually serves to enmesh them in new forms of power relations that set limits on how they respond to change (Herbert-Cheshire and Higgins, 2004; see also Cruickshank, 1994; Banks and Shenton, 2001; Dibden and Cheshire, 2005). How this operates in selective sites and through particular programmes is examined in more detail in later chapters. The new power relations that are constituted through capacity building activities do not simply involve rural citizens and the state, but incorporate a whole range of other, non-state actors who have been bestowed with the task of governing rural development. With political authorities now taking more of a ‘hands off’ approach to rule, support for rural communities is provided by an ever-growing range of ostensibly independent rural development experts who provide the tutelage and technical means for individuals ‘to conduct themselves within particular cultural communities of ethics and lifestyle according to certain specified arts of active personal responsibility’ (Rose 1996b: 348). In practical terms, this expertise comes in a range of forms. At one level there are rural development consultants who are commissioned to promote the message of self-help to rural people through intensive, one-off seminars, conferences and think-tanks, or via day-long workshops with


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individual communities. Those that manage to develop a career as professional facilitators or consultants become internationally renowned and are able to command large fees and near-celebrity status for their knowledge and advice on how rural development should best be approached. At the local level, more immediate forms of expert assistance are provided by economic development officers, community economic development officers, tourism officers, rural youth workers and other kinds of project officers who work directly with local self-help groups on a longer-term basis. Increasingly, their positions are funded through government grants secured by community organisations so that the officers report directly to the community and not the relevant state agency. This close link with the community fulfils an important legitimising function for many rural development experts because it also implies a degree of distance – and therefore independence – from the state. As later chapters indicate, however, this apparent independence belies an alliance with state agencies that bestows upon them an authority to govern. Self-help in Contemporary Rural Policy So far, this chapter has identified the more generic features of self-help that characterise contemporary governmental discourses of rural development across a range of countries. Nevertheless, there is a considerable degree of variation in the extent to which different political authorities have formulated a coherent policy framework around the concept of self-help – most notably in the degree to which its popularity as a rhetorical device has been accompanied by appropriate levels of financial and institutional support. This section of the chapter provides a brief comparison of the adoption of self-help into the rural policy agenda of the European Union, Britain, Australia and the United States to illustrate some of these differences. Britain and Europe Rural policy in Britain has been underpinned by a series of changes at two key levels. On the one hand, there have been various constitutional reforms to the European Union following the establishment of the Single European Act in 1987 (Whittaker, Warren, Turner and Hutchcroft, 2004). Since then, European policy has been directed towards enhancing parliamentary cooperation and social cohesion among EU member states as well as towards the creation of a single European market. The progressive enlargement of the EU through the inclusion of new member states – many of which contain rural areas with below average levels of development – has also precipitated a drive to overcome the regional disparities that exist in the expanded union. At the same time, a series of pressures mounted on the British countryside resulting from various processes of rural economic, social and political restructuring have prompted a range of separate policy initiatives in England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. These commenced in the mid-1990s with the release of the English and other White Papers on rural development (Ward and

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McNicholas, 1998b) and have more recently resulted in a single rural development programme in each country, which is jointly funded by EU and national government resources. Following the outbreak of the Foot and Mouth Disease in Britain in 2001, national rural development objectives have been preoccupied with concerns over agri-environmental and food quality issues, yet are otherwise informed by EU policy directions. At both levels of government, ideas of self-help and bottom-up development have become central tenets of rural policy and put into action via a range of funding packages. For many years, European rural policy has been synonymous with agricultural issues and especially the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP), which Ward and McNicholas describe as the most important European policy measure in both political and budgetary terms (1998a). Concern over the impacts of the Single European Act upon rural areas, particularly those in marginalised regions, prompted a review of European policy in the mid 1980s, which resulted in the publication of the Commission of the European Communities’ 1988 report The Future of Rural Society. In its report, the Commission broadened contemporary understandings of rural life beyond agricultural matters to include what it defined as a concern for the preservation of the fabric of rural society (Commission of the European Communities, 1988). While this was indicative of a process of decline in the relative importance of agriculture to rural – and indeed national – life (Marsden and Murdoch, 1998; Storey, 1999), the Commission’s interest in the wider aspects of rural living was also incited by a range of other pressures facing rural areas. The outcome of the review was a reform of the European Union’s Structural Funds, with rural development becoming one of six key objectives (Objective 5) in the amended package. Where Objective 5a sought to ease the process of agricultural adjustment in rural areas, Objective 5b was targeted specifically at places that were identified as experiencing low levels of economic development, employment dominated by the agricultural sector and low levels of agricultural income (Ward and McKicholas, 1998a). The Objective 5b programme ran in Europe from 1989 to 1999. Under round one of the funding package (from 1989 to 1993) 73 ‘disadvantaged’ rural areas across the EU were designated eligible for assistance, with total funding levels amounting to approximately 2,600 million ECUs over that period (Ward and McNicholas, 1998b: 369). The significance of Objective 5b stemmed from the fact that two key changes were taking place in EU rural policy. First, Objective 5b represented a clear attempt by political authorities to address rural, rather than simply agricultural, matters of concern; and second, it embraced the philosophy of self-help by encouraging local actors to set their own priorities in deciding how funds should be allocated (Ward and McNicholas, 1998a; Storey, 1999). Funding was administered via a partnership agreement between the community, business and government sectors in each locality, and channelled towards local, small scale initiatives. Despite the good intentions of the programme, subsequent evaluations of Objective 5b have suggested that, in practice, the degree of local participation was often subject to interpretation and varied a great deal across regions (Ward and McNicholas, 1998a). Opportunities for local autonomy were also undermined by the involvement of member state


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governments in the provision of funding and the tendency to exclude community representatives from what were essentially partnerships between various tiers of government (Whittaker et al, 2004). While the second round of the programme was released in 1994 and involved efforts to increase community participation by allowing other, non-government, actors to join the partnership arrangements (Whittaker et al, 2004), governmental – as opposed to community – ambitions continued to prevail. Objective 5b was not the only new programme to emerge from the EU’s rural policy review; nor was it alone in promoting a bottom-up approach to development. In July 1990, the Commission followed its reform of the Structural Funds with the release of the LEADER programme (Liaisons Entre Actions de Dévelopment de l’Economie Rurale), which had similarly been designed to assist rural communities devise and implement local regeneration strategies (Barke and Newton, 1997). Like the Structural Funds, LEADER adopted an integrated, rather than sectoral, approach to rural development, yet the theme of grassroots community action was much more dominant than it had been in Objective 5b (Scott, 2004). In practical terms, this was accomplished through the establishment of voluntary local action groups (LAGs), which were responsible for formulating a community action plan in each area prior to making an application for funding. They were also required to match 35 percent of EU contributions with money raised from local sources (Barke and Newton, 1997). Under round one of LEADER, 217 LAGs gained access to a total of 400 million ECUs of EU assistance for a broad range of projects (Barke and Newton, 1997; Scott, 2004). Consistent with the goal of promoting local community development, the majority of the projects were small scale, involving sums of as little as £6,000, and were tailored specifically to address the needs of the community as identified by local residents (Ray, 1998). In some cases, this meant financial assistance with traditional economic development activities, but it could also apply to the preparation of community appraisals, the establishment of ‘back to work’ schemes for local women, the promotion of a local identity for the area and a whole host of other, equally innovative, ideas. When LEADER came to an end in 1994, its popularity was such that a second, enlarged, round of funding was released in 1995. LEADER II contained many of the original features of LEADER I but also incorporated a number of key changes. One of the common criticisms of LEADER I had been its inability to provide much assistance to communities experiencing particularly high levels of disadvantage. As Ray has pointed out, many remote communities found it difficult to participate in the programme ‘simply because it was the absence of the capacity for individual and social innovation that had come to define their present socio-economic plight’ (1998: 84 emphasis in original). In an attempt to rectify this, capacity building was made much more prominent under LEADER II, and funding made available to assist local communities build their skills and confidence for self-development activities (Storey, 1999). Special consideration was also given to disadvantaged communities through a change in the funding of LAGs, with the Commission making a distinction between groups that were formed out of pre-existing organisations on the one hand, and, on the other, those that had been more recently established specifically

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for LEADER purposes (Barke and Newton, 1997). With an increased budget, the number of LAGs funded under LEADER II increased to 968, prompting some to observe that not only was the programme excessively bureaucratic, but its resources – and hence its effectiveness – had been ‘watered down’ in the process (Junancic and Bryden, 1998). In spite of these criticisms, LEADER has since moved into its third stage of funding under the guise of LEADER +, which operates from the period of 2000 to 2006 with a total budget of €5,046.5million (European Commission, undated). LEADER + continues to embody many of the central elements of its antecedents, including its focus on bottom-up community self-help, yet it has placed greater weight upon the importance of partnerships and networks among local communities (including rural areas of different member states) as part of a more integrated approach to development. One of the losses from the programme has been its targeting of disadvantaged rural areas, and a preference towards funding development projects that are considered more innovative. With the expansion of the EU in 2004, many of the new member states contain rural areas with disproportionately high levels of poverty and a declining population base that are likely to suffer under these present funding arrangements. The next stage of rural development in the newlyenlarged EU for 2007-2013 is currently being prepared under a single programming instrument called the European Agricultural Fund for Rural Development (European Commission, 2005). While details of this new plan are yet to be finalised, the Commission has already pledged its commitment to the LEADER programme, as well as to the goal of strengthening the bottom-up approach, by giving ‘member states, regions and local action groups … more say in attuning programmes to local needs’ (European Commission, 2005: 1). Australia Self-help has become equally prevalent in Australian rural and regional policy discourses, yet the extent to which it has been accompanied by financial and institutional support is much reduced in comparison to the European situation. Instead, Australian governments have tended to cling to the belief that it is that market that offers the most appropriate solution to the rural downturn. As a consequence, it has predominantly channelled its resources towards liberalising the economy and promoting entrepreneurship and competition in rural areas (Duff and Tonts, 2000). In the absence of government funding for rural development, self-help has become the default strategy for many rural residents who have banded together to engage in a variety of community-based projects for local banking, health and incomegenerating activities. What Australia does share in common with Europe is a legacy of rural policy that has been driven by the demands of agriculture, with support coming in the form of market assistance to particular commodity-based industries (Barratt, 1997) as well as tax benefits, drought relief subsidies and other such benefits to individual farmers. In contrast, the problems facing the wider rural community have traditionally been


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ignored on the mistaken belief that if the performance of farm enterprises can be enhanced, this will have flow-on benefits for surrounding rural areas (Sher and Sher, 1994). For rural people not working in agriculture, unemployment payments have often been the only source of assistance (Maud, 2002). It is also the case that rural development in Australia has been hindered by the country’s three-tier system of governance where the two upper tiers – the Commonwealth and State/Territory governments – have both had some responsibility for securing the well-being of rural areas. Unfortunately, this has often lead to a duplication of efforts between governments, as well as uncertainty over accountability, with responsibility for issues – rural development being a case in point – continuously being bounced between each tier of government (Everingham, Cheshire and Lawrence, 2006). The outcome at the federal level is an absence of any integrated plan for the development of Australia’s rural communities although some State governments have implemented various community development programmes or ‘blueprints’ intermittently since the late 1980s (Dibden and Cheshire, 2005). As Dibden and Cheshire (2005) demonstrate, Australian rural policy reached a turning point in the late 1980s with two key developments taking place in related policy areas. The first was in the realm of regional development following the release of the Hawke Labor Government’s Country Centres Project in 1986, which emphasised, for the first time, the importance of rural community participation and the mobilisation of local skills and resources in fostering development. However, the programme only ever ran as a pilot scheme in 11 centres and so it was not until the early 1990s, with the election of the Keating Labor Government, that self-help became firmly embedded on the Federal Government policy agenda (Garlick, 1997). Concerned with the unemployment and low growth rate that characterised many parts of non-metropolitan Australia, the Federal Government established a Taskforce on Regional Development. The ensuing report – otherwise known as the Kelty Report – concluded that Australia’s regions needed to contribute to their own growth and development through enhanced leadership, self-reliance and a focus on export markets (Taskforce on Regional Development 1993). The findings of this, and other key reports, in the mid 1990s (The Industry Commission, 1993; Bureau of Industry Economics, 1994) were instrumental to the formation of the Regional Development Strategy of 1994, which was released as part of the government’s Working Nation White Paper (Keating, 1994a). Earlier attempts at regional development in Australia had tended to revolve around encouraging firms to locate to a particular region by offering low-cost land, subsidised infrastructure and tax incentives (Garlick, 1997). In contrast, the Regional Development Strategy operated according to the belief that self-help initiatives had a vital role to play in promoting regional growth. Indeed it was explicitly argued in the strategy that: Regions are best equipped to identify their own strengths and weaknesses and to take advantages of available opportunities… In this way, the Commonwealth intends to develop the capacities of regions to better manage their own development opportunities (Keating, 1994b: 14).

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This was to be organised through the establishment of a network of federallyfunded Regional Development Organisations (RDOs). Of the $150 million allocated to the Regional Development Strategy, almost half that sum was put aside for the establishment of 44 government-approved RDOs that would operate as ‘creditable, professional leadership and management bodies’ (Garlick, 1997: 286). According to Forth (1996), however, inter-government friction limited the potential of RDOs to become genuine community-owned organisations, since the State governments regarded federal government involvement in regional development as part of a campaign to erode their authority. When the Labor government lost power to the Liberal-National Party Coalition Government under the leadership of Prime Minister, John Howard, in 1996, the Regional Development Strategy was abolished and funding to RDOs withdrawn once contracts expired (MacDonald, 1999). The second key policy change to have an impact upon Australian rural development occurred in the sphere of agriculture. During the 1980s, Australian agricultural policy was dominated by the Rural Adjustment Scheme, which sought to provide assistance to individual farmers who were able to demonstrate a capacity to thrive in the increasingly deregulated market environment, as well as an opportunity to ‘opt out’ for those considered ‘unviable’ (Higgins, 2002). In July 1993, however, at the inaugural meeting of the Agriculture and Resource Management Council of Australia and New Zealand (ARMCANZ), a resolution was passed to explore the possibility of addressing the issues that were bound up in rural, rather than specifically agricultural, development (Commonwealth Department of Primary Industries and Energy, 1995a). Developed in consultation with ARMCANZ, the Federal Government’s Rural Partnership Program was the first such package to recognise that the problems facing rural Australia were more than simply agricultural (Commonwealth Department of Primary Industries and Energy, 1995b). When the Howard Administration came into power in 1996, its abolition of the Regional Development Strategy coincided with a major review of Australian rural policy (Barratt, 1997; Higgins, 2002) and a decision to wind down both the Rural Partnership Program and the Rural Adjustment Scheme in favour of a new programme: Agriculture – Advancing Australia (AAA). While the AAA continued to approach rural development through the provision of rural industry initiatives, two sub-programmes built into the package – the Rural Plan and the Rural Communities Program – were formulated specifically to assist rural groups in developing and implementing plans for the revitalisation of their communities. Both tended to be driven by the economic imperative of developing ‘productive, professional, marketoriented and internationally competitive rural industries that have the capacity to embrace economic, social and environmental change’ (DOTARS, undated), yet local self-responsibility, capacity building, leadership training and empowerment were also considered desirable outcomes. As a reflection of their more general concerns with rural community development, the Rural Plan and Rural Communities Program were shifted out of the Federal Government’s agricultural portfolio into the Department of Transport and Regional Services. This coincided with a new phase in Australia rural policy that, for a short


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time at least, involved heightened attention by the Federal Government to the plight of declining rural areas, as well as increased efforts to resolve it. A series of reports by welfare, church and human rights groups about the social dimensions of the rural crisis (Collits, 2000: 16; Australian Catholic Social Welfare Commission, 1998; Sidhoti, 1999), in addition to concerns over the increase in reactionary politics in non-metropolitan Australia (most notably in the unprecedented rise of Pauline Hanson’s One Nation Party), forced the Federal Government to reassess its existing approach to rural development. The outcome was the termination of the two existing packages and the release of a new programme known as Regional Solutions, which provided funding from as little as $1,000 to $500,000 for community planning and project development in places experiencing high levels of economic and social disadvantage (DOTARS, 2000). The scheme only lasted three years, however, until it was subject to another process of reform and combined with several other rural and adjustment funding packages under the unified Regional Partnerships Programme. This programme is intended to run four years over the period from 2004/5 to 2007/8 with $308 million worth of funding available to a range of existing community organisations for projects relating to economic and social development, rural service delivery, community planning and structural adjustment. The United States It is apparent from the preceding discussion that rural development policy in Australia has been piecemeal, ad hoc and subject to the vagaries of short-term funding cycles. What has remained consistent, however, is the firm belief that it is up to rural communities themselves to initiate their own programmes of development, with the level of government support available for such action fluctuating according to the level of priority afforded to rural issues at the time. The scenario in North America is not dissimilar in the sense, not only that there has traditionally been a lack of discussion about rural non-farm federal policy in the United States (Shaffer, 2001; Swanson, 2001), but also that the absence of a coherent rural development programme has created a void in which local forms of self-help among rural communities have flourished (Korsching and Allen, 2004). As with Australia, US federal policy has also been guided by a neoliberal rationality that places its faith in the ability of market forces to secure the future of rural communities. In addition, the US has also embraced a policy of decentralisation by devolving responsibility for a broad range of services to State and local governments (Dewees, Lobao and Swanson, 2003). In the wake of both market and federal government failure to improve rural economic and social well-being on a broad scale, rural America has often been left to its own devices, and this has provided fertile ground for the emergence of a range of localitybased policy experiments (Murray and Dunn, 1995; Swanson, 2001). The celebration of local efforts has, in turn, increased the conviction of the US Federal Government of the advantages of self-development strategies, particularly, as Swanson observes, on occasions when federally-centralised programmes languish, when they require political legitimacy or when across the board budget cuts are necessary (2001: 2).

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Federally, US rural development programmes operate under the auspices of the Rural Development body of the US Department of Agriculture (otherwise known as USDA Rural Development). Consistent with the government’s broader concern with self-help via market forces, USDA Rural Development defines its mission as one of… helping rural individuals, communities and businesses obtain the financial and technical assistance needed to address their diverse and unique needs. Rural Development works to make sure that rural citizens can participate fully in the global economy (USDA Rural Development, undated).

USDA Rural Development funds a range of grants and loans in rural areas for the provision of community facilities, economic development, public housing, utilities and telecommunications, as well as community development and empowerment. This latter function is managed by the Office of Community Development within USDA and is designed to assist ‘every rural community achieve self-sufficiency through innovative and comprehensive strategic plans developed and implemented at a grassroots level’ (USDA, undated). According to the Office, the rural community empowerment programme represents a significant departure from tradition federal assistance schemes by virtue of its emphasis on long-term partnerships between the Federal Government and rural communities – in some cases, these have lasted up to ten years – as well as the extent to which it encourages citizen participation and local self-determination (USDA, undated). Many of the broader activities of USDA Rural Development are managed through the National Rural Development Partnership (NRDP), which has its origins in early attempts to coordinate federal, State and local government strategies of rural development in the 1970s. Its more recent manifestation was established in 1990 as part of a six point presidential initiative on rural development (Shaffer, 2001), which also extended the partnership concept to include community and profitmaking organisations. These partnerships are implemented at a sub-national level via 50 State Rural Development Councils (SRDCs), consisting of state and local government bodies, private industry and community organisations. Approximately US$120,000 from the federal budget is allocated to the SRDC’s each year, although all councils are expected to generate approximately one third of their funding from non-federal sources. This funding is then utilised by SRDCs towards ‘empower[ing] and build[ing] the capacity of States and rural communities to design flexible and innovative responses to their own special rural development needs, with local determinations of progress and selection of projects and activities’ (USDA, undated). Where the US differs from other countries in its rural development programmes is the degree to which tertiary institutions have become active participants in such efforts, and have engaged in formalised partnership arrangements with State governments and the corporate sector to foster local regeneration efforts (Murray and Dunne, 1995). In Colorado, the Colorado Community Revitalisation Project, jointly run by the Colorado State University, The University of Colorado, the State


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Government’s Department of Local Affairs and the W.K. Kellogg Foundation, was set up in 1988 as an ‘experiment in institutional cooperation’ (Murray and Dunn, 1995: 92) to help rural communities with fewer than 5,000 people identify and develop local revitalisation strategies. Similarly in Nebraska, the Nebraska Development Network is a joint initiative of the Nebraskan State Government, the US Federal Government and the University of Nebraska that seeks to facilitate cooperation across the state between community, government and industry groups concerned with the development of rural Nebraska (Allen, 1999a). The network’s methods are heavily grounded in the philosophy of ‘helping people help themselves’ and are based upon the idea that economic development can only take place once investments have been made in building individual – i.e. leadership – and community capacity. The apparent success of the network in reversing population decline, and encouraging economic growth, in parts of rural Nebraska have been recognised in other countries, such as Australia, and various attempts have been made to replicate the Nebraska model. Conclusion: Self-help made Governmental In advanced liberal countries such as the UK, the US and Australia, it has become common for national and State governments to expound a self-help approach towards rural development whereby the responsibility for identifying and initiating regeneration strategies is placed in the hands of rural people themselves. As this chapter has shown, such discourses are by no means new, but have been targeted at a broad range of marginalised groups in various policy settings throughout much of the 20th century. Yet the interest sparked among governmental authorities by the ostensible benefits of encouraging rural citizens to take matters into their own hands when seeking rural development opportunities is worthy of closer scrutiny. Could it be that what we are witnessing is simply a continuation of – or perhaps a return to – a long-held belief that ‘help from without’ is feebling, but ‘help from within invariably invigorates’ (Smiles, 1986: 19)? Or is there something distinct about contemporary discourses of self-help that render them problematic and require us to subject them to new forms of analysis. As already argued, this book is based on the premise that there is indeed something quite novel about the way community and self-help have been adopted into contemporary rural policy, which stems from the way they constitute a new mode of governing. To a certain extent, this has already been remarked upon by Cloke (1990) in his observation that what is novel about these discourses of development is the extent to which self-help has become accompanied by a growing range of support and advisory structures and experts that facilitate, guide and, ultimately, shape local development initiatives. Rural communities and other marginalised populations may always have embraced collective approaches to self-help, yet this has traditionally involved the establishment of voluntary, grassroots groups or informal networks of neighbourliness and community support (Cox, 1995). In contrast, late 20th-early 21st

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century discourses are demanding that these local groups become more professional and organised, that that they formulate strategic plans and that they elect management committees so they become more ‘business-like’ in the development of their community (Smock, 1997: 5). Taking this further, the governmentality approach adopted in this book suggests that self-help has not merely become formalised but made governmental – rendered governable – as part of an advanced liberal mode of rule. Not merely designed to provide self-help groups with the formality they once lacked, advisory bodies and experts have been put in place, both to govern local initiatives and to create self-governing rural citizens whose conduct is consistent with the broader socio-political objectives of late capitalism. The various ways in which self-help can be understood in this way, and the extent to which the related concepts of community, empowerment and capacity building are bound up in this process, is explored in detail in following chapters.

Chapter 4

A Problematics of Government: Self-help as Discursive Practice While the last chapter identified the key characteristics of a self-help approach to rural development, this chapter problematises these discourses as a mentality of rule that shapes the way human beings select courses of action for revitalising their towns and communities. Within advanced liberalism, the exercise of this mode of governing does not occur through the direct imposition of sovereign will, but in a way that may be described as ‘at a distance’. This occurs through the implementation of a range of mechanisms – some discursive, others more practical – which seek to align the attitudes and behaviours of rural people with the socio-political objectives of state agencies (Miller and Rose, 1990). Where many such mechanisms are individualistic, and echo neoliberal policies of personal responsibility, competition, efficiency and reduced assistance, others are ‘inclusive and social solidaristic’ (Wright, 1998: 100) and seek to act upon individuals in the context of their families and communities (Rose, 1996a; 1996b). In Australia, as in other advanced liberal nations, government intervention in issues of rural development reflects this trend. As a consequence, this chapter seeks to explore the ways in which contemporary discourses of rural development provide state agencies with the means to govern local self-help initiatives in spite of their apparent preference for a ‘hands-off’ approach. While later chapters identify the more practical mechanisms through which the activity of governing takes place, this chapter undertakes a problematics of government to explore how political authorities articulate desired objectives. In other words, the focus of this chapter is not so much the practical technologies through which local development initiatives are governed, nor indeed their effects as they are played out in specific sites. Before such forms of analysis can take place, it is necessary to examine, first, the objectives of those who seek to govern, the discursive or intellectual machinery through which those objectives are pursued, and the political rationalities that justify certain courses of action over others. By and large, this act of governing takes place through certain discursive, regulatory, mechanisms that construct notions of how rural people should think and behave, both individually and within the context of their wider communities. Rather than see them simply as rhetoric, these discourses have practical implications and may be understood as discursive practices (Foucault, 1985: 4); that is, ‘knowledge constituted, not just in text but in definite institutional and organizational practices’ (Clegg, 1989: 153).

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Consistent with the triple domain of government presented earlier in this book, attention is paid here to the ways in which advanced liberal modes of governing rely upon techniques of objectification and subjectification. Here in this chapter, the emphasis is very much upon the construction of self-governing individuals who possess the skills of rational self-government, and who then apply these skills on behalf of the community as a whole. When this occurs – when a community becomes self-governing – it is diagnosed by experts who advocate this new approach to development as being ‘healthy’ (Kenyon, 1998), ‘responsible’ (Wise, 1998) or ‘sustainable’ (Shaffer, 1995), and is showcased as best practice for other communities to follow. Communities that are unable to demonstrate such abilities, on the other hand, are labelled ‘unhealthy’, ‘non-responsible’ and ‘unsustainable’ and are increasingly excluded from government support on the basis that they are ‘unworthy’. Such discursive mechanisms clearly illustrate the process through which certain, dominant ways of thinking about rural development are normalised. In effect, this shapes the conduct of rural people, both collectively and as individuals, by encouraging them to embrace governmental notions of rural development, while simultaneously limiting opportunities for alternative, and perhaps more critical, forms of action to arise. Representing the Rural: The ‘Problem’ of Decline As part of a problematics of rule, those assigned the task of governing frequently pose themselves questions regarding who can be ruled, through what mechanisms, and how those desired techniques of rule may be justified (Rose, 1996a). Given that the governmentality perspective concerns itself with the way these issues are problematised, this chapter explores how governments under an advanced liberal form of rule first think about, then act upon, the objects (populations, territories, organisations) and subjects (individuals, communities) to be governed (Rose, 1996a; see also Ward and McNicholas, 1998a). Indeed, before a population can even begin to be governed, it is first necessary to implement a range of mechanisms of documentation and evaluation – writing, listing, drawing, and collecting and presenting statistics – that accumulate knowledge about a population (Foucault, 1977a) and translate it into a form that can be rendered ‘knowable’ and, ultimately, measurable (Rose and Miller, 1992). At the practical level of rural development, the most common technique through which a population or community is ‘rendered visible’ is the community audit (Ward and McNicholas, 1998a). Also known under various guises as a community vision plan, a community survey or simply a ‘SWOT analysis’ (strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, threats) the process is essentially the same: local residents meet for a series of workshops where, with the assistance of an expert facilitator, they document the skills, resources, assets and opportunities of the community as a whole and of its individual members. As Ward and McNicholas argue, community audits are a useful way of instrumentalising a community’s ‘self-governing properties’ (1998a:

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35) because they increase the confidence and capacity of local people, promote local ownership of development initiatives and generally build social capital. Given that power is implicated through discourse (Foucault, 1977a), however, this collection of ‘facts’ about a community is clearly not the neutral process it might first appear (Rose and Miller, 1992). Techniques of representation do not merely seek to capture the ‘reality’ of a situation but, rather, to act upon that reality (Rose and Miller, 1992) by constructing particular versions of it in a way that makes it amenable to political deliberation and intervention (Miller and Rose, 1990). In order to understand the way in which state agencies represent the circumstances of those they seek to act upon in the context of rural development, it is important to pay particular attention to the language that is used to discursively construct the ‘problem’ of rural decline and its causes. How this problem is represented, what mechanisms are put in place to ‘fix’ it and how that level of (non) intervention is subsequently justified are all articulated within political discourses and are explored in more detail in this chapter. An indication of how the problem of rural decline has been constructed within government and expert discourses in Australia and overseas in recent decades is provided by the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development’s (OECD) 1993 report What Future for our Countryside? In its discussion, the report identified the roots of rural decline as lying within certain characteristics or historical features of rural regions themselves, most notably their economies (OECD, 1993). Rural regions, it argued, face disadvantage in the rapidly changing global market (OECD, 1993: 26-7). Their economies are too narrowly based and are vulnerable to rapid change, and a lack of skills and experience on the part of rural people is preventing them from becoming fully integrated into the global economy. In summary, the plight of rural areas has been understood by the OECD in terms of their exclusion from the global market. Hence, as Wood observes (1997), the solution to this problem of exclusion becomes self-evident: inclusion. Somewhat predictably, therefore, the OECD recommended measures be put into place for improving the economic competitiveness of rural economies, thereby enabling them to function more effectively in the global market (1993). While it might reasonably be inferred from the OECD report that rural regions in Australia and other advanced liberal nations have become ‘victims’ in the expansion of a global economy, the structural causes of rural decline are not acknowledged. Instead, their exclusion from the global market is frequently understood in terms of the attributes and supposed deficiencies of rural people themselves: rural people are ‘unskilled’ or have the ‘wrong’ skills (see Wood, 1997 for a critique of this), they are ‘not prepared to change, be creative or take risks’ (Gannon, 1998: 36), and they must, therefore, accept some responsibility for the demise of their industries and communities. In the first instance, the cause of these problems is seen to lie within the mindset of rural people. In Australia, for example, it is often argued by political authorities and development bodies that a prolonged period of high government support and intervention in rural matters has created an attitude among rural people that welfare payments are a given ‘right’. This, it is said, creates a ‘victim consciousness’ (Gannon, 1998: 22) among welfare recipients who, in Butler,

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Rhissel and Khavarpour’s opinion (1999), are highly conscious of the benefits governments should provide, yet lack ‘an equivalent sense of citizen obligations and responsibilities’. For Morrisey (1999), this is particularly true of rural producers who, he says, are often highly dependent upon the public for handouts in spite of their image as rugged, independent individuals living off the land. He argues that previous forms of intervention by governments into rural issues has created a ‘cargo cult mentality’ among farmers whereby the more government provides, the more ‘cargo’ recipients demand. The effect, he says, is that when assistance is not forthcoming, they use emotional media campaigns to loudly plead their cause (Morrisey, 1999: 284). The so-called effect of this welfare dependence is an inability and unwillingness among rural people to embrace the necessary changes that will integrate them successfully into the global economy. Traditionally ‘propped up’ by government subsidies, rural people, it is argued, are provided with no incentive to relinquish uncompetitive production practices and seek alternative industries or new ways of adding value to existing products. Such claims have been supported by empirical studies in recent years, most notably Morrisey’s analysis of rural community sustainability in Australia (1999). During his research, Morrisey discussed how primary producers in one study area – which was officially drought declared for approximately one third of its settlement history and consequently had received over $500,000 of drought related payments during the period of his study alone – lacked the interest, ability or resources to pursue any form of industry other than their already established cattle grazing enterprises. That this situation could be a product of the hopelessness and despair frequently felt by farmers was not considered, even though Morrisey did express concern for a group he identified as ‘genuinely suffering’ producers (1999: 136). In recent years, a certain degree of sympathy has been extended towards primary producers, and counselling services are becoming increasingly available to assist rural producers in dealing with the economic and social consequences of rural industry decline. The appointment of Farm Financial Counsellors within departments of agriculture and primary industries, for example, illustrates the extent to which governments are recognising that many farmers have become so beaten down by drought and poor commodity prices, that it is inevitable they should give in to feelings of despair. Nevertheless, such moves continue to reinforce the ideology that the causes of rural decline are ultimately to be found in the attitudes and behaviours of rural people themselves. As a consequence, the solutions to the problem are seen to lie in changing those attitudes, so that rural people become better equipped to take their place in the global economy. The final observation about the way the rural and, more specifically, the rural crisis is constructed within contemporary discourses of development reiterates the point in the last chapter about declining rural areas being characterised by a loss of community and depleting levels of social capital. The implication of such discourses is that rural areas are not merely suffering from their marginalisation within the global market place but, additionally, from a loss of community. Indeed, it is extensively


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argued by community development experts and practitioners that strong, cohesive communities, whose members recognise their common identity and shared fate, and who are prepared to work together for the common good, are essential to the regeneration of rural Australia. Community development is, therefore, frequently cited by rural development experts as the first step towards economic development in general and the linchpin of the ‘bottom-up’, integrated approach to sustainable rural development that is so heavily advocated today. To use Ward and McNicholas’s words, the emphasis that is placed on community decline as a major component of the rural crisis has led to the adoption of new, remedial technologies that require rural communities to ‘think themselves into existence’ (1998a: 28). Discursive Practices: Changing People and Building Community Having identified the way the rural crisis is represented under an advanced liberal formula of rule, this chapter focuses on the mechanisms established, not only to address the problem, but also to do so in a way that remains consistent with the socio-political objectives of state authorities. While the well being of rural populations remains a significant concern for contemporary governments, it cannot be denied that late capitalist government ambitions extend further than issues of equity to include strategies of economic advancement for the nation as a whole (Garlick, 1997). Government intervention under advanced liberalism is not intended to provide a safety net for declining areas (Garlick, 1997), and neither do governments wish to undertake programmes of rural development themselves. Instead, through the use of certain disciplinary and regulatory mechanisms of bio-power (Foucault, 1978), state agencies seek to shape the discursive and environmental conditions in which local people initiate their own programmes of development. With these conditions in place, it is anticipated that they will ‘freely’ choose to conduct themselves according to the desired principles of competition, efficiency, effectiveness and entrepreneurship. It has already been argued that a relationship of governing under advanced liberalism relies on the creation of active subjects (Cruickshank, 1994) who are capable of aligning their personal conduct with the wider economic and political ambitions of state agencies. Martin (1997) suggests that the way this is achieved is not simply by convincing rural people of the worth of government policy but, rather, of ‘developing (govern)mentalities’ in rural dwellers that lead them to embrace the political objectives of late capitalist societies as their own (Martin, 1997: 51 emphasis in original). Drawing on O’Malley and Palmer’s observations, however, an advanced liberal rationality of rule cannot assume that a rural community, debilitated by years of welfare assistance, ‘can simply bootstrap itself into a competent and self-reliant condition’ (1996: 145). Thus, a certain level of training is required for individuals to become active and capable of self-government, and to apply those skills to the purpose of community economic development. It is to this end that programmes of individual and community capacity building are implemented as a

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means of fostering the capability of those rural people perceived to lack the power, hope, consciousness and initiative to help themselves (see Cruickshank, 1994). Working along the principle of ‘changing people to change things’, the task of building the self-governing propensities of rural areas is said to involve two fundamental, but interrelated, processes: first, the development of the individual and, second, the creation of a community culture. With training, individuals will become more adaptive and flexible to change, they will develop an entrepreneurial outlook and will learn to exploit their competitive advantages (Gannon, 1998). Those who exhibit a burning vision, and who indicate that they have the passion and commitment to drive development forward, will become ‘change agents’ (Midgley, 1986), ‘community builders’ (Kenyon, 1998) or ‘animateurs’ (Wise, 1998) and will act as the essential link between the two processes. Their task is to initiate community-based strategies of development, to breath new life into their community and to motivate and involve others in the achievement of a common goal (Wise, 1998). This, it is claimed, will create stronger, healthier rural communities that are better equipped to implement their own strategies of economic development. Governing the Individual: Capacity Building, Entrepreneurship and Empowerment In the first instance, contemporary governments have provided a ‘stimulus’ for selfhelp (Cruickshank, 1994: 36) through the removal of various support structures of state intervention. Inadequate on it own, other mechanisms have been established to support this move by equipping individuals with the required ‘subjective capacities’ (Rose 1996b: 347) that will enhance their competence in the art of self-government. Largely discursive at the beginning stages, these mechanisms seek to turn ‘passive welfare dependants’ into active citizens (Dean, 1998: 98) by changing their attitudes towards government assistance; they must realise that ‘the cavalry’ is no longer on its way (Wise, 1998: 95), they must begin to think less in terms of ‘what will the government do about it?’ and more ‘what can I do about it?’ (Butler et al, 1999: 259) and they must adjust to the government’s new role as ‘partner’ and ‘facilitator’, rather than simply just ‘provider’ of services and assistance (Cavaye, 1999: 14). Having created the right kind of macro environment in which self-help can flourish, the next step is to begin the process of addressing the specific problems facing rural areas. If these problems are primarily to be understood in terms of the supposed deficiencies of the people who live there, so it becomes possible to advocate solutions that concern themselves less with addressing the structural causes of rural decline and more with changing the response of those who suffer from them most. Within discourses of development, this is precisely what is occurring as numerous programmes, agents and institutions, such as farm counsellors, motivational conferences, leadership training schemes and general self-help videos are established and circulated to address the demoralisation, powerlessness and negativity of rural people. To use Dean’s words (1998: 93), an ‘active system of support’ is built


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into programmes of rural development, which not only seek to remedy the plight of rural residents, but also to address any attitudes and values that prevent them from actively taking the initiative in helping themselves. As a way of building this capacity, therefore, these programmes broadly involve the following: … training to equip them with the skills of self-promotion, counselling to restore their sense of self-worth and self-esteem, [and] programmes of empowerment to enable them to assume their rightful place as self-actualising and demanding subjects of an ‘advanced’ liberal democracy (Rose, 1996a: 59-60).

Under advanced liberalism, however, the notion of active citizenship implies more than just the creation of a positive mindset, the maintenance of enthusiasm, passion, belief and hope, and the discarding of any victim mentality left over from previous programmes of welfare dependency. To draw on Cruickshank’s argument, techniques of self-government do not merely seek to increase the capacity for action of the powerlessness but, rather, to fundamentally transform that capacity in the process (1994: 32 emphasis added). Indeed, strategies of rural development in advanced liberal societies such as Australia are not simply founded on remedies to address the powerlessness, demoralisation or even apathy of rural dwellers. More than that, they seek to alter their attitudes and behaviours towards the changes taking place in the global economy, and to equip them with the necessary skills for responding to those changes in a successful manner. Alongside the goal of community well being, for example, the Australian Federal Liberal and National Coalition Government identified the aim of one of its former rural development programmes, the Rural Plan, as follows: … local self responsibility and empowerment … productive, professional, market oriented and internationally competitive rural industries that have the capacity to embrace economic, social and environmental change (DOTARS, 1999a: 1).

Rural regeneration, it seems therefore, is essentially about embracing change and responding to globalisation. It is about economic advancement, competitiveness, efficiency and entrepreneurship: Efficiency, effectiveness and competitiveness are imperatives for agricultural development. This involves the adoption of improved production practices, up-to-date management and marketing technology, entrepreneurial and innovative practices which provide scope for flexibility and creativity in the diversification of the economic base (Gannon, 1998: 25).

The idea of entrepreneurship has been explored earlier in this book and is further critiqued by a number of authors (see, for example Burchell, 1996; Day, 1998; Wright, 1998; Kenny, 1999) who suggest that it is a key dimension of the new forms of government under an advanced liberal mode of rule. Day (1998), for example, notes how entrepreneurship is often referred to in terms of the presence or absence of an ‘enterprise culture’. He argues that the adoption of the word ‘culture’ is a useful way of indicating that it is at the level of ideas and behaviours that discourses of

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entrepreneurship are pitched; that what is involved is a ‘ … transformation of values and attitudes, freeing the spirit of competition, initiative, self-reliance, risk-taking and so on’ (Day, 1998: 92 emphasis in original). Similarly, Wright (1998), in building upon Osborne and Gaebler’s notion of entrepreneurial government (1992), suggests that within these discourses a population of self-governing individuals imbued with enterprising values is a prerequisite for economic revitalisation. He draws attention to a logic that insists market-driven policy goals must be ‘supported’ by cultural changes within the population at large in order to equip citizens with the subjective capacity for successfully responding to the changing international economy. Put succinctly, he says: ‘the spirit of capitalism must enter the soul’ (1998: 106). For those who advocate the adoption of an enterprise culture, there is an assumption that it empowers individuals who have previously been denied the ability to unlock their full potential (see for example, Sher and Sher, 1994; Gannon, 1998). The removal of government assistance and the devolution of responsibility to the local level is said to ‘enable’ rural people to develop their own solutions to rural decline by activating their hidden capacity to become more enterprising: … capacity building is essential for empowering people to open to new attitudes to change and to be motivated in order to reach a level of preparedness to operate to their maximum potential for the development of their community (Gannon, 1998: 29).

However, if contemporary strategies of rural development are built upon programmes that create efficient, entrepreneurial and competitive individuals who are expected, not only to survive, but also to thrive in a deregulated international economy, one is forced to recognise the continued exercise of power through such strategies. By focusing on programmes that are designed to alter the attitudes and values of rural people to the changes taking place in the global economy, these strategies exclude what Buller and Wright suggest is the fundamental characteristic of development; that is, ‘an increased social and political role for local communities in the definition and choice of their own development objectives, and access to the material resources and political means to sustain them’ (1990: 12). Supporting this, Mendes argues that disadvantaged people can only be truly empowered when social structures and institutions are challenged and changed (1998: 42). In other words, notions of empowerment have shifted away from the development of a politically aware, critical thinking, citizen (Kearns, 1995) who has the potential to challenge dominant ideas, structures and institutions. Rather, the empowered citizen under an advanced liberal formula of rule is one who learns to compete in the global economy; who adopts improved production methods, up-to-date management and marketing technologies and entrepreneurial and innovative practices as a way of increasing his or her efficiency in the world market. Offering itself as no challenge to state power, therefore, empowerment has been made governmental and adopted as part of the discursive practices of self-help in a way that its realisation remains consistent with, and provides support to, state ambitions. This further serves to shape individual conduct by providing little opportunity for criticism of those ambitions,


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or for the emergence of alternative forms of action. Lockie demonstrates this clearly in his governmentality-inspired analysis of the Australian National Landcare Program (1999) in which he suggests that Landcare has been set up in such a way that it deals more with the negative environmental externalities of agricultural production than it does with encouraging any profound reassessment of current farming systems to take place. Moreover, well meaning state agents and experts who facilitate such activities are, in effect, lending support to the already dominant idea that globalisation, deregulation and the consequent marginalisation of rural areas are natural, unstoppable phenomena that must be structurally adjusted to, or successfully managed, if there is to be any hope of survival. In a similar vein to Cruickshank (1994), therefore, it may be concluded that technologies of empowerment are akin to technologies of government. That is, they seek to transform the attitudes and behaviours of individuals in a way that remains consistent with wider ambitions to enhance the nation’s performance in the global economy. Governing (Through) Community: Community Building, Bio-politics and Boom Towns Having equipped individuals with the necessary entrepreneurial (individualistic) qualities of self-help, efficiency, competition and risk-management, the second stage of the capacity building process is the development of a community culture. Here, individuals are prompted to draw on their new skills, not just for their own advancement, but in order to engage others in collective self-help initiatives that benefit the community as a whole. This requires a set of new conditions based on social solidarity, mutual obligation, cohesion and community spirit, whereby individuals come to be ‘governed through community’ (Rose, 1996b). Traditional conceptions of community might seem fundamentally opposed to market rationalities (Muetzelfeldt, 1992; see also Rogers, 1987), yet ‘governing through community’ works precisely because the qualities of individualism and community are brought together in this way. Indeed, within advanced liberal discourses of rural regeneration, community economic development is founded upon the presupposed existence of individuals who exhibit passion and drive, and all the other entrepreneurial qualities associated with market-driven individualism, and yet who feel such a sense of allegiance to their community that they are prepared to channel those energies into initiatives for the good of all. Described as ‘community builders’ (Queensland Government, 1998: 13), the task of these people is precisely as the name implies: to foster behaviours within rural regions that create community (Kenyon, 1998). These community building exercises are highly significant to an understanding of governing through community given that the success or failure of economic development initiatives is often defined almost entirely in terms of the existence (or lack of) a community culture. Rose (1996b) develops this theme in his own work and contends that many governmental programmes of regeneration are based on the presupposed existence of a community; hence, strategies of community economic

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development. As described in the last chapter, he also points to the fact that the plight of declining areas is generally understood by such programmes in terms of a ‘loss of a “spirit of community”’ (1996b: 336). While Rose writes of programmes for urban renewal in Britain, the ideology of a community spirit is particularly dominant in discourses of rural Australia, which is frequently assumed to have been founded on a culture of ‘interdependent self-help … shared purpose, collective wisdom, resources and sense of responsibility’ (Wise, 1998: 95). Regardless of whether this adequately describes the kind of communities that really are in existence in rural areas – or indeed ever were – the assumption remains that a positive community culture is essential for the successful development of rural regions. Communities that exhibit individualism, cynicism, defeat and negativity are considered by contemporary commentators as ‘unhealthy’ (Kenyon, 1998), ‘unsustainable’ (Shaffer, 1995) and ‘non-responsible’ (Wise, 1998) and can hardly expect to initiate their own successful development programmes unless they have first addressed this problem. ‘Healthy’ communities, on the other hand, are said to foster a positive and self-reliant ‘can do’ spirit and attitude. They place emphasis on consensus building and collaboration and encourage broad community participation (Kenyon, 1998). In summary, effective communities are those where ‘a significant proportion of the community is proactive in working together on development opportunities’ (Queensland Government, 1998: 13). Foucault’s analysis of bio-politics is useful as a way of making sense of the dualism that exists between communities that are said to be healthy and responsible and those, in contrast, that exhibit so-called non-responsible, unhealthy behaviours and attitudes. Only constructed in recent decades, these discourses form part of a body of discussions, texts and concerns (Clegg, 1989) about the problem of rural decline, bringing it into the sphere of explicit calculation. The effect of these activities, as Clegg (1989) notes, is the emergence of a realm of discourse that concerns itself with defining what is and what is not a good, healthy or normal way for rural people to be conducting themselves. Because of the authority and expertise often attached to those who make these definitions, such discourses become normalised to the extent that only certain behaviours become acceptable while others are marginalised and ‘eased out of currency’ (Clegg, 1989: 156). Although Foucault wrote specifically about how bio-politics regulated sexual activity in the 19th century, similar processes can be observed within the field of rural development. Thus, it becomes possible to show how power is exercised through a form of discourse that, not only defines specific communities as either healthy or unhealthy, but then draws upon those definitions to determine whether any ‘corrective technologies’ (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982: 173) need to be applied. Moreover, the extent to which a community is able to demonstrate appropriate ways of thinking and behaviour – the state of its health – is now something that can be calculated through a checklist or ‘balance sheet’ (Foucault, 1977a: 180), which then helps determine whether remedial assistance should be forthcoming. One noteworthy example frequently presented in Australia is illustrated in Figure 4.1.


Healthy Communities Optimism, hope, ‘we are in this together’ ‘We can do it’ Value intangibles of vision, value Consensus building Collaboration Focus on the future Interdependence Broad community participation Leadership renewal Think and act in long term Listening Reconciliation Win-win solutions Politics of substance Patience Diversity Challenge ideas Problem solvers Figure 4.1

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Unhealthy Communities Cynicism ‘Nothing works’ Emphasis only on tangibles Polarisation Confrontation Debate the past Parochialism Few do everything Same old faces Short-term thinking Attacking Holding grudges Win-lose solutions Politics of personality Frustration Exclusion Challenge people Blockers and blamers

The Healthy/Unhealthy Communities Balance Sheet (The IDEAS Group, undated)

Here, it is shown how healthy communities exhibit positive traits such as optimism, consensus, collaboration and interdependence, while unhealthy communities tend to be cynical, parochial, frustrated and confrontational (The IDEAS Group, undated). In a similar manner, Wise (1998), a rural development consultant in New Zealand, defines non-responsible communities as those that exhibit the following behaviours: blaming others; an uncoordinated effort; an unagreed vision and purpose; a reliance on out-of-town experts and resources; an emphasis on hope rather than results; competition for scarce resources; and repeating mistakes rather than learning from them. Responsible communities, one would presume, exhibit the opposite: accepting responsibility for their own mistakes; co-ordinating their efforts, visions and purposes; relying upon their own skills and resources; and focusing on getting results. What is most obvious about these healthy/unhealthy, responsible/nonresponsible balance sheets is that the basis for classifying rural communities is not so much the state of their decline – such as population levels or the presence of absence of essential services – but whether they have a positive spirit and healthy attitude. Moreover, these distinctions are being made functional (Foucault, 1984) and, in subtle but significant ways, are being acted upon to bestow reward or punishment on conforming and non-conforming communities (see also Kearns, 1995). Ideas of what it means for communities to be normal (healthy) or deviant (unhealthy) are no longer restricted merely to the realm of expert discourses but,

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as the following cases illustrate, may increasingly be found within media texts and governmental statements. In a 1999 edition of the newspaper The Weekend Australian, for example, an article simply entitled ‘Boom Towns’ (Wahlquist, 1999) told the story of several rural towns in Australia that had avoided the trap of ‘feeling sorry for themselves and looking to the government for support’. Refusing to ‘whinge’, they had, instead, been ‘resourceful’ and ‘grasped new opportunities’ as beef or wool prices collapsed, and now they were the ‘bush’s new winners’. Similarly, another Australian newspaper, The [Queensland] Courier Mail, celebrated the fact that floods, drought and economic hardship had not ‘dimmed the spirit of outback Queensland’ (The Courier Mail, 26th February, 2000: 1). Evoking powerful images of ‘the bush fighting back’, the article reported a number of towns in rural Queensland that, faced with the choice of giving up or fighting, had risen above their problems to: … emerge phoenix-like from the ashes of rural despair, carried by dauntless community spirit that has made [them] an example to other small centres looking for a formula for survival (The Courier Mail, 26th February, 2000: 4).

A third Australian example, discussed below, is also noteworthy, not only because it indicates the extent to which ideas of community have come to dominate governmental thinking about rural development, but also because it profiles one of the case study towns examined later in this book. That place is ‘Austin: a proactive town’, showcased in the 1998 Regional and Rural Development Strategy of the Queensland Liberal-National Coalition Government (Queensland Government, 1998). The strategy describes how the people of Austin established a local lobby group in the early 1990s to protest the withdrawal of government services from the shire. According to the document, the activities of the Woomeroo Action Group, as it became known, ‘transformed’ the town in a matter of five years through the establishment of various new tourist and industry initiatives. In the opinion of the then Queensland Government, a major factor in the turnaround was: ‘the change in local attitude’. Where once the population had a negative ‘it won’t work here’ attitude, now local project workshops resound with an ‘anything’s possible’ approach (Queensland Government, 1998: 14).

Today, the town’s historical visitor information centre, new industrial estate and various new industries built around local resources are cited as evidence of Austin’s now-strong community spirit. The implication of this success story, therefore, is that the reconstruction of the community and a change in attitude were the principal determinants of Austin’s regeneration; that what the town was suffering from was not the withdrawal of services, or even its marginalisation from the global economy, but a lack of community and a negative attitude. While it is possible that Austin’s new industries would not exist had it not been for the formation of the Action Group, it is wrong to suggest that the ‘once struggling rural community’ has experienced a complete turnaround simply because it chose to adopt a more positive outlook.


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Indeed, like many rural towns and regions in Australia, Austin continues to face new challenges even with its so-called ‘healthy’ attitude in place. If healthy communities exhibiting optimism, consensus building and collaboration are to be celebrated as examples of best practice, one needs to ask what is to become of those communities that are unable to demonstrate such qualities. Throughout Australia and elsewhere, there are many rural towns that have little to offer in the way of diversification or tourism, either because they lack the assets that such strategies of development are built upon or because they are experiencing decreasing levels of the social and human resources that make locally-based strategies of rural development viable (Tonts and Jones, 1996). In spite of these structural barriers to community economic development, there remains a tendency among Australian governments and international bodies, such as the OECD, to argue that since ‘so many communities have found the means to foster development and adjust successfully to economic changes’, there is every reason to suggest that many others can as well (OECD, 1993: 57). Those communities that remain unable to help themselves, and that succumb to feelings of hopelessness and despair, are deviating from the norm and are dismissed for being non-responsible, unhealthy and unsustainable. They are the communities that, in the Courier Mail’s words, have made a ‘choice’ to give up (26th February, 2000: 1) and ‘succumb’ to their bleak reality (2000: 4). Where healthy communities are rewarded for their conformity through the ‘play of awards’ (Foucault, 1977a: 181), unhealthy communities that have ‘chosen’ to give up are ‘punished’ through a reversal of this process. Indeed, given current government prejudices to only provide assistance to communities that are prepared to help themselves, the effect of this apparent choice is the continued marginalisation and exclusion of ‘unhealthy’ towns from any substantial form of government assistance. Since the largest contribution of contemporary governments towards rural development comes in the form of funding opportunities for self-help groups, any community that is not sufficiently mobilised to apply for these grants will receive little else in the way of outside assistance. For example, only groups that meet the strict criteria of funding applications are eligible for a grant. In most cases, they need to be an incorporated body and must provide written submissions that clearly articulate their objectives and strategies (Kenny, 1999). They must also represent a ‘cross section’ of the community and be able to provide evidence of this; they need to prepare a long-term business or ‘vision’ plan; their application must be accompanied by a detailed budget; they must be in a position to ‘match’ the grant with money or ‘inkind’ resources of their own; and they need to demonstrate that they have the support of the community they claim to represent. Without the commitment of governments to support communities that lack these skills and resources – and without the capacity within those areas for local people to represent their own interests – the effect will be a further channelling of resources into ‘healthy’ communities at the expense of those who need them most. Rather than being concerned by this process of uneven development, governments seem resigned that it is unfortunate, but nevertheless inevitable, that towns which do have access to resources will ultimately thrive at the expense of those that do not (Wahlquist, 1999).

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Discursive Practices of Government: Constraining Action and Laying Blame Discourses of healthy and unhealthy communities have become disturbingly powerful in governmental discourses of rural development and should be recognised as a mechanism through which the conduct of those aspiring to initiate their own development programmes can be governed. Any discourse that defines and normalises particular attitudes and behaviours as imperative for rural revitalisation has practical implications by virtue of the way it encourages rural people to work within, and even embrace, particular forms of rural development activity. In effect, this provides little opportunity for criticism of the dominant market-based approach, or for alternative forms of action to arise. Indeed, any criticism articulated by local people against this approach may be dismissed by those who support it as further evidence of their unhealthy attitude, their inability to change or their lack of entrepreneurship. As a result, such discourses serve to create a distinction among rural towns and regions between those that Rose (1996a: 45) calls the ‘civilised members of society’ and those deemed to lack the capacity to exercise their ‘citizenship responsibly’. Where communities that do comply with the preferred forms of action are rewarded through ‘showcasing’ or access to funding opportunities, those which are unable to demonstrate such qualities are deemed to be responsible for their own decline and made to feel guilty (Everingham, 2003). As a result, they have little option but to embrace the dominant model of development and become more innovative, competitive and entrepreneurial, or accept that they have made their own choice to be permanently excluded from further help. The outcome, as Ife (1997) observes, is that government assistance is no longer simply allocated on the basis of need, but according to a moral judgement, which distinguishes between the ‘deserving and the conforming’ and those who, by virtue of their apathy, parochialism and negativity are ‘undeserving’. The effect, he says, is that those who fall into the latter group: … are not so much exploited, in the older Marxist sense, as ignored; they are of no interest, and no use, to the economic system, and development simply passes them by. They become convenient scapegoats when we are looking for somebody to blame (Ife, 1997: 19).

This conclusion is a significant one. The apportioning of blame and the consequent scapegoating of ‘unhealthy communities’ that do not make the necessary adjustments to the new global economy has a tendency to turn attention inwards towards the community itself (Day, 1998). Without denying the efforts of local people in towns that are able to demonstrate a change in fortune, the argument still holds that if success can be defined in terms of the personality or culture of local people, then the blame for failure or inactivity must also be laid upon them. Day (1998) makes a similar point, arguing that communities may be (wrongly) held responsible for any failure to improve their own conditions because they are deficient in entrepreneurial skills, because they are reluctant to self-change, or because they lack the ‘healthy’ characteristics that are said to make a difference to local development initiatives. Any capacity to adjust is contingent upon a great deal more than simply the mindset


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of rural dwellers or the presence or absence of a community spirit, and is influenced by a whole range of wider, structural processes over which rural people have little control. Placing the responsibility for failure on the inabilities of rural people themselves also serves to take the focus off government decisions that have contributed to the process of rural decline, and overlooks the wider forces driving structural adjustment in rural areas. Indeed, by implying that rural people are responsible for their own failure, government policy is effectively directed towards a form of action that is less concerned with dismantling the structural inequalities of society and more at changing the response of those who suffer from them most. Feelings of cynicism, defeat and negativity among rural people are logical outcomes of the uncertain future of rural areas, yet current approaches to rural development set out to change such attitudes without touching on the underlying processes that create them in the first place. More subtly, perhaps, Stoker (1998) writes of contemporary styles of governing involving a blurring between the rights and responsibilities of governments and communities in tackling social and economic issues. The dilemma, he says, is that it creates an opportunity for blame avoidance and scapegoating by government actors. While clearly not a new phenomenon, Stoker sees the opportunities for devolving responsibility and blame to those who are already marginalised as enhanced under the new structures of government. Rationalities of Government: Justifying Self-help These discursive practices that seek to create self-governing rural individuals and communities are unlikely to have received such widespread acceptance had it not been for the powerful and convincing ideologies accompanying them. In Australia, like elsewhere, governments and community economic development experts have endeavoured to provide a way to justify the devolution of responsibility for rural development to the local level: the cycle of dependency created by a system of welfare and the ensuing ‘victim-rescuer’ relationship that is said to form between governments and communities (Wise, 1998); the inefficiencies of agricultural subsidies; the purportedly ‘unstoppable’ forces of globalisation and technological change; the rights of rural people to seek their own solutions to their problems; and, finally, the empowering effects of enabling them to do so. What is significant about these rationalities is that they are guided by a governmental ‘will to knowledge’ (Foucault, 1977b: 162) that enables a particular version of reality to be advanced about rural areas and the problems they are seen to face. Once this truth is established and bestowed with the power and authority that come with being ‘right’, so it becomes natural that certain solutions should be advanced and, equally, that others should be deemed no longer appropriate. The second point to make about these rationalities is that while most are based upon concrete historical processes, such as globalisation and economic reform, they are also subject to ‘selective ideological interpretation’(Koc, 1994: 265). This

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means that political authorities are able to draw upon ‘factual’ events that take place, but discursively reconstruct the epistemological nature of those events in a way that is conducive to their needs (see Johnson, 1996 for a similar argument). Such observations prompt Stilwell (1997), among others (see also, Koc, 1994; Kelsey, 1995), to regard phenomena such as globalisation as ideological constructs that deny ‘the scope for alternative political responses in the light of changing economic conditions’ (Stilwell, 1997: 9). Furthermore, it is Rose’s contention (1993: 294) that such discourses are all the more potent because they are rendered governmental and acted upon to legitimate the adoption of alternative technologies of rule. What this means is that criticisms levelled at earlier attempts to address the rural crisis have created a discursive arena in which self-help becomes viewed as the ‘right’, and only, approach to follow. For political authorities, the need for local people to take greater responsibility for developing their own communities forms part of a wider discourse that requires them to exercise their citizenship in a responsible manner. In the 1980s, the push for new strategies of service provision emerged from criticisms of the Keynesian welfare state and claims that it was inefficient, that it perpetuated social injustices, and that the excessive demands placed upon it were leading it towards a state of crisis (see Lee and Raban, 1988 for a summary of this earlier debate). These concerns are no longer articulated by contemporary authors in quite the same manner, although the suggestion remains that easy access to welfare services leads to a dependence mentality among the population at large, which the state can ill afford. In order to avoid this state of affairs, therefore, governments are now promoting the idea that with rights come responsibilities; that state assistance is no longer a given right, but something that comes to those who help themselves. To this extent, rural dwellers are obliged to help themselves because they owe it to society to pay their dues for the assistance they receive. Still from the perspective of the state, Kelsey’s analysis of the New Zealand programme of structural adjustment (1995) demonstrates that the most common rationale for replacing welfare provision with an advanced liberal discourse of selfhelp is economic necessity. Kelsey reports how New Zealand’s previous reliance upon government intervention was said to have caused ‘economic stagflation, inflation, massive overseas debt and internal inefficiency’ (1995: 55). Attempts at redistribution were believed to impose further efficiency costs because subsidies would fail to provide enough incentives to motivate individuals to work. Similarly located on the ‘semi-periphery’ of the world market (Lawrence and Vanclay, 1994), these same discourses are occurring – albeit to a slightly lesser extent – in Australia as governments are increasingly presenting themselves as powerless against the ‘unstoppable’ forces of international trade. While the now-famous 1989 ‘Banana Republic’ speech of then Federal Labor Treasurer, Paul Keating, is frequently cited as marking the point at which Australian governments began embracing free-market influenced policies, there is little sign of this trend reversing. In 1993, for example, the Industry Commission identified the globalisation of capital, goods and services as the main national and international pressures forcing Australia’s regions to enhance


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their international competitiveness. The report concluded by arguing forcefully that ‘no adjustment means no development’ (Industry Commission, 1993: 29). Similarly, the then Deputy Prime Minister of Australia, John Anderson, opened the Federal Government’s Regional Australia Summit of 1999 with a clear message that wider international pressures, and not government policies, were responsible for the crisis facing Australia’s rural regions. Establishing this argument during his opening address, Anderson consequently directed the programme of the entire Summit towards finding ways for rural communities to make the necessary adjustments to these external forces. Not only did this direct attention away from any government activities that had accelerated an already difficult situation in many rural areas, it also served to legitimise the particular response the government had chosen to adopt. Indeed, it was argued that there was little choice but to continue following this route: We are moving – inexorably and unavoidably – from the industrial age to the information age. We cannot stop it. We cannot turn our backs on it. We cannot go back. Indeed, we cannot even stand still. Governments have not caused this change, and governments cannot stop it. Governments are just as much caught up in the vortex of change as are the communities they serve (Anderson, 1999a: 1).

From the other perspective – that of rural people themselves – the removal of government subsidies appears equally beneficial. Throughout this chapter, it has been shown how politicians and experts consistently argue that when communities and individuals are dependent upon the government for assistance, they become ‘locked’ into a cycle of dependency, which subjects them to the power and control of governments, policy makers and ‘professional rescuers’ (Wise, 1998: 89). It is only by releasing them from the ‘disabling help’ of government intervention, they argue, that individuals will have any incentive to increase their capacities for self-help and take control of their own lives (see for example, Sher and Sher, 1994). As Murdoch explores in some depth in the context of the English Rural White Paper (1997), a second political rationality used to justify government (non)intervention in the sphere of rural development is the culture of self-sufficiency that is already said to exist in rural localities. It is commonly argued, for example, that Australia’s rural regions are characterised by a strong sense of community spirit, and similar observations are made by Murdoch, among others, in the British context (see also McLaughlin, 1987; Murdoch and Abram, 1998; Ward and McNicholas, 1998a). Indeed, Murdoch contends that, given the culturally-loaded association of community with close-knit, self-contained familial relationships, assertions of community serve to bolster the claim that rural people are already relatively selfsufficient (Murdoch, 1997). He insists that such images are used to reinforce the belief that not only should rural people be more disposed towards helping themselves but that they expect this: ‘they know, almost instinctively, that they are best placed to solve their own problems’ (Murdoch, 1997: 114). In a similar manner to the English White Paper, Australian governments are constructing their own brand of self-help on the rationale that they are merely

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responding to the demands of local communities for greater autonomy. Once again, this is illustrated clearly by the Regional Australia Summit, which based the recommendations of its communiqué on the conclusion that ‘rural … Australians want to determine their own futures’ (DOTARS, 1999b: 2). Local residents, the communiqué argued, are best suited to define what forms of economic development are appropriate to their community; it is their right to make those decisions for themselves and they do not want solutions imposed on them (DOTARS, 1999b: 2 emphasis added). To the community, therefore, self-help, bottom-up approaches to rural development are frequently presented by politicians and experts as far more effective, since they mobilise local efforts and resources, and consequently empower and liberate rural people from the imposing structures of top down government control. In other words, it could be argued that governments are giving rural communities exactly what they want. Of all the rationalities to justify notions of self-help, it is this one that is possibly the most powerful. In many cases, community development is more successful when it is initiated by the community itself – provided, of course, that it is supported by adequate levels of government assistance – and many rural communities are embracing the notion of helping themselves in the context of identifying new development opportunities. To this end, rural development may be described as one area of government policy in which ‘the apparent preferences of the people and the interests of the government happily coincide’ (Graham, 1992 cited in Bryson, 1994: 305). More sceptical, however, are Miller and Rose (1990) who argue that the maintenance of this ‘apparent congruence’ is crucial to the success of an advanced liberal rationality of rule because it offers itself as a way of shaping the conduct of rural people at the same time as it celebrates their freedom and autonomy. Conclusion: Self-help as Discursive Practice Within contemporary discourses of rural development, self-help is frequently cited as a source of empowerment for local people. In contrast, it has been shown here how the will of the state is articulated through these discourses and how this, in turn, serves to regulate and shape individual and community conduct. Hence, contemporary discourses of rural development are not empty rhetorics, but discursive practices: knowledge constituted in concrete institutional, organisational and social practices (Clegg, 1989). Consistent with an advanced liberal rationality of rule, the objective underpinning these discursive practices is not so much the direct imposition of state will, but the construction of self-governing, entrepreneurial communities that have the capacity to initiate their own programmes of reform. There are a number of means through which self-government can be nurtured among a rural population. In this chapter, the focus has been upon the macro level to explore how discursive practices of self-help operate through processes of normalisation and the exercise of bio-power. These practices define particular ways of thinking and behaving as either healthy or unhealthy, and bestow reward


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or punishment upon communities that conform to, or depart from, these normative standards. Those that ‘choose’ not to conform are defined as lazy and are excluded from further forms of government assistance on the basis that they can only hold themselves responsible for their predicament. As well as ignoring the wider, structural origins of rural decline, therefore, these healthy–unhealthy dualisms have practical implications by virtue of the way they limit the opportunity for alternative courses of action to take place. How such processes come to be equipped with concrete mechanisms to shape the conduct of particular individuals or populations in a more direct manner is addressed in the next chapter. Here, the exercise of various biopolitical and disciplinary technologies for governing the conduct of rural citizens – and the effects of these technologies upon future courses of action – are laid open for analysis.


Chapter 5

Technologies of Capacity Building: Disciplining and Regulating Conduct During the 1980s and 1990s, the concept of self-help as a formal strategy for the regeneration of rural regions emerged onto the governmental agenda in Australia and elsewhere. Importantly, as this book consistently argues, the movement towards a more bottom-up approach was not seen to represent a straightforward devolution of government responsibilities to rural communities but, additionally, the emergence of new obligations for government as facilitator or enabler of local self-help initiatives. While it was now said to be up to rural citizens to develop solutions to the problems they were facing, governments, in return, would facilitate that process by providing the necessary training and resources to enable them to do so. Had these mechanisms not been forthcoming, the accusation that such discourses were simply an excuse for eventual cutbacks in public expenditure would have been legitimate. Instead, political authorities have endeavoured to provide the necessary support structures for local initiative through a range of training programmes designed to build the capacity of rural people to help themselves. More specifically, as the last chapter demonstrated, these mechanisms are not merely intended to enhance the capacity for action of local people but, rather, to produce certain, desired forms of conduct that are consistent with specific socio-political objectives. While Chapter Four provided a general discussion of how certain forms of conduct are promoted through the discursive practices of self-help, this chapter focuses more sharply on two Australian examples of capacity building techniques: the Queensland Government’s Positive Rural Futures Conference (PRF) and Building Rural Leaders Program (BRL).1 Operating as ‘governmental technologies’ (Foucault, 1991b), these are the kinds of programmes that give the discursive practices of self-help their concrete form and, hence, shape the conduct of targeted individuals or populations more directly. At the same time, they also act as sites of discursive practice; that is, local settings in which the discourses of self-help and their practical effects become open to analysis. Locally based in their activities, they illustrate much more clearly how the knowledge/power of discourse is played out in a specific setting. By treating these sites as an object of research, so it becomes possible to observe firstly, the way in which the ideology of self-help is promoted to local people and, secondly, how that ideology is then translated into practical action. 1 Much of the data for this chapter was gathered through techniques of participant observation at the two events as described in Chapter One.

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Positive Rural Futures is an annual conference that is jointly organised by the Queensland Department of Primary Industries (QDPI), its formerly constituent Office of Rural Communities (QORC) and the Commonwealth-funded Priority Country Area Program (PCAP). Held for the first time in 1997, Positive Rural Futures outlines various ways that local communities can stimulate their own employment, entrepreneurship and development opportunities (QORC, 2000). It also seeks to provide community teams with an opportunity to ‘develop innovative plans to motivate and empower their communities, expand their networks and share experiences in a congenial atmosphere’ (QORC, 1999a). The second site, Building Rural Leaders, is also an initiative of the QDPI and focuses, more specifically, on building the leadership skills of individuals to assist them in achieving their economic and regional development goals (BRL, undated, a). The programme has been operating since 1992 and involves six separate training modules of four days each, which focus on issues of change management, personality, strategic thinking, marketing and improved selfreliance. Governmental Technologies: Disciplining and Regulating Conduct From the perspective of the state agencies that are interested in seeing Australia’s rural citizens become more self-reliant, Positive Rural Futures and Building Rural Leaders fulfil more than one ambition. To begin with, they provide a forum where an ideology of self-help can be actively promoted among an audience that, by virtue of its attendance, is already receptive to the idea of helping itself. At the same time, such schemes meet a second and third objective by outlining the conditions that need to be in place before any development initiative can hope to be successful, and by training participants in the practice of establishing those conditions. In other words, not only is the ideology of self-help to be supplanted in individuals, but strategies are also in place that begin to equip those individuals with the ‘active subjective capacities’ (Rose, 1996b: 347) that enhance their competence in the art of self-government. For this reason, Positive Rural Futures and Building Rural Leaders can be understood as governmental technologies through which the various texts of self-help are made practical. They have been designed, not only to prescribe appropriate forms of conduct among rural people but, additionally, to provide the ‘concrete arrangements’ (Foucault, 1985: 140) of discipline and regulation that enable rural people to be governed in a way that is more local and direct, yet still ‘at a distance’. The way this occurs is through the provision of these training programmes at various sites across Queensland so that the message of self-help reaches its target more directly. Far removed from the heart of the Queensland Government in the urban capital, the localised nature of these programmes enhances, but also conceals, their governmental function, giving them the appearance of being ‘for the community’. Nevertheless, neither of the

Technologies of Capacity Building

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two programmes have been established simply because they are seen as a ‘good thing’. Instead, they may be viewed as providing a means through which certain strategic directions can be pursued by the Queensland Government regarding the future of its rural regions. It can also be argued that Building Rural Leaders and Positive Rural Futures represent the two poles of bio-power as described in Chapter Two. Although both are intended as training schemes to discipline the personal and political conduct of rural Australians, Positive Rural Futures is more general in its approach and operates as a bio-politics of the population by seeking to ‘motivate and empower rural communities’ (QORC, 1999b) through normalising discourses. While it is unreasonable to expect that entire rural populations will be directly subjected to the message of Positive Rural Futures, the conference is designed to enable individual participants or teams to bring the message of self-help back to their own communities after the conference. They become the disciples of Positive Rural Futures, then, with a capacity to govern their own conduct as well as that of others. In contrast, the Building Rural Leaders Program targets itself at specific individuals – primarily rural producers and agri-business people – investing productive forces in their bodies (Foucault, 1977a) to enhance their ‘leadership and strategic business management skills’ (BRL 1999a). As will be shown later in this chapter, the pursuit of certain forms of conduct among programme participants limits their opportunity to challenge this strategic direction and to articulate alternative strategies of farm or business management. This, in effect, allows for the creation of Foucault’s ‘docile bodies’: individuals whose personal capacity for action is, at the same time, enhanced in terms of economic usefulness yet diminished in political terms of obedience and domination (1977a: 128). Such measures of docility are all the more pressing in an era of advanced capitalism and global competition, which demands entrepreneurship and innovation among rural people and the Australian population as a whole (Wiseman, 1998). Although Dreyfus and Rabinow (1982) regard the construction of docile bodies as unquestionably associated with the rise of capitalism, arguing that ‘without the insertion of disciplined, orderly individuals into the machinery of production, the new demands of capitalism would have been stymied’ (1982: 135), advanced capitalism requires a new kind of disciplined individual. In contrast to the mute and ordered workers of earlier periods, the state now wishes to create citizens who have the skills to lead Australia into the global economy, who will drive development forward and who are prepared to be creative and take risks (see Gannon, 1998). However, such free-thinking individuals are all the more difficult to govern and may seek to challenge the existing social order. As a result, detailed training programmes, such as Building Rural Leaders, must be provided to create innovative and entrepreneurial, yet disciplined, individuals who ‘choose’ to act in a way that poses no threat to the wider project of economic advancement.

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Case Study 1: Positive Rural Futures By the mid 1990s, the idea of empowering and motivating rural communities to address their own problems of decline had been accepted within the Queensland political authorities. Recognising a need for this message to be promoted among the very people upon who this responsibility would lay, the QDPI organised the first Positive Rural Futures Conference. Targeting itself at shire councillors and employees, small business people, representatives of community groups, primary producers, rural educators, young people, officers of State and federal government departments and ‘anyone interested in the future of their rural community’ (QORC, 1999a: 2), the first such conference took place in May 1997 in the former mining town of Charters Towers in north-west Queensland. Its aim was to encourage local people to promote their own economic and social development, and to provide them with a forum in which practical advice, ideas and contacts could be exchanged. Since that first conference, Positive Rural Futures has become an annual event that is held in a different rural centre each year. The conference takes place over a two-day period – usually a weekend – and addresses four main areas of rural development: education, economic development, young people and community development. Each topic is covered by two or three invited speakers who provide information and advice to local delegates on how they can address the economic and social decline of their own communities. These messages are supported with case studies of ‘real world’ scenarios of towns that have experienced success as a result of the bottom-up approach (Allen, 1999b). In an attempt to move beyond mere ‘talk’, the organisers have made efforts to incorporate some practical action into the content of Positive Rural Futures. This largely takes the form of local team planning workshops, which provide area-based groups with an opportunity to consider the issues raised by the speakers and to apply them in a practical way to their own communities. A great deal of butcher’s paper for brainstorming activities is used during these sessions and a facilitator, provided by the QDPI, ensures local teams remain focused on the task in hand. At the end of the second day, it is expected that each group will have formulated a coherent action plan for the future development of their region, which they can take back to their communities for consideration and implementation (QORC, 1999c). The regional setting of the conference, the way its location shifts each year to a different host town, and its emphasis on practical action are what make Positive Rural Futures unique from other such events. While the self-help philosophy of rural development is not unique to Positive Rural Futures, there are few such forums that are actually held at the grassroots level and which adopt a bottomup approach as part of their design, rather than simply espousing one. Indeed, Positive Rural Futures is designed for the ‘masses’. Held in shire chambers, school halls or similar venues, Positive Rural Futures does not simply project a grassroots image – thereby giving it the appearance of being a service to the community – but also seeks to ensure that the message of self-help is promoted among the entire


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rural population of Queensland. The conference fee is heavily subsidised by the Queensland Government, with non-public sector employees charged approximately $50 for registration and meals. Subsidised air and bus travel to the host town is also available, while shuttle buses provide transfers between the conference venue and the various accommodation centres during the course of the two days. Just as importantly, Positive Rural Futures is an experience that can be repeated annually, providing participants with an opportunity to return each year and revitalise their motivation levels whenever they begin to wane. However, it is not simply its grassroots approach or reinvigorating potential that account for the popularity of the Positive Rural Futures Conference. Indeed, it cannot be denied that Positive Rural Futures is popular amongst local delegates, some of whom are prepared to undertake a return trip of up to 24 hours in order to attend the event. The opportunity to play host to a Positive Rural Futures Conference is also an attractive proposition for many local towns, which are invited to tender for the job each year. The only stipulation for host communities is that they must be equipped with a venue that is large enough to hold the conference, and must have a sufficient number of hotels, motels and caravan sites to accommodate approximately 300 delegates. The benefits to a town from such an influx of visitors are numerous and recent years have witnessed local towns competing against one another for an opportunity to host the event. This is not only because the local economy is boosted by the money spent by conference delegates during their stay, but also because the town is provided with a unique opportunity to showcase itself to the rest of the state. Tours to nearby attractions are designed especially for conference participants, school children and local artists display their work and, during the course of the conference, the town is given the opportunity to tell its own Positive Rural Futures story. The Aim of Positive Rural Futures: Promoting Self-help Since its conception, the message of Positive Rural Futures has remained exceptionally consistent. That this has occurred in spite of the election of a new government in Queensland in 1998 clearly demonstrates the extent to which governmentalities of rule extend beyond the government as a political entity. Precisely what the Positive Rural Futures message is, is apparent from the quote below, delivered by the then Minister for Local Government and Planning during the official opening of the 1998 Biloela conference: The government supports and encourages development but sees responsibility lying firmly in the hands of communities and their leaders …. Communities need attitude to succeed: an attitude that says not “how will the government help?” but “we are going to do ‘x’. If you [the government] want to help, great. If not, we are going to do it anyway” (McCauley, 1998).

This theme of self-help has been picked up consistently by the keynote speakers of the conference, many of whom are national and international consultants in

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community economic development. Charismatic, and well rehearsed in the art of capturing the audience with ‘evangelical’ presentation styles, the task of these international experts is to convince conference delegates of the need to adopt a ‘can-do’ attitude towards the development of their rural communities. In doing so, these experts are clearly performing a task for the state by facilitating self-help. Yet, their ostensible independence from government and regular claims of having a rural background creates the impression that they serve the community rather than the state. The sermon begins by exposing participants to the ‘reality’ of their situation. They must realise that change is inevitable and must be embraced if there is to be any hope of survival (Gannon, 1998); they must take responsibility for their own futures instead of expecting someone else to deliver (Kenyon, 1998); they must learn to be entrepreneurial and competitive (Gannon, 1998); and they must take a proactive stance to make things happen (Allen, 1999b). Having done this, the next step is the motivation process. Here, case studies of communities that have successfully reinvented themselves, and inspiring quotations from ancient philosophers and modern-day entrepreneurs, ‘fire up’ the conference hall with passion and enthusiasm for the job ahead: Whatever you vividly imagine, ardently desire, sincerely believe and enthusiastically act upon, must inevitably come to pass (Paul Meyer cited in Kenyon, 1998: 62). The future is not a result of choices among alternative paths offered by the present, but a place that is created first in mind, next in will, then in activity. The future is not some place we are going to but a place we are creating. The paths are not to be discovered but made … (Unknown author, cited in Kenyon, 1999: 129).

Although there may have been little variation in its aims over the years, what has changed within Positive Rural Futures is the means through which the discourses of self-help and self-reliance are delivered. While this may partly be a result of attempts by organisers to introduce some variation into the conference, a significant shift has, nevertheless, occurred within the governmental technologies that are now used to promote self-government among the participants. At the earlier conferences, for example, the need for rural people to take positive action was mostly espoused by highly-paid consultants or practitioners who spoke in general terms about how bottom-up development might best be achieved. To avoid any criticism that these models could never be applied in the ‘real world’, case studies of rural towns in Australia and other developed nations were included in their presentations to show that any community (with the right attitude) could turn its future around. More recently, however, the number of nationally or internationally renowned rural development experts delivering passionate and inspiring keynote addresses on the need for rural people to become more responsible for their own future has been in decline. In their place have been ‘live’ case studies presented by rural people themselves – community economic development officers, shire mayors, rural youth workers and local residents – who, after hearing the experts at earlier conferences, took responsibility for the development of their town and now had their own positive


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rural futures story to share. Offering themselves as living ‘proof’ that the experts had been right all along, and that rural communities can be successful in formulating their own strategies of revival, the effect of these stories has been to strengthen the assertion that a positive future will only come to those who demonstrate a healthy and responsible outlook. Just as importantly, these locally-based presenters have become the new experts in rural development and the disciples of the self-help approach. Their readiness to advance the cause means that higher levels of expertise are no longer necessary; that in promoting self-help among the rural population, these experts have ultimately rendered themselves obsolete. From the perspective of state agencies keen to see the ideology of self-help advance, the existence of these new disciples is vital to the continued promotion of this method. Discursive practices of self-help no longer need to be imposed from the top down but are infiltrating rural communities from within via individuals whose capacity for self-government is so enhanced that they are no longer simply the objects of power but the instruments of its exercise too. Drawn from local communities, these new experts are living proof that grass roots action is preferable to state intervention in matters of rural development. It is fair to say, therefore, that while Positive Rural Futures seeks to promote an awareness among rural people that the responsibility for addressing the decline of their communities ultimately lies with them, its message is primarily reaching those who are already receptive to the notion of helping themselves. Fully prepared to travel potentially long distances to attend the conference and, in some cases, returning year-after-year regardless of its location, these are the people whose capacity for self-help is already heightened. It is difficult to imagine, therefore, how Positive Rural Futures could be anything but successful in its outcomes when it is preaching to those who are already converted to its way of thinking. What it does do, however, is offer itself as a necessary mechanism through which the self-governing capacities of active individuals can be re-charged on an annual basis. With its focus on positive action, passion and good news stories, Positive Rural Futures consequently forms part of an ongoing effort to maintain the momentum of self-help and to prevent any ‘unhealthy’, negative feelings of demoralisation and frustration from setting in. Case Study 2: Building Rural Leaders In 1996, an Australian taskforce, McKinsey and Company, released a report to the Commonwealth Department of Transport and Regional Development (now DOTARS) asserting that the creation of ‘world-class, self-reliant leadership’ was a critical factor in facilitating Australian regional growth and development (1996: 1). Similarly, some years later in 2000, the House of Representatives Standing Committee on Primary Industries and Regional Services identified a strong connection between leadership development and the creation of new business opportunities in rural areas (2000: 9). In Queensland, the QDPI had reached these same conclusions much earlier. Arguing that Queensland’s most prosperous communities were those

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with ‘effective leadership, strategic thinking and good business development skills’ (BRL Program, 1999a), the QDPI was concerned that many of Queensland’s rural communities were characterised by a shortage of such skills (BRL Program, undated, a, emphasis added) and, moreover, that this shortage was contributing to their economic and social stagnation. It was for this reason that in 1992, the QDPI developed the Building Rural Leaders Program to assist primary producers and agribusiness people (including government employees) to develop their leadership and strategic business management skills as a way of maximising their business and community’s futures (BRL Program, 1999a). Since its inception, Building Rural Leaders has been held throughout rural Queensland in order to reach those who usually have only limited access to such activities. Comprising six separate modules, each lasting three to four days, the programme takes place over a nine month period and is run by a small team of Building Rural Leaders training officers. Recognising that some rural producers are unable to commit to a project of such length, the first module is designed as a ‘stand-alone’, introductory workshop, which focuses on the general issues of change, leadership styles, personality and communication skills. It does this through a combined series of team building and role-playing exercises, group discussions, video sessions and periods of self-reflection. For those who wish to continue, the remaining five modules focus on goal setting and personal growth, team building, strategic planning, creative thinking, business and vision plan development and media and presentation skill enhancement (BRL Program, undated, b). These modules are available at a cost of $380, (plus Goods and Services Tax) per module (excluding additional expenses for travel and accommodation that must be met by the individual). Because Building Rural Leaders is a Queensland Government-approved training scheme, many primary producers are eligible for financial assistance through the Queensland Rural Adjustment Authority’s Farm Business Management – FarmBis – scheme. The idea of building rural leaders is consistent with the new discourses of rural development, which suggest that both the form and function of leadership has, of necessity, changed in recent years. As the Australian community studies of Dempsey (1990) and Gray (1991) indicate, rural leadership has traditionally rested with the (mostly male) business and farming elites whose social status and long-term residency in a community automatically placed them in positions of authority. In these contexts, leadership was ascribed and regarded as an inherent skill possessed by a privileged few, rather than something that could be learnt by just anyone. More recently, however, rural development experts and practitioners have been rejecting the ‘born not built’ thesis (Harrison and Leitch, 1994: 113) on the basis that traditional leadership models produce a leadership structure that is too top-down and authoritarian for the new social arrangements that are said to be required for community development initiatives (see Gannon, 1998; Wise, 1998). Under this new model, leaders are no longer expected to direct local action, but to ‘facilitate’ and ‘enable’ (Gannon, 1998: 33) whole-of-community approaches through their vision, passion and commitment to get things done (Wise, 1998: 85). For this reason, leadership is no longer the monopoly of a privileged few, but open to any concerned


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citizen who is able to demonstrate a capacity for motivating others (Langone and Rohs, 1995). Better captured by Wise’s concept of the rural ‘animateur’ (1998), leaders can now be built, not through the provision of ‘irrelevant technical training’ – which Wise argues may destroy the ‘“x factor” that makes things work for these special people’ (1998: 92) – but more through personal growth and development. For this reason, as the brochure for the Building Rural Leaders Program proudly advertises, the process of building rural leaders: … is not about filling heads full of technical information, but working with participants to build their skills to influence their business, industries and communities. This program is about transformation, not just information (BRL Program, 1999a, bold and italics in original).

Building Rural Leaders: Creating Docile Bodies As part of this research, participant observation was undertaken at the first module of the Building Rural Leaders program when it was held in Cleethorpes on the Warmington Ranges in the late 1990s. Given the emphasis of the course upon ‘new’ leaders, it was interesting to note that many of the other participants who attended the Cleethorpes workshop, and who were not Queensland State government employees, already seemed to occupy more traditional positions of leadership within their communities. Many held management positions on community or industry committees, while all appeared entirely comfortable with assuming leadership roles during the course of the four day programme. The training officers of the programme seemed to expect this, asking on one occasion for participants to reflect upon their own leadership styles, thereby assuming participants actually had a leadership style that they could speak of. An inspection of the Building Rural Leaders brochure confirms that Building Rural Leaders does, indeed, target itself at existing leaders, listing those who should attend as ‘people who have any leadership roles including primary producers, business people, shire councillors [and] young people, men and women from all walks of life who have, or aspire to leadership positions’ (BRL Program, undated, a). From this, it would appear that the aim of the Building Rural Leaders Program is not so much about building new leaders, or even assisting those with leadership potential in building their skills and confidence to take on leadership roles, as it is about building better leaders from those who are already assuming the more traditional positions of authority within their communities. This suggests that programmes of capacity building, such as Building Rural Leaders, do not merely seek to enhance the capacity of rural people to act for themselves, but to discipline their personal and political conduct in the process (see Cruickshank, 1994). By arguing that leaders are built, not born, state agencies and experts have created a discursive environment in which Building Rural Leaders emerges as a vital provider of the training that is needed for constructing these new leaders or animateurs. However, by targeting itself at existing leaders, Building Rural Leaders clearly demonstrates that what is required is not merely a new leader with the vision,

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passion and commitment to ‘get things done’ (Wise, 1998: 85), but a better leader who is able to exhibit these qualities plus more. The activities undertaken during the Building Rural Leaders Program indicate what these additional qualities are, and demonstrate the kind of personal transformation participants are expected to undergo as a result of their training. Building Rural Leaders supports an advanced liberal discourse of economic growth by seeking to alter the attitudes and behaviours of participants towards the changes in the global economy, and to equip them with the necessary skills to respond successfully to those changes. It does this by seeking to convince participants of the need to become more entrepreneurial in order to recognise the opportunities that the new, deregulated international economy affords. Those people who succeed in this climate, it tells them, are ‘paradigm pioneers’ (Gillard, undated): individuals who possess a mindset that is open to new opportunities and who have the courage to move forward and take risks where others merely follow. If individuals are not prospering, it is because they are suffering from a case of ‘paradigm paralysis’ (Gillard, undated); a condition that arises from a ‘terminal hardening of the mindset’ (BRL Program, undated, c) and which causes them to resist change because they find it too challenging. At the same time as it seeks to enhance the productive capacity of participants with its emphasis on the importance of entrepreneurship and the development of new skills to succeed in the global economy, Building Rural Leaders simultaneously ensures that those same forces are suppressed in political terms of obedience (Foucault, 1977a) by encouraging participants to adjust to the changes they face in their industries and communities instead of seeking to challenge or resist them. One farmer at the Cleethorpes workshop, for example, raised the question of why he should remain passive and accept the things that were happening to him instead of working towards changing what he did not like. To this, one of the officers replied that, on his own, the farmer could achieve very little and that he would be far better off channelling his energy towards accepting the inevitability of change and learning to adjust to it. Resistance, he was told, is a natural response to ‘unchosen’ change, and one of the stages that all individuals are likely to go through whenever they face events over which they have no control. Remaining at the resisting stage for too long, however, was deemed counter-productive. Indeed, participants were advised that, while they might wish to reflect on the past by keeping photographs or happy memories, they should walk away from others who consistently refused to move on and see the benefits of change. In other words, it would be in their interest to accept adjustment as necessary and beneficial and then get on with life. Apart from occasional points of disagreement that arose during group discussions, there was little to indicate whether the Cleethorpes participants were happy to accept this message. Most participated fully in the group work and approached some of the role-playing activities with a certain degree of enthusiasm. Between sessions, they would discuss their thoughts on the programme and it seemed a matter of general agreement that Building Rural Leaders was a useful, enjoyable experience and well worth the investment. As it was, the majority of participants were eligible for financial assistance towards the cost of the programme, yet many had still given a


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great deal of time to the course by taking almost four days away from their work. For those farmers who lived locally, there was still planting or milking to be done each morning before the programme started, and more work again on their return in the evening. For those who lived some distance from Cleethorpes and could not return home each night, it meant employing someone to take care of their business or property, relying upon family, or else leaving it unattended. Speaking to one farmer on why he had decided to attend Building Rural Leaders, even though it meant leaving his elderly father to work on his property alone, he explained that he was prepared to try anything in the possibility that it might open up some new opportunity. Precisely how Building Rural Leaders can assist with this – apart from reinforcing the idea that the opportunities are already in place if only the farmer changes his attitude – is unclear. No practical advice was provided on where funding and support for potential ideas can be sourced, and no assistance was even given on how participants might improve their leadership styles, apart from the general need to become more entrepreneurial and open to change. Entrepreneurs of the Self: Self-analysis and the Personality Test As Chapter Two discussed in some detail, the notion of entrepreneurship from a governmentality perspective implies more than simply economic imperatives for individualistic advancement. In addition, it provides a rationale for acting upon the conduct of individuals so they ‘become, as it were, entrepreneurs of themselves’ (Rose, 1989: 26). Furthermore, it is also argued that, in order to govern, it is first necessary for the objects of government to be translated into a form that can be rendered visible and, consequently, made ‘knowable’ (Rose and Miller, 1992: 185). Rather than simply being restricted to the government of others, this imperative applies equally to the government of the self and occurs through various ‘modes of subjectivation’ (Foucault, 1985: 28) – mechanisms of self-reflection, self-knowledge, self-examination – whereby individuals ‘volunteer’ to tell the truth about themselves (Foucault, 1985: 29). In Volume One of the History of Sexuality (1978), Foucault reports how, historically, it was through the disciplinary mechanism of the forced confession that individuals became objects of knowledge, both to themselves and to others (see Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982). More recently, the rise of modern science and the emergence of psychology and psychiatry as professional discourses have caused the confession to be replaced with a range of scientific methods of assessment that record, measure and classify the ‘truth’ about individuals. These methods are no longer reliant upon violence for their authority, since the moral obligation that now lies within us to confess means telling the truth about ourselves is so deeply ingrained that it simply becomes a matter of personal ‘choice’. While it may appear that the exercise of this ‘choice’ is a source of liberation for individuals, it has already been argued that the construction of truth, and the mechanisms through which this takes place, continue to be imbued with relations of power (Foucault, 1978). It is with reference to the above discussion that it is possible to explain why so much emphasis is placed on participants learning about themselves during the first

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module of Building Rural Leaders. It is also through Building Rural Leaders that it becomes possible to see how the disciplinary technologies of the body and the practices of the self remain essential components of an advanced liberal form of government by the state. If the Building Rural Leaders participants are the people to drive dynamic and entrepreneurial development initiatives within their businesses and communities, it is important that they should be able to know, and consequently govern, themselves. Indeed, after having spent approximately a day and a half working through various styles of leadership and strategies for adjusting to change, the remaining two days of the Cleethorpes Building Rural Leaders Program were devoted almost entirely to a period of self-reflection. During this time, participants were encouraged to identify any strengths or weaknesses in their personalities that could prevent them from becoming more entrepreneurial. The main instrument for this was the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (BriggsMyers, 1998): a self-reporting, scientifically-formulated device for measuring and classifying the personalities of individuals based on their responses to a series of statements about personal preferences. The idea of the indicator is that, having completed the questionnaire, individuals can be grouped according to various combinations of the following variables: Introverts/Extroverts; Sensates/Intuitives; Thinkers/Feelers; and Judgers/Perceivers. The end result is that they come to know and identify themselves as one of sixteen personality types who cope with change and adjustment with varying degrees of success (Introvert/Sensate/Thinker/ Judger – ISTJ; Introvert/Sensate/Thinker/Perceiver – ISTP – and so on). What was most striking about this device during the Building Rural Leaders Program was not only its ability to construct a personality type for those subjected to the test, but also the power that it afforded those who were responsible for administering it. While the truth was not being extracted from participants with overt techniques of violence, the trainers were, nevertheless, playing an instrumental role in subjecting participants to the less obvious technologies of self-knowledge and selfgovernment. As Foucault (1978) might predict, all participants engaged with these technologies voluntarily and, to a certain extent, eagerly. The power of the test was enhanced all the more by the fact that participants were refused access to the power/ knowledge of administering the test once they had exercised it upon themselves. Arguing that it has a potentially harmful effect if used by anyone with only a limited amount of knowledge of the device, the trainers retained all completed test booklets, justifying this move with the claim that they could not allow participants to practice the test, unsupervised, on family members or friends. This, of course, may simply be a matter of copyright, yet the reason provided – that amateurs could not be allowed to subject others to the test they had subjected upon themselves – only served to reinforce the expert status of the programme trainers. In spite of their concerns for the test to be used for ‘correct purposes only’, the training officers encouraged participants to think about one another in terms of its simplistic typology. During discussions, for example, participants would often explain certain features of their personalities in terms of the fact that they were Intuitive/Thinkers or Sensate/Judgers. As the discussion progressed, so they became


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increasingly enthusiastic about the application of this classification, to the point where their private observations of themselves expanded to include broad generalisations about the presumed personalities of others. Farmers, it was generally agreed, are most likely to be Sensate/Judgers because they have a tendency to encounter difficulty in grasping abstract concepts or accepting change. Indeed, this belief was supported by a table in the Building Rural Leaders workbook, which revealed that over 43 percent of all programme participants (who, it added, are primarily rural producers) have a Sensate/Judger personality. Thus, while it was never stated directly, it was implied that farmers who were struggling to stay viable were responsible for their own failure because they lacked the necessary personal qualities to succeed. Months later, this was confirmed by a letter from the Building Rural Leaders team advising participants of the details for the next module. How much participants could expect to learn from the programme, it said, would ‘depend on your own commitment, your willingness to learn and your preparedness to try new and more effective ways of operating’ (BRL, Program 1999b, italics and underline in original). Conclusion: Micro-practices of Power Given the willingness of participants to try anything that might assist them in improving the viability of their businesses and communities, and also given the fact that the success of Building Rural Leaders is defined in terms of the preparedness of participants to accept its message, the programme has not been the focus of any significant critique to date. Similarly, for Positive Rural Futures, any challenge to its approach is merely seen as indicative that an individual lacks a positive, proactive attitude. Both programmes may, therefore, be recognised as preaching to those who have already been convinced of the worth of self-help and, in doing so, as providing support for the contention that grassroots action really does work. At the same time however, the disciplinary and regulatory nature of these programmes is apparent. Both seek to create a responsible, entrepreneurial, but nevertheless docile, rural leader who can convince his or her community that the path to a positive rural future lays in an acceptance of the inevitability – indeed the benefits – of change. Such claims are not unique to Positive Rural Futures or Building Rural Leaders. Yet what makes these programmes so worthy of analysis is the way they are targeted at specific populations or individuals who then promote the message of self-help to motivate other members of their community. Nevertheless, these programmes are not held regularly enough to ensure the continued subjection of local people to the will of the state. For this reason, locally-based experts are increasingly being located within rural communities to govern rural development initiatives far more directly. What form these experts take, how they seek to shape the ambitions of community-based groups so they remain consistent with those of the state, and what effect their activities have upon the groups themselves necessitates an examination of the micro-practices of power in specific settings. This, in essence, is what the next chapter seeks to do.


Chapter 6

Relations of Rule: Self-help in Warmington and Woomeroo According to the former Queensland Government’s Rural and Regional Development Strategy of 1998, the shire of Woomeroo, with its new-found tourism industry, positive attitude and strong community spirit, is proof that ‘grass-roots development can work’ (Queensland Government, 1998: 14). Similar towns, such as Blackall in south-west Queensland, which established Queensland’s first rural-based Internet café, and Longreach in the central-west of the state with its Stockman’s Hall of Fame,1 are also considered self-help success stories and held up as examples of best practice for others to follow. Given the emphasis of previous chapters on the government of self-help, however, it cannot be expected that this community action has not been shaped in some way by those who have an interest in seeing rural Australia become more attractive to the tourist or global market. Indeed, as this chapter shows, rural people cannot pursue whatever outcomes they choose. Instead, they are being directed by a whole range of experts towards specific forms of community action and the pursuit of specific development projects. This chapter is based upon the premise that it is only through detailed empirical analysis of particular places, people and events that we are better able to understand how certain relations of rule ‘enable’, but also shape, community-based self-help schemes at the local level. For this reason, it concerns itself with the experiences of the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee, introduced earlier in this book. In particular, the aim of this chapter is to highlight the partnerships that the groups have formed with various experts whose task is to ensure that their rural development initiatives remain consistent with the will of the state. Rather than providing an exposition of the objectives of those who seek to govern, it focuses more sharply on the discourses, forms and outcomes of power at the micro-level of practice. In other words, while previous chapters set out to describe the advanced liberal mechanisms that have been set in place to govern rural development, it cannot be assumed that the effect of such mechanisms will be as intended. Instead, they are frequently mediated, negotiated, resisted and, ultimately, transformed whenever they are played out in specific rural areas. What form these mechanisms take in the Australian sites of Woomeroo and Warmington; how they are implemented by experts who guide local groups and projects towards particular ends; and how the 1 The Stockman’s Hall of Fame is a museum/cultural heritage centre for outback Australia.

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groups, in turn, exercise their own power to accept, resist or transform the roles that have been carved out for them, are the focus of this and the next chapter. Although the emphasis within contemporary approaches to rural development is very much upon the notion of self-help, it has been argued already that rural communities are expected to work ‘in partnership’ with government. Thus, even though the responsibility for addressing rural decline remains ultimately in the hands of local people, the state will facilitate that process by providing them with the necessary support, advice, motivation, guidance and training to take on this responsibility. This partnership is unlikely to be formed directly between local people and federal or State governments, but is mediated by a network of experts, comprising state and non-state agencies and actors, who play a key role in governing rural development activities. As Chapter Two explained, the existence of expert knowledges and the establishment of those who possess them within the realms of civil society is an integral feature of governing in an advanced liberal manner (O’Malley and Palmer, 1996). While some experts are simply commissioned to ‘fly in’ to rural communities and stimulate development activities by providing intensive, one-off motivational sessions, others live within the area and provide more direct and regular forms of assistance to local groups. Even when they remain bound within the state apparatus, their proximity to the community and apparent distance from the government bureaucracies in the capital cities provides these experts with an appearance of working for the community rather than the state. The effect of their influence, acting as instruments in the exercise of power, is both profound and subtle. In Austin, the Woomeroo Action Group works closely in partnership with the Woomeroo Shire Council, particularly the paid officers who comprise the Council’s Development Unit. Traditionally, local government has been characterised by an absence of such forms of expertise (and many places still lack such a collection of economic or community development officers), yet the Woomeroo Shire Council has experienced an influx of paid professionals claiming expert knowledge over the past six years. In Warmington, on the other hand, it is the Rural Partnership Unit located within the Queensland Department of Primary Industries’ (QDPI) offices in Durham that provides the in-kind support, information and funding opportunities that local groups have come to rely upon. In addition, the Warmington Revival Committee benefits from the knowledge and expertise of David Carson, the ex-grain grower who is now employed by a nearby university. The dependence of local self-help groups upon the expertise of such agents may appear paradoxical given the emphasis that is now placed upon notions of community empowerment. Yet, through the provision of this assistance, the Woomeroo Shire Council and the QDPI officers at Durham have created a means through which they are able to harness themselves to the energy of the two groups. This is not so much because they wish to ‘suppress’ local initiative but because, as Kerr and Savelsberg (1999: 3) point out, they have discovered that they can tap into it and use it to their own ends. Indeed, it is argued in this chapter that governments have no interest in forming partnerships with just any organisation, but only those whose objectives appear harmonious with their own.

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Having established a relationship that appears mutually beneficial to both parties, state agencies are then in a position to shape that group more directly. This influence is not simply confined to the type of action or projects that are pursued by local residents, but also extends to the way they collectively organise themselves into particular kinds of groups. Thus, power is deployed within these new relationships of government in two ways: first, by acting upon local groups themselves – thereby turning them into the kinds of self-governing bodies with which government can most easily work – and, second, by intervening in, or pulling away from, specific projects so only those deemed ‘appropriate’ are pursued. The challenge that arises, however, is that while experts must shape local development initiatives, they cannot be seen to be doing so since this would call the apparent autonomy of community into question. Consequently, to avoid such outcomes, these experts – and indeed, the groups themselves – are forced to engage in various tactical manoeuvres to ensure their influence is not made obvious. Rather than forming part of some wider conspiracy against rural people, the next chapter shows how these activities are more of a coping mechanism deployed by locally-based experts in an attempt to come to terms with a discursive environment that is not of their own making. Practices of the Self: From Grassroots to Experts It has already been shown how the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group have made significant shifts away from their original ambitions. Where, once, the Woomeroo Action Group saw its role as pressuring the State Government to reverse its decision to downgrade Austin’s railway and court services, now it pursues alternative industries through the development of its tourist market. Similarly, the Warmington Revival Committee originally set out to find new ways to enhance the productivity and viability of its existing farming ventures, yet, more recently, it has become involved in programmes of community capacity building, community consultation and strategic planning. While it would be wrong to claim that these shifts have been imposed upon the groups against their will, it is possible to argue that the discursive environment in which they operate, and the partnerships they have formed with experts, have played a substantial, if subtle, role in driving these transformations forward. Influenced by the local council and the QDPI officers, both groups have gradually come to realise that in order to apply successfully for funding and work as equal partners with government, they have little choice but to shape themselves according to the requirement of those who have the authority to provide or withhold that assistance. Acknowledging that they may need to change their conduct is an important step in the process of creating community organisations that have the capacity for a particular form of self-help – one that conforms to the healthy, sustainable and responsible norms of conduct described in Chapter Four. Here, the role of experts in articulating the demands of political authorities is paramount. Of greater significance, however, is a process of self-awareness by the community groups in

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question. Through this process, group members come to understand their limitations and subsequently act upon and transform themselves to effect change and reach the standards that are required of them (Foucault, 1991b). Thus, it is not a case of either the Woomeroo Shire Council or the QDPI enforcing their will upon the groups but, instead, of them facilitating a process of subjectification through which the groups become ‘entrepreneurs of themselves’ (Rose, 1989: 226). This renders any overt exercise of power unnecessary. What these two processes mean, more precisely, is that both the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group have become increasingly knowledgeable about the discursive environment in which they are forced to participate, and about themselves as objects of knowledge. They have made rational judgements about their own ability to operate within this environment; they have identified the changes that need to be made to themselves in order to become the kind of group with which governments can work; and they have voluntarily implemented various practices of the self (Foucault, 1990) to effect this transformation. By virtue of these changes, the groups have also become more competent in the art of self-government and have reached a stage where they are seen as much more successful than those who are yet to undergo this same process. Based on the experiences of the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group, it is possible to trace the genealogy of the transformation and development that local self-help groups must go through if they are to make the transition from a mere collection of passionate and community-minded individuals to the kinds of groups being showcased by governments and experts as best practice of the self-help model. This genealogy does not merely concern itself with showing how such groups become more professional or successful in their activities. Equally, it also seeks to identify two other related processes: first, the relationships of government they form with themselves as objects of knowledge (subjectification) and, second, the relationships of government that are formed with others whose task is to facilitate this process of development (objectification). In tracing this genealogy, therefore, it is possible to identify four distinct phases as follows: 1. Group formation. During this process, the groups may be viewed as objects of power; 2. Subjectification. In this phase, the groups learn to act as ethical subjects; 3. Self-government. At this point, the groups are regarded as being ‘successful’ self-help groups; 4. Expertise. With this expertise, the groups are in a position to operate as instruments of state power. Phase 1. Group Formation: Objects of Power According to Kerr and Savelsberg (1999), community organisations are usually formed for one of two reasons: either to perform a complementary or compensatory role vis a vis the state in terms of service or welfare delivery or, alternatively, as a medium for the development of a community consciousness and the articulation of

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community concerns. Either way, such forms of community action have a tendency to emerge as a direct result of an event or series of events to which local residents feel a need to respond. For the group of farmers in the Warmington region, it was the first of these two functions that they hoped to fulfil, recognising that in the absence of any government solutions to the problems facing their farming communities, it was up to them to find the solutions for themselves. In contrast, the Woomeroo Action Group saw its role as pressuring the Queensland Government to reverse some of its earlier decisions that were undermining the shire’s viability. Given these different beginnings, it is possible to adopt Kerr and Savelsberg’s proposition and argue that where the aim of the Revival Committee was to provide resources or services to its local communities, the Woomeroo Action Group fully intended to lobby for them in anticipation that the Queensland Government would deliver. Neither group emerged by accident, however; both were deliberately fostered by governments in an attempt to pursue certain objectives. Once established, they became objects of government: groups through which self-help schemes of rural regeneration may be promoted and directed. Given that the Woomeroo Action Group, as a lobby group, lay in a potentially antagonistic relationship with the state, it is unclear why the local Council, as a ‘creature of State government’ (Chapman, 1997: 45), should not only wish to form a partnership with the group but, moreover, that it should actually be responsible for its formation. Whereas the previous chapter illustrated the various technologies of government put into place to suppress political activity, in this case, the political nature of the group was not merely tolerated by the local Council, but actively welcomed. The explanation for this apparent paradox lies in what O’Malley (1996: 313) calls the ‘strategic enlistment’ or ‘alignment’ of local groups by government, which seeks to utilise them for its own ends. Thus, it can be argued that the Woomeroo Shire Council recognised the potential of a particular kind of community group that could undertake a number of activities, which the Council was not in a position to perform for itself. While O’Malley acknowledges that enlisting local groups in such a manner requires a certain degree of negotiation – that it is not simply a matter of government selecting ‘ready-made options from a smorgasbord available to it’ (1996: 313) – this process was more straightforward for the Woomeroo Shire Council because it had facilitated the group’s formation and was well-positioned to construct exactly the kind of group it needed. It was no coincidence or accident, therefore, that the Woomeroo Action Group began its days as a political lobby group but, instead, a process of engineering on the part of the Council. It was also no accident that the CEO of the Woomeroo Shire Council was the first secretary of the group. This move secured the close relationship that was to develop between the Action Group and the Council, thereby allowing the Council to govern in a far more direct, but legitimate, fashion. A community-based organisation, such as the Woomeroo Action Group, is a useful tool for local government to work through, particularly in the new era of managerialism, which demands greater public accountability and consultation in the local decision making process. In effect, it is possible to identify four separate tasks

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that are performed by community groups on behalf of local government. The first links directly to the Woomeroo Action Group’s initial ambitions as a community organisation designed to lobby federal or State governments. While some authors from Britain (for example, Tewdwr-Jones, 1998) and Europe (Michel, 1998) see local government as suitably placed to pressure the other tiers of government, for the Mayor of Woomeroo, it was considered ‘politically difficult’ for the Council to instigate such activities. In his interview, the Mayor of Woomeroo acknowledged that some form of lobbying on behalf of the shire had been necessary in the early 1990s, although he did believe that any such action should be seen to come from the community and not the Council. For this reason, the construction of a group specifically designed for this purpose was rendered necessary. The second function performed by community organisations relates to the growing expectations that are now placed upon all tiers of government to engage their citizens in the decisionmaking process. With community consultation being an increasingly necessary, but time-consuming, aspect of local government activities, support from a group that is seen to represent ‘the community’ can be translated with little difficulty into community support. While this may seem a rather harsh assessment, it was nevertheless something that Stan English, the Vice President of the Woomeroo Action Group, remarked upon during his interview in describing how the Woomeroo Shire Council sought to create the impression that its decisions were often made collaboratively: … of course they use us shamelessly. You know, name dropping and all that: ‘the Woomeroo Shire Council and the Woomeroo Action Group believe …’ (emphasis added).

This leads to a third function of community groups, which involves their members not only providing councils with a certain degree of legitimacy, but also with a voluntary workforce that can be ‘dragooned’ as ‘unpaid hands’ into community activities (Smith, 1998: 198). As the CEO of Woomeroo pointed out in his interview, the Woomeroo Action Group was formed largely because it could afford to ‘step on toes’ where Council could not. It was also the case, however, that the Council had become aware of a substantial amount of community energy that could not be utilised properly because there was no formal mechanism for tapping into it. Creating a group that could work in partnership with local government, and that would be its first point of call whenever a voluntary labour force was needed, consequently allowed the Council to access this energy more readily. Working in partnership with such groups also fulfils a fourth function for local councils in terms of accessing government grants, which are often restricted to genuine, non-profit, community organisations. Increasingly dependent upon external funding for services in nontraditional council areas such as community arts, street-scaping, telecommunications infrastructure and tourist initiatives, local councils are discovering that they still can access these grants providing they operate under the banner of a willing community organisation. Even though the initial idea may be a council one, and the application written by a council officer, what is most important is that the application is seen

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to be a community initiative. The various tactics adopted by local government and other state agents to maintain this appearance are explored later in this chapter. The case of the Warmington Revival Committee and its partnership with the QDPI is similar to that of the Woomeroo Action Group. It too may be seen as the product of engineering by state agents, rather than as an outcome of genuine grassroots action. On the one hand, the appearance of a community mobilised into action is maintained by the public meetings that were held prior to the group’s establishment. On the other hand, the strategic alliances that were formed even before these meetings were advertised suggest that the group is not so much a spontaneous community-driven response to the problems facing the region, as a government initiated ‘experiment’ in community self-help. In the first instance, the group emerged out of two existing organisations: the Warsash branch of the Queensland GrainGrowers Association (now part of Agforce) and the Warsash Landcare Group. Both were astute enough to realise that by establishing another group specifically designed to tackle rural development at a regional level, it would be possible to take advantage of the funding that was increasingly being channelled towards this end. According to the Mayor of Warsash, who was also one of the original group members, it was precisely for this reason that the group formed in the first place: They called a meeting. It was a fellow from the university who has all the knowledge and who knows where there’s funding around and he said ‘look, there’s money here to be used if you want to get a group together’, so he called this public meeting.

The Mayor’s account of how the group formed is consistent with others, who described how it was primarily David Carson, the farmer-turned-university-lecturer, accompanied by various QDPI officers, who instigated the group’s formation. Even though an open invitation to nominate for the initial steering committee had been extended to the wider residents of Warmington, it appears that a decision had already been made in this regard. During their interviews, a number of participants spoke of how they were contacted by a QDPI officer prior to the meeting and encouraged to attend the Warsash gathering so that they could become involved. Another said he had been absent from the first meeting in Warsash yet was urged to join the group afterwards, primarily, he supposed, because he had some experience in developing alternative crops through his own farming business. As David Carson acknowledged, however, such skills were important, yet it was also necessary for the group to consist of well-established and well-respected members of the community who could provide it with ‘credibility’. The following quotation from Jack Swann, one of the farmers who was elected in this way, describes how he became a member of the Warmington Revival Committee: I think the third meeting was advertised and everyone came and it was advertised to form a group of some kind. And Martin Pohlman in Cleethorpes, who was QDPI chief at the time said ‘Make sure you come. We want to put a group of people together’; people who were diverse in background and yet have some … ‘runs on the board’ were the words he

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Governing Rural Development used. Runs on the board, meaning been in some other business or done some other thing. And Leslie Karllson was one and Adam Bentley.

As the above excerpt also demonstrates, the QDPI took an active interest in the future direction of the Revival Committee even before the group was fully formed. In these early days, the QDPI officers involved were also local farmers with their own rural enterprises, and consequently seen more as community-members-withcontacts than government representatives. Nevertheless, they still possessed the expertise to know what form the group should take and had the resources to facilitate the group’s exposure to the discursive practices of self-help. Why there should be so much interest in the Warmington Revival Committee was explained once more by Jack Swann, who recounted a conversation he had with a QDPI officer in the initial months of the group’s formation. According to Jack, the conversation went as follows: So we formed this group and Martin Pohlman said ‘Look, the [Q]DPI have been trying for years to find a crop or find an industry or help out in some other way and we can’t find anything. So we would like to sponsor a group of local people who have had a go and done a few things and we will help them financially with resources and support any ideas that this group might come up with’.

It is largely because of this that the Warmington Revival Committee came to be seen as a suitable partner for the QDPI’s newly-formed Rural Partnership Unit in 1996. Adopting a ‘help them to help themselves’ philosophy (Bush Telegraph, 2000: 1-2), the purpose of the Rural Partnership Unit was to facilitate the development of rural industry and/or community groups that wished to enhance the long-term viability of their rural enterprises and surrounding communities (Day, 1999). Owing to the early intervention and guidance of the QDPI, the Warmington group had already been primed to become, in David Carson’s opinion, one of the few ‘genuinely community-based groups’ that ‘shared similar goals to the [Q]DPI’ and which ‘wasn’t already supported by organisations like local government’. What this suggests is that governments are really not interested in forming partnerships with just any community organisation, but have very specific requirements concerning the type of group with which they will work. In the case of the Warmington Revival Committee, it was a matter of the QDPI being able to infuse the group with its own objectives by ensuring that it shared QDPI goals and had no conflicting demands made upon it by other agencies. In spite of this, the ‘strategic enlistment’ of the Warmington Revival Committee by the Rural Partnership Unit did not occur without difficulty. This is largely due to the fact that the group already had been in existence some months prior to the partnership being set up and, to a certain extent, had established its own way of operating, which did not entirely match that of the QDPI. Thus, some negotiation and persuasion on the part of the Rural Partnership Officer (Barbara Hendry) became necessary to encourage the Warmington group to reconsider certain issues. During her interview, for example, Barbara spoke quite openly about the struggle she had experienced in getting the group to accept the QDPI way of working:

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… that’s the one thing I’ve found the most difficult with the Warmington Committee because I’ve come in and they were existing and they had their process in place … I’ve had to work really very hard to get them used to planning things.

Phase 2. Subjectification: Ethical Subjects In the last chapter, it was argued that the Building Rural Leaders Program is not so much concerned about building new leaders as it is with building better leaders from individuals who are already able to demonstrate a commitment and willingness to drive development forward. All that is required is for traditional volunteers to learn the ‘right’ way of conducting themselves so that their activities become consistent with the demands for a new, entrepreneurial and innovative rural leader. In just the same way, political authorities are not only concerned with the establishment of new community self-help groups formed out of a team of civic minded volunteers, but seek to ‘enlist targeted local participation in community efforts’ (O’Malley’s 1996: 323 emphasis in original) by fostering self-governing groups that have the skills and sensibilities to acknowledge their success depends upon them operating in a particular manner. This means that for many community groups consisting of traditional volunteers, a partnership with the state is unlikely to be forthcoming. The contribution of local sporting, charitable or residents’ associations to the wellbeing of rural communities is not be underestimated, yet, under an advanced liberal governmentality of rule, they do not constitute the form of self-help considered worthy of a partnership with the state. Unless the energy of these groups can be harnessed to the wider objectives of enhancing the competitiveness and market share of the rural economy, it would seem that they are generally left to their own devices and forced to remain dependent upon traditional fundraising methods such as raffles and council donations. In spite of the expert tutelage that the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group received from the start, neither could be described as self-governing in the months following their establishment. With little in the way of independent finances, apart from small amounts raised through raffles and membership fees, and without any clear understanding of how to proceed, both groups were heavily reliant upon the QDPI and the Woomeroo Shire Council for their respective financial assistance, in-kind support and guidance. Without that assistance, there was a danger that, in finding the experience altogether too difficult, either group would decide to give up, and this could not be allowed to happen. For the Woomeroo Shire Council, the annual assistance package of $25,000 given to the Action Group was seen as a reasonable investment for assuring the continued existence of the group, even if it did mean that the relationship between them became one of paternalism rather than partnership. In seeking to build the group’s selfreliance, which would allow the Council to ‘pull back’, it became important for the Action Group to be exposed to the message of self-help via the influence of outside experts and governmental programmes of capacity building. In the first instance, this occurred through the original Future Search Workshop, held in Austin in 1991 and

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facilitated by a visiting officer of the Queensland Department of Business, Industry and Regional Development. Although the workshop was held under the auspices of the Woomeroo Action Group, it was the Council that initiated the event, which, as the Mayor himself acknowledged, provided the catalyst for the first stage of the group’s transformation: I missed the first workshop but it was inspirational. That’s the best way of describing it. The transformation of the attitude. People moved from being negative to being proactive. They were so enthusiastic.

Once the Woomeroo Action Group was exposed to the influential governmental discourses of the Future Search Workshops, and the various experts who visited Austin to expound the message of self-help, so its function as an agent of social change began to diminish. While the next chapter suggests that the political voice of the Action Group has not been muted altogether, but lies latent for the moment when further action is needed, it is well-acknowledged that the independence of community organisations is both ‘compromised’ and even ‘de-politicised’ when they enter into ‘contractual relationships’ with the state (Kerr and Savelsberg, 1999: 10; see also Everingham, 2003). For the Action Group, this change in responsibility came about through a gradual process of subjectification – facilitated by the visiting experts – in which the group began to scrutinise its own ability to ‘get things done’. Realising that, in its existing form, it lacked the ability to ‘take charge of [its] future and make things happen’ (Mueller, 1996), the Woomeroo Action Group then sought to act upon itself as an ethical subject (Foucault, 1985) and follow the ‘correct’ rules of conduct so that it could do what was needed to secure the future of Woomeroo. No longer in a position where it could afford to ‘get on the wrong side’ of particular governments or politicians, these new rules required the Action Group to embrace a new, disciplined and politically docile form of action. According to one member of the group, if it continued to ‘just protest’, without shifting to a more entrepreneurial, innovative and proactive form of action, Woomeroo would ‘surely die’ (Mueller, 1996). This appears to have suited the Woomeroo Shire Council which, by this point, had begun to realise that the Action Group could serve a far more useful purpose as a vehicle for accessing government resources than as a politically active campaigner of social rights. For the Warmington Revival Committee, the process of subjectification was not dissimilar. For three years the group had, in the words of one member, ‘banged its head against the wall’ and found itself unable to proceed with the various agricultural projects it had been developing, primarily because of a lack of funds. This is hardly surprising given that Australian federal and State governments tend to channel their grant schemes towards marketing or research activities at the expense of capital works provision (Apthorpe, 1999). Although the Warmington Revival Committee had been successful in accessing $45,000 to hire a consultant for the Kilfenora whisky distillery feasibility study, it was actually proving more difficult for the group to move forward with its other initiatives. With the ability to access government grants

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increasingly regarded as a means to – and indicator of – success for community groups, it was the task of Barbara Hendry, the QDPI’s Rural Partnership Officer, to convince the group that it would need to embrace a different form of self-help if it was to harness itself to the funding schemes available. During the interview, she described the not-so-subtle role she had played in pushing the group towards a new direction that would allow it to function more successfully: Now just to beat through to them all … All they wanted to do was look at the linseed/flax project and I said to them ‘They [the Federal and State Government] won’t fund you to look at a [sic] idea. They’ll fund you to use a process; to trial a process’. Getting them to think differently … it was so hard (Barbara Hendry).

As the above examples demonstrate, these subtle – and sometimes fairly direct – pressures upon local self-help groups to comply with the requirements of the state are often compelling enough to force a change in how they operate. Nevertheless, given that these groups are functioning within an advanced liberal rationality of rule that endorses their apparent ‘freedom’ from state intervention, any changes cannot be seen as the direct result of government pressure, but must appear to be of the group’s own choosing. In order to achieve this, concrete technologies of appraisal, audit and self-assessment may be applied, which render local groups knowable to themselves. Moreover, in exposing themselves to these ‘modes of subjectivation’ (Foucault, 1985: 28), it is expected that the groups will come to understand their own limitations and will realise, of their own accord, that they will not be able to progress without additional training or assistance (see O’Malley and Palmer, 1996). Indeed, in what Rose (1993: 296) terms ‘the reversibility of relations of authority’, they begin to seek expert advice as a matter of choice by inviting motivational speakers to facilitate their workshops, by participating in programmes of capacity building and, ultimately, by looking to recruit the assistance of paid professionals. The Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group have already reached this stage of self-knowledge and, with a better understanding of how they are expected to operate, have subsequently moved to a higher level of proficiency by employing their own development officers or, in the case of the Woomeroo group, a whole committee of employed experts. It would not be unreasonable to assume that when a ‘grassroots’ community group employs paid professionals in this way, its members begin to feel a ‘loss’ of ownership or control once it starts to function independently as a bureaucratic and professionally managed organisation. Nevertheless, there was not one participant in this study who expressed such sentiments, except for a member of Warmington Revival Committee, Adam Bentley, who spoke about his decision to leave the group because it was shifting too far from its original aims (Adam’s reasons for leaving are discussed in more detail in the next chapter). On the whole, there was little to indicate that the groups felt they had lost any power or control; rather, they saw these moves to employ a professional simply as a matter of course or necessity. Why this is so may be explained by the observation that, even from the outset, neither the Warmington Revival Committee nor the Woomeroo Action Group were intended as ‘grassroots’

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in the sense that they emerged spontaneously from local people. Influenced by various experts or agents of the state as they formed, the process of supplanting these groups with the necessary skills of self-government has been so successful that they now not only see government intervention as natural, but actively seek it out as a matter of choice (Rose, 1993). In effect, the ‘taking over’ by paid professionals of some of the duties previously performed by local volunteers has not been felt by the groups as an imposition on their freedom or the ‘sudden’ effects of power. Instead the employment of an expert can be understood merely as the deployment of a new governmental technology through which the groups’ subjectivation as objects of government continues. Phase 3. Self-government: ‘Successful’, Self-help Group Having reached the stage where they are operating as semi-professional organisations run by skilled officers who have the networks and ‘know-how’ to access relatively large amounts of funding, the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group have become competent in the ‘art’ of self-government. According to governmental discourses, they are testimony to the fact that bottom-up rural development is far more successful when it is driven by local people themselves and – in the case of Woomeroo in particular – they are increasingly being showcased as best practice examples of community self-help. Only now have they reached the point where they can work as equal partners with government, not necessarily because they are able to function independently of it, but because they now seek out the support and assistance that it provides as a matter of choice. This, in turn, creates an appearance of increased self-reliance among the groups, which renders the continued governing of their activities less visible. At the same time, the groups have become practised in the care of the self (Foucault, 1991b) and, with a greater understanding of their own capacities, are increasingly selective about the kind of expertise they seek out. Predominantly requiring skills in researching and preparing grant applications that the paid officers provide, the groups are now no longer reliant upon the skills of the facilitators or motivational speakers they once enlisted for support: What really turned this town around was a woman called Claire Allen. She came to Austin as the first EDO and was just the loudest, pushiest person. But I think you need people like that to get you going. Once you’re going, you’re fine. Because Claire left at just the right time I think. This town doesn’t need anyone like Claire any more. It’s got to the point where we can keep our own energy levels up (Elspeth Watkins, Woomeroo Action Group).

Throughout the course of their development, it is also the case that the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee have become familiar with current discourses of self-help and, to a certain degree, appropriate them into their every day vocabularies. This does not mean that participants use terms such as ‘capacity building’ or ‘empowerment’ during their conversations with one another,

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but more that they appear to have internalised the basic message of self-help to the point where some even made reference to it during their interviews. ‘Not waiting for the cavalry to arrive’ and ‘not just looking for hand-outs’ are two particular examples that are so often repeated within governmental discourses that it seems almost certain that participants have picked them up from one of the many experts they have met over the years. More significant, however, is the extent to which the groups also appear to have normalised various ‘functional discriminations’ (Foucault, 1984: 276) between themselves – the healthy, proactive and forwardsighted individuals – and those whose own capacity has not been built and who, in contrast, they label ‘negative’ and ‘whinging’. What this suggests, as argued earlier, is that the discursive practices of self-help no longer need to be imposed from the top down. Increasingly, they are being promoted from within by individuals – such as the members of the Woomeroo and Warmington groups – whose capacity for self-government is enhanced sufficiently that they have become both the objects of power and the instruments of its exercise. Phase 4. Expertise: Instruments of Power The extent to which this has occurred for the Warmington and Woomeroo groups means it is possible to identify a fourth phase in their development. While it was only after they became capable of governing themselves that the groups came to be regarded as successful, self-help bodies, this fourth phase takes community organisations beyond this straightforward capacity for self-government and places them in the realm of experts who govern the conduct of others. Both groups have reached this stage and are now playing an instrumental role in promoting the discursive practices of self-help among other local groups: first, by facilitating the formation of those groups in the same way they that were constructed; second, by training them in the necessary practices of strategic planning or capacity building; and, third, by linking them with the various experts by whom their own conduct has been shaped. During one of the Warmington Revival Committee’s meetings I attended for the purpose of fieldwork, it became possible to witness this new role for the group first hand. Upon receiving the money from the Commonwealth Department of Transport and Regional Services for its strategic planning initiative, the group realised that it needed to promote itself to the wider community via a series of newspaper advertisements. Working through the actual wording of the advertisement, the group agreed that its role was one of promoting a process of community development, supporting the community in its search for new ideas, influencing and encouraging others to participate in the development of their community and acting as a catalyst for community ideas. This task of facilitating and enabling community action is more commonly associated with the role of government in rural development than with local groups. Yet, the Warmington Revival Committee has also begun to embrace this role of expert, as indicated by the number of community capacity building activities in Warmington that it has sponsored or facilitated. While the Woomeroo Action

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Group does not make this enabling role such an explicit part of its activities, it is nevertheless understood by the group’s members that any assistance they provide to other organisations or individuals will also take this form: It’s our policy to try and introduce or show people new industry … and encourage tourism if we can. We’re all rather busy ourselves so we really don’t want to be tied up running anything. We’d really rather hand it off to an individual or company to do it themselves. That’s part of the Woomeroo Action Group. It’s not up to us to own things. It’s really up to us to show the way or point the prospective people in the right direction and let them do it themselves (Betty Rackmann, Woomeroo Action Group).

In performing these duties, therefore, the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee have become the disciples or agents of the state and, as Kerr and Savelsberg (1999) point out, have reached a stage where they increasingly represent the state (to the community) rather than the community (to the state). In doing the work of government in this way, the existence of these two expert groups now allows governments to take a more ‘hands off’, non-interventionist role, thereby increasing the apparent freedom of the community from state control. For the groups, however, there is a trade-off to their success. As they move away from their ostensible grassroots origins, so they increasingly become alienated from the community they see themselves as representing. This appears to be more of a problem for the Warmington Revival Committee as illustrated by the following set of statements from several members of a much smaller and more localised community group in the district: It just seems to me that they’re mostly very senior government people. There’s just a few community people who are members. One guy from Romsey, three from Warsash and one from Midhurst. All the rest are government people aren’t they? (Member A). I think the people themselves think they’ve done a good job but they’re not grassroots people. They’ve been trained to a certain level by government and that’s how they think (Member B). To me it’s another group that’s been set up by bureaucrats (Member C).

As will be shown later in this chapter, if the autonomy and legitimacy of local groups is dependent upon their ostensible independence from the state, so it is necessary for state agencies to retreat whenever their influence becomes too visible. How this takes place in Warmington and Woomeroo is explored later in this chapter. Government (Non) Intervention: Shaping Local Initiative Since it is important under an advanced liberal rationality of rule for local groups to govern their own conduct – thereby rendering direct coercion by the state unnecessary – the technologies of government accompanying the discursive practices of self-help

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work on the philosophy of ‘changing people to change things’. As it has just been argued, most of the efforts of the Woomeroo Shire Council and the Rural Partnership Office at the QDPI have been channelled toward shaping the attitudes and behaviours of the groups so that their transformation into self-governing organisations appears a natural, voluntary accomplishment. In spite of this desire to govern ‘at a distance’, there may be occasions where more direct forms of intervention become necessary. When this occurs, the question of how, even if, a project is pursued is not determined so much by the groups themselves, as it is by the experts who govern them. While this is an issue faced by both groups, the influence of the QDPI on the Warmington Revival Committee is less overt and generally involves a ‘shaping’ of the group’s expectations in terms of the type of projects it should pursue. In the case of Woomeroo, on the other hand, the control over certain initiatives by the Woomeroo Shire Council is more direct. As shown later, this often creates a paradox for the Council as it struggles to reconcile its enforced ‘hands-off’ approach with its desire to see important projects in Austin succeed. It is often the case, for example, that the Woomeroo Shire Council has the power to determine which projects are to be pursued in Austin because it supplies the equipment and labour that the Woomeroo Action Group is often unable to provide for itself. Consequently, in controlling these resources, the Council is in a position to determine the future of a given project. If it agrees the idea is a good one and it is willing to provide the necessary resources, then the project will proceed; if it disapproves, the project is unlikely to come to fruition: Because we’re in with Council, we can come up with strategies and plans – that they agree with of course – and then they do it. But I mean they wouldn’t do it unless they approved of it either. It only happens if the Council agree to it. If they thought it was a pretty dumb idea, it wouldn’t happen (Stan English).

Even when the Council does provide the Woomeroo Action Group with the necessary resources to pursue a particular outcome, it is frequently the case that further intervention is required if the project is to succeed. On more than one occasion, participants indicated that certain projects would undoubtedly have ‘fallen over’ had it not been for the ‘helping hand’ or ‘very active support’ of Council. Others even went so far as to acknowledge that it was the Council that ‘really do most of the work’. According to Stan English, for example, it was the Council – more specifically the EDO – that resurrected the idea of building the pool complex at Austin. Until then, the pool had simply been a ‘good idea’. Similarly, the brick making venture only began to move forward once the Council became involved and purchased the brick making equipment on the community’s behalf. That the Council eventually ‘took over’ the project is highly significant for it suggests that while the Woomeroo Shire Council may be willing to just lend a hand or offer its support with some group initiatives, others are deemed so important to the future viability of Austin that they cannot be left in the hands of the community (see O’Malley 1996 for a broader discussion of this). When this occurs, the desire of the Woomeroo Shire Council to maintain its hands-off appearance is subordinated by a need to do whatever is

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necessary to secure a given project. Similarly, in 1999, when the Woomeroo Shire Council attempted to prevent the closure of a local mill by purchasing the business, complete confidentiality was required among those concerned on the basis that it was too important for the community to even know about the project, let alone become involved. Government Under Advanced Liberalism: The Autonomy of ‘Community’ One of the apparent paradoxes of contemporary approaches to rural development is that self-help groups are becoming more dependent upon the expertise of others at a time when, increasingly, they are being called upon to rely on their own skills and resources. This may be explained by the observation that such forms of dependency appear critical to the continued ability of governments to retain some control over the direction of local initiatives. Further, while notions of self-help and empowerment form part of the new discourses of development, the real challenge for contemporary governments is not simply to ‘unlock’ the potential of rural people to help themselves, but constantly to find new ways of governing this potential. In spite of these two conditions, however, it remains imperative that advanced liberal forms of rule should take place in such a way that the apparent freedom and autonomy of those who are to be governed is not called into question. Local decisions must be seen to come from the community and this can only occur if the ‘community’ is demarcated as a separate and independent sphere. The debate around this issue forms part of a wider problematics of rule, which poses new challenges for political authorities on how and by whom the non-political sphere should be governed. Similarly, at the micro level of practice, these same dilemmas are frequently faced by locally-based experts and agents of the state as they seek to govern the activities of local groups without destroying their appearance as autonomous, community-based bodies. Should this autonomy be called into question, so the whole notion of advanced liberal forms of government comes under challenge. From the perspective of the Woomeroo Shire Council, therefore, it is important that the Woomeroo Action Group is seen, first, as an organisation with the power and autonomy to function independently of government and, second, as one that represents the interests of the wider community and not simply those of an elite minority. This first requirement often proves to be difficult, largely because the group is so dependent upon Council advice, support and approval. Indeed, as more than one participant pointed out during interviews, the relationship between the Woomeroo Action Group and the Woomeroo Shire Council is so ‘interwoven’ that it often becomes difficult ‘to see where one ends and the other begins’. This demarcation is made easier, however, by the Woomeroo Action Group’s own desire to create distance from Council in an attempt to maintain its legitimacy: We don’t want to be seen as too active with Council if we can, because we lose our credibility then. We only become ‘Council yes-men’ in a lot of eyes (Betty Rackmann, Woomeroo Action Group).

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The second imperative is also often unmet, particularly since there appears to be a general feeling in Woomeroo that the group is business based; that it is concerned only with the town of Austin and not the shire as a whole; and that it is run by a handful of the most active, community-minded people who hold other positions of leadership in the town (the Warmington Revival Committee regularly faces similar criticism). Any feelings that the Woomeroo Action Group is exclusive may also be heightened by an arrangement in which the ‘nitty gritty’ of group business is discussed at the group’s management committee meetings, including any dealings with government ministers. The effect is not simply, as one participant put it, that the general meetings are ‘pretty well non-events’, but also that certain issues are considered too confidential to be shared with the rest of the community. In spite of the rhetoric, therefore, it is clear from this brief discussion that participation in groups such as the Woomeroo Action Group – and the Warmington Revival Committee – is not only distributed somewhat unevenly along the lines of social status and class, but that participation by members of the broader community in the decision-making process is often eschewed (see for example, Gray, 1991; Tonts and Jones, 1996; Goodwin, 1998). However, the aim of this chapter is not to expose the two groups for their elitism or strategies of closure. Neither should it conclude with the observation that locally based development initiatives are not so much based upon community forms of self-help as they are upon a relationship of rule, whereby the state drives development through a small number of active, selfgoverning citizens working in a group. While these conclusions are all significant, what ultimately matters to those who are responsible for governing rural development is not so much that the Woomeroo or the Warmington groups are representative of the wider community – or indeed whether the resulting projects are community initiatives – but that they are seen as community groups formulating communitybased projects. For as long as this appearance can be maintained, so the bottom-up, community self-help model of rural development may continue to be heralded a resounding success. Yet how is this appearance maintained? How do those involved in the government of local development initiatives create the impression that rural development is being successfully formulated by ‘empowered communities’ when things are evidently not so straightforward? There are several mechanisms through which this image is constructed, most of which are implemented by the community groups themselves who have become astute enough to understand what it expected of them if they are to be successful. In terms of funding, for example, two of the most important criteria that any community group seeking to apply for a grant must be able to address are first, to demonstrate that the community has been consulted and, second, that the project has community support. In both matters, the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee have learnt how easy it is to demonstrate that a given project does, indeed, have the backing of the wider community. In the first instance, despite being defined by Smith (1998) as one of the weakest forms of participation in public decision making, community consultation is becoming one of the most widely-used tools for demonstrating community support

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for particular projects or policies. Because of this, there is growing awareness that community consultation tends to involve the same elite groups that have always participated in public activities. This leaves those who are dependent upon ‘the community’ for their legitimacy and representativeness with a problem of how else they can maintain these claims. For the Woomeroo Action Group, there is a second, more assured way, which involves drawing on its networks with other local groups who may be willing to write a letter outlining their support for a particular venture. As the advice from Betty Rackmann illustrates below, a funding application is more likely to succeed if it is accompanied by various letters of support from other local organisations that are also seen to represent the community: If you do anything, you’ve got to show that it involves more than just you; that it’s a community thing. It’s the same as applying for grants for money. If you’re going to apply for grants for money, you need to get as many back-up letters as you can get. Because the more you can show that people are interested, or will benefit out of it, the more chance you have of getting it.

For the Warmington Revival Committee and the QDPI, the challenge is even greater. Here, the group is faced not only with the problem of demonstrating that it does have community support but, even more fundamentally, of showing that its projects are owned by all members of the group and not simply those who are responsible for writing the grant applications. It was soon revealed during the interviews for this research, for example, that not all members of the group have been entirely happy with the way its focus has shifted away from the practical pursuits of developing new agricultural commodities in favour of what one called the ‘warm and fuzzy’ community consultation, community capacity building and strategic planning processes. Although this new direction is due largely to the influence of Barbara Hendry and David Carson – both of whom were responsible for writing the application for the Rural Plan – it remains important for the group’s legitimacy that the application does not appear to have ‘come from government’. What this means is that, while David and Barbara recognise the need to develop projects that are endorsed by state agencies, it is equally important that, in doing this, the rest of the group does not lose ownership of a given project and see it as something that has been imposed upon them. In attempting to overcome this dilemma, David described a strategy he adopted that provided other members of the group with an opportunity to make some contribution of their own. Rather than evolving from any genuine desire to empower them by enabling them to prioritise their own needs and aspirations, this ‘adding-in’ exercise may be interpreted as an attempt by David to obtain the group’s endorsement on a project for which the most important decisions have already been made.2 In providing this ‘right to advise, not to decide’ (Smith, 1998: 198), the chance to question the whole project itself does not arise: 2 A more sympathetic interpretation of this strategy, which acknowledges David’s conflicting role as both an instrument and an object of state power, is provided in the next chapter.

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If you know there is a particular area of the proposal that’s going to be of interest to a couple of members, you sort of ask them for a personal comment ‘Is that right? What do you think about this word?’ And they might say ‘Oh that’s not exactly what I was thinking. I think we’ll just add these words in’. So you add their words in and they own it. It’s not being manipulative; it’s trying to find a way for them to have input that’s valid. At least I don’t think it’s being manipulative (David Carson).

Even with such strategies in place, there are occasional periods when the influence of government is especially obvious and the freedom of the governed may be called into question. When this occurs – when the hand of government becomes too visible – so it becomes necessary for two shifts to be seen to take place: first, for local citizens to become even more involved in the decision making process; and, second, for government to retreat, as rule is increasingly carried out by the community (O’Malley, 1996). This particular dilemma is one that the Woomeroo Shire Council regularly faces as a result of its high level of involvement in all Woomeroo Action Group activities. So dependent is the Action Group upon the Council for resources, advice and approval, that it is increasingly difficult to maintain the appearance that Woomeroo’s success is the result of community rather than Council efforts. Indeed, a number of Council officers spoke of how the Woomeroo Shire Council had unintentionally contributed to the development of a ‘hand-out’ mentality in the shire, arguing that it was now necessary to ‘re-educate’ the community to become more self-reliant. For the CEO of Woomeroo, as he explained during his interview, this meant ‘empowering the community to get off its backside and do things for itself’. As part of this new approach, the Council resolved that any future activities in the shire would be community, not Council, projects. While the CEO admitted that the Council would inevitably be the one to drive these projects, it was his intention to encourage community groups to do most of the work, thereby enabling the Council to take a more ‘hands-off’ approach and maintaining the appearance that the work was entirely of the community’s own doing. Similar notions of ‘pulling back’ were also expressed by David Carson in the Warmington Revival Committee through his concern that the group should neither become too dependent upon him, nor be seen by the wider community as necessarily driven by him. This desire for the group to be accepted as an community-owned organisation has manifested itself in a number of ways during its existence, most pointedly in David’s decision not to take on any position of management in the organisation, nor to be seen as a public representative of it. Not long after the group formed, David, and his wife (who is also a member of the group) spent seven months overseas, thereby missing seven of the monthly meetings. While David acknowledged in his interview that the Warmington Revival Committee almost came to collapse because of his absence, he still believes it was an important time for the group because it ceased being associated with just him and his wife. What this suggests is that even though David continues to be a key actor in driving the Warmington Revival Committee and its activities, he adopts various strategies that ensure his influence is not seen as excessive.

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In considering whether this contrived form of self-help is successful, the answer – at least for the Woomeroo Action Group – is affirmative. This is not to suggest that the Woomeroo community is empowered, or that the level of social capital or community capacity is higher in Woomeroo than in any other rural area. When understood as a technique of governing, rather than a transfer of power, selfhelp does not need to be genuinely empowering or participatory to be a success, providing the intended outcomes are met. In the case of Woomeroo, this is indeed the case. Over the past decade, the shire has received a great deal of attention in Australia for its local development activities and it is now showcased as a triumph in community self-help. The Woomeroo Shire Council has received numerous management excellence and tourist initiative awards, and several hundreds of thousands of dollars have been injected into the town due to a successful run of grant applications by the Council and the Action Group. Most importantly, the town of Austin is an outward manifestation of this success, with new tourist and small business initiatives providing concrete evidence that grassroots development does work. In practice, therefore, it is possible to attribute these initiatives to the Woomeroo Action Group, not because the group has single-handedly taken responsibility for their planning and development, but because it is impossible to say that these projects would have occurred had the group never been formed. With contemporary discourses of development dictating a community-driven approach to rural revitalisation, it would have been extremely difficult for the Woomeroo Shire Council to achieve such success had it not been for the construction of the Woomeroo Action Group through which it could operate. Conclusion: The Emperor’s New Clothes? In closing, it is necessary to clarify two final points that may otherwise cause the reader to draw conclusions not intended. The first point, which is addressed in more detail in the next chapter, is that the desire of the QDPI and the Woomeroo Shire Council to govern the activities of local citizens does not form part of some wider conspiracy by a sovereign state. Rather, it is a case that they, as instruments and objects of power (Foucault, 1977a), are struggling to come to terms with their own roles in the discursive practices of self-help, and are consequently forced to deploy various coping mechanisms in order to do this. Understanding that their role is merely to facilitate community-based development initiatives, these local experts have learnt that while the community must help itself, there are occasions when higher levels of intervention are called for, either because local people lack the required skills or resources, or because they may otherwise follow an inappropriate course of action. As a result, even though the discourses of development quite clearly identify a demarcation of roles and responsibilities for governments and communities, at the local level of practice there is a certain amount of negotiation taking place as those responsible for the activity of government attempt to operate in a discursive environment that is not of their own choosing.

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The second point is also taken up in the next chapter. This addresses the question of whether the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group are straightforward objects of government manipulation, consistently being shaped and re-shaped by a state that sees them simply as vehicles to meet its own ends. This conclusion is a reasonable one given that the governmentality approach traditionally focuses only on the rationalities and technologies of those who seek to govern while ignoring the power of those who are the objects or subjects of that rule. With greater emphasis on this latter form of power, however, so it becomes possible to see that the groups are not powerless puppets of the state. They too have become aware of the importance of a partnership with government and accept the ensuing relations of rule, not only because doing so helps meet their own needs, but also because they have learnt that these relations can be reversed and used to their own advantage. To this end, there is a sense that everyone is ‘playing along’ in perpetuating the ideology that rural development in Woomeroo and Warmington is community driven, even though they know that it is not; that the emperor has no clothes on. Why they should wish to participate in this collusion and what kind of strategies they have adopted to use the partnership with government to their own advantage, is addressed in the following chapter.


Chapter 7

Docile Bodies? Translating Self-help While the last chapter sought to identify the mechanisms through which the conduct of the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group is governed, it nevertheless concluded that the groups have not been rendered entirely powerless or subjected by the state into a condition of absolute docility. Taking this observation as the starting point for discussion, this chapter seeks to emphasise the capacity for action that is inherent in Foucault’s ‘free’, acting subjects (1980a: 142); a capacity to advance their own wills to truth and to exercise some agency in rejecting, accommodating or modifying the discourses and practices of government. Doing this does not require a negation of the experiences of power felt by the local people of Woomeroo or Warmington, but indicates ‘points of complication and contradiction which the analysis must additionally identify and explain’ (Opie, 1990: 53). That the objects or subjects of government are not compliant in their subjection is often overlooked within the governmentality literature, yet it is something that became evident when undertaking the fieldwork for this research. During their interviews, participants spoke of how they had learnt the rules for accessing government funding and, importantly, how to bend them; how they had been able to influence experts to represent their wills rather than those of the state; and how they continued to oppose governments in their decision to withdraw local services. These instances of local agency are not included or celebrated as part of an ‘adding in’ exercise of subjugated knowledges, yet neither are they to be understood in terms of Foucault’s notion of resistance (1980a). Instead, by using Latour’s model of translation (1986), the intention here is to highlight the dialectic nature of power and the way in which it is continuously transformed and re-shaped by all those embedded within its networks. Following this line of inquiry, therefore, this chapter seeks to highlight the instances of local agency that occur outside periods of crisis in Woomeroo and Warmington, and which do not seek to oppose the existing discourses or structures of government. Activities of resistance have occurred in these sites and continue to do so – usually when an attempt is made by governments and other external agencies to withdraw a service from the region – and attention will be drawn to these more political activities early in the discussion. In the last chapter, however, it was suggested that, as far as the groups in this research are concerned, the typical form of conduct when undertaking their rural development activities appears to be one of ‘playing along’ with the will of the state. Assisted by local experts, the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee have come to realise what governments require of them and have learnt that the way forward lies in conforming

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to these demands. This is not to say, of course, that their acceptance is a passive one, or that the discourses and practices of rule remain unquestioned or unchanged. Rather, as the last chapter suggested, there is a sense of collusion among those involved: they know the emperor has no clothes, yet they are willing to play along because it suits them to do so. Moreover, simply through their daily encounters with the discourses and practices of government, these human agents have the capacity to transform government without necessarily seeking to challenge or resist it in any overt manner. Both these issues will be discussed more fully later in this chapter. The question that arises from this relates to the potential of such strategies for profound social change. In other words, are these more subtle manoeuvres enough to radically challenge, let alone dismantle, the current structures of inequity and disadvantage in rural areas that are perpetuated by many government policies? Are they a necessary prelude to envisioning alternatives (Sawicki, 1994) because they build the confidence and capacity of local people, or is it simply that they are tolerated by the state because they pose no threat to the ‘real’ workings of power (Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1982)? The potential for these strategies of translation to influence government and fundamentally transform the workings of power is addressed later in the chapter, and is a question to which we return in the concluding chapter of the book. Revisiting Theory: Power, Agency and Translation It was argued in Chapter Two that, with some exception, governmentality theorists tend to privilege the top-down flow of power by focusing predominantly on the rationalities and practices of those who seek to govern. In the more restricted sense of government as the government, what generally emerges from this is an account of how the state governs the conduct of its citizens in an advanced liberal manner. Where the individual – the subject of government – is included in these accounts, it is usually in the context of how the technologies of the self are applicable to these new modes of rule. In turn, this creates a ‘docile’ human subject whose life experiences are characterised by domination and inequality (Scheurich, 1997). The outcome of this sort of problematic is a lack of sustained attention to the various ways in which people mediate the effects of power by exercising their own capacity for action. Individuals are not simply acted upon by abstract structures, says Weiler (1988: 21), but negotiate, struggle and create meanings of their own which serve to mediate their experiences of power and constraint (see also Giroux, 1983). Captured by the concept of resistance, it is most commonly assumed within the Foucauldian tradition that the general response to this rule is one of ‘refusing’ (McHoul and Grace, 1993: 86) or blocking the techniques of power in order to impede their progress. This leaves individuals with the freedom to choose between one of two options only: to passively accept the discourses and practices of power or to resist them through what Giroux describes as ‘faint bursts of … opposition’ (1983: 225). Yet, just as it is necessary to reject ‘seriously flawed and deceptively partial’ (Fine and Weis, 1996:

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270) accounts of power as flowing in a top-down direction from the powerful to the powerless, so too is it unhelpful simply to counteract them with notions of citizens ‘acting back’ to resist those forces. As Foucault (1980a: 142) points out, power is not something that is exercised along a single chain where it is either accepted, thereby allowing it to continue in its original form, or where it is blocked by an active force which prevents or reverses its transmission. Instead, it operates through a network in which individuals continuously accommodate, re-shape and, occasionally, reject the discourses and practices of power that they encounter in their daily lives. This, Latour (1986) maintains, occurs through a process of translation. As described more fully in Chapter Two, the most basic tenet of the translation model is that individuals are never faced with a choice of either resisting power or passively accepting it; they are active agents who have the capacity to transform that power into another form depending on their own objectives (Latour, 1986). Human beings may respond to power in a multitude of ways and faithful acceptance or overt resistance are only two (more unusual) forms that this response might take. More common than either of these are forms of conduct that do not simply reject, or even respond to rule, but involve human beings engaging with it ‘by sustaining and adapting their own practices and discourses, actively paralleling and even displacing those of political authorities’ (O’Malley, 1996: 316). At times, this may take the form of an apparent compliance with power, yet it is an active type of compliance because it is based upon the wills and objectives of the governed. Human beings have their own reasons for accepting rule and, in the course of doing so, translate it into a new form (Latour, 1986). From this perspective, rule comes to be re-shaped and transformed from within the network of power, rather resisted from without, and politics becomes ‘a far more open-ended process of contestation and engagement’ (O’Malley, 1996: 312). Rural Australia: A Loss of Power? According to recent narratives, rural Australia is a place of crisis: a ‘victim’ of global and national changes that have destabilised its once secure political and economic base and relegated it to the sidelines of the global playing field where it can only stand and watch as others get on. For this reason, as Chapter Three pointed out, rural residents and primary producers have joined the unemployed, the homeless and other disadvantage groups to become the target of self-help schemes that seek to activate their citizenship and increase their capacity to participate in the global economy. Where evidence of some resilience or agency is found to exist among these populations, it is turned into celebratory, but nevertheless, unhelpful accounts of battle weary, but victorious, communities beating the odds to rise triumphantly ‘from the ashes of rural despair’ (The Courier Mail 26th February, 2000: 4). These tales say nothing about the struggles and contestations that local people encounter in their everyday lives when mediating the effects of decline. Indeed, their only purpose is to heighten the differences that are said to exist between the healthy ‘boom towns’,

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identified in Chapter Four, and the struggling rural communities that seem unable, or unwilling, to follow their example. The idea that rural Australia is comprised of the most powerless and disadvantaged members of society is a common one (see, for example, Alston, 1996; Forth, 2000). From this perspective, the people remaining in Australia’s rural centres form a residual population left behind by those who had the wherewithal to move away to the coast or the nearest regional centre in the search for a better life. Their reasons for staying stem from their powerlessness to do otherwise; they may be dependent on welfare and forced to stay for the cheap and easily available housing, they may be business or home owners who remain locked into loans on enterprises or properties that are no longer of any great value, or they may simply lack the resources or mobility that make the shift out of a declining region possible (Lawrence, 1995). For many residents of rural Australia, these reasons for staying are very powerful and their impact should not be underestimated. Yet, as Lawrence (1995) argues, they also tend to be viewed by economic rationalists as just cause for policies of structural adjustment and industry deregulation, whereby those who are unable to thrive in the new economic climate are ‘adjusted out’ altogether. Further support for the image of rural dwellers as subjected, docile bodies, with little or no power to respond to change, comes, perhaps unwittingly, from another source. Critiquing the self-help rhetoric advanced by governments and non-state experts in recent years, a whole body of sociologically-inspired literature has emerged to condemn this approach for failing to consider the substantial structural impediments to self-help that exist in many declining rural areas of Australia (Tonts and Jones, 1996) and other advanced capitalist nations (see for example, McLaughlin, 1987; Kearns, 1995; Ray, 1998 for a discussion of the British experience). Those who see the solution to rural decline as lying in the entrepreneurial skills of local people and in the passion and drive of rural ‘animateurs’ are justifiably criticised for ignoring the obvious fact that people are becoming a progressively scarce ‘commodity’ in many parts of country Australia. This problem is compounded further by the observation that it is the younger, wealthier, more educated members of rural communities, with the highest levels of entrepreneurial skills, who are making the shift (Collits, 2000). Essentially, what this means is that those people with any ‘get-up-and-go’ in rural Australia have got up and left at the very time that their skills are needed most. In turn, those left behind are said to make up a residual category of citizens, comprising the poor, elderly, unemployed and most socially disadvantaged who, for financial or other reasons, are unable to leave their declining rural areas (Lawrence, 1995). This prompts Tonts and Jones (1996) to conclude that while, in principle, selfdetermination may be empowering, rural restructuring, public and private service withdrawal and severe depopulation have eroded many of the social and human resources that are required to make locally-based strategies of rural development viable. To some extent, this is a fair assessment of how things are in rural Australia. Moreover, in Britain, where similar analyses have been developing since the late 1980s (for example, McLaughlin, 1987), these more critical accounts are responsible


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for advancing the cause against ‘band-aid’, self-help treatments for rural decline. The problem remains, however, that by focusing almost exclusively on the impediments to self-help, genuine instances of local action, either at the individual or collective level, tend to be ignored in these reports. In other words, as Giroux argues, the language of critique in these accounts forces authors to abandon the language of possibility (1988: 193). In the sites of Warmington and Woomeroo, this possibility for alternative types of action, and the articulation of alternative knowledges, is very much present in spite of the discourses and practices of power that act to influence people’s lives. To omit these instances of human agency from the account and to conclude that the groups are shaped entirely by the discursive practices of self-help is to deny their capacity to engage with government in subtle but significant ways. In saying this, the experiences of subjection and inequality that often structure their daily lives are not to be ignored. The observations and conclusions of earlier chapters still stand but now are complicated by narratives of contestation and counter struggle that pose new challenges for thinking about power and government in rural areas. Resisting State Power The image of rural Australia as a site of powerlessness is challenged in this chapter in two respects. One the one hand, it is shown that public protest and political action continue to arise in places like Woomeroo even when new partnership arrangements with governments have been established. On the other hand, as detailed later in this chapter, local power may also be exercised through these new governance structures, resulting in the translation of the discourses and practices of state power. In considering the first point, it was argued in Chapter Two that the primary objective of disciplinary power is the creation of ‘docile bodies’ (Foucault, 1977a: 138): human beings whose capacity for action is enhanced in terms of economic productivity, yet diminished in political terms of obedience. To a certain extent, these disciplinary mechanisms have been successful, and this is most evident in Woomeroo where a diminution in the political activities of the Woomeroo Action Group and a shift towards embracing, rather than challenging, change has occurred. However, it must be added that the docility of the Action Group is not absolute. Indeed, the possibility that Foucault’s docile bodies will retain a capacity to resist the techniques of discipline must always be considered. Thus, in the case of the Woomeroo Action Group, its role as a campaigner of social justice is muted rather than extinguished and re-emerges during periods of crisis (usually when a local service or industry is threatened). During such times, the power of local people manifests itself in the outright rejection of state power through various strategies of public meetings, political lobbying and media campaigning. The extent to which overt, public forms of political resistance still comprise part of the activities of the Action Group was clearly revealed during interviews with group members. For example, when participants were asked what they considered to be the group’s biggest achievement, many of them spoke, not of the pool complex,

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the new tourist information centre or any of the other local businesses developed, but of their success in persuading governments to reverse some of their previous decisions regarding the closure of the courthouse and the downgrading of the railway. For them, success was defined in reactive terms of their ability to resist government decisions and not, as governments might prefer, in proactive terms of identifying community-based alternatives through entrepreneurial and innovative thinking: Our biggest achievement would be probably reversing some of the trends of government actions: the government agent and getting the railway back on track. And just getting government to listen to us. We’ve become a force now; a spokesperson for our district whenever things need to be brought forward (Gracie Mueller). We probably haven’t got anything started but we’ve stopped things from going … We’ve still got our Clerk of the Court. As a matter of fact, it was taken away from us and made a QGAP [Queensland Government Agency Program] or some bloody thing but we’ve got our courthouse back now and we can even do our own court cases here now. And the railway’s gone from bigger and better.1 We’ve done all right (Stan English).

Following these observations, participants were then asked what they defined as the key to this success. Once more, the discussion was less about the powers of positive thinking or the possession of a healthy and entrepreneurial attitude than it was about being ready to ‘nag and keep at the issue’. In Larry O’Connor’s opinion, the reason for Austin being showcased as an example for other communities to follow was simply because ‘we’re bigger whingers than everyone else’. Similarly, for Stan English, getting on was about ‘not giving up and not letting the politicians beat you down’. To a large degree, most members of the Woomeroo Action Group attributed their success in this type of action to a single person, Graham Jackson, one of the original members of the group and its current president. Graham admitted that, with many outside commitments including his own business to run, he rarely had the time to waste on paperwork or ‘Mickey Mouse’ projects that went nowhere, but preferred to override the bureaucratic process by speaking directly with politicians and other official bodies. During one occasion, for example, when it came to the attention of the Action Group that railway jobs in Austin were not being advertised locally, it was Graham who, in the words of one member, ‘got on the phone and jumped and yelled and screamed and carried on’ until something was done. Translation in Practice: Reshaping Self-help It is apparent, therefore, that activities of overt resistance still occur in places such as Woomeroo in spite of the disciplinary mechanisms that have been established to create a state of docility-utility among the population there. Moreover, it is also worth remembering Foucault’s own insistence that while great radical ruptures 1 Austin’s rail freight service was reinstated in 1999 and the railway now employs 30 local people from the town.


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occasionally take place, it is the mundane and every day instances of local power that have the most profound effects (1978). Since the more political forms of conduct by the Woomeroo Action Group usually arise in response to one-off – albeit sometimes ongoing – events that impact upon the community at large, so it is necessary to draw attention to the less political and less public forms of local power that occur in the intervening periods. Throughout this book, it has been argued that modern forms of political power rely upon the construction of a citizen who is endowed with a sense of moral responsibility and a capacity for self-regulation (Rose, 1989; 1993). No longer based upon techniques of coercion or law, the principal mechanisms for constructing this modern subject are regulatory norms that prescribe, rather than enforce, appropriate ways of thinking and behaving. It is further argued that the art of self-government takes place through a process of subjectification whereby individuals learn the rules of conduct and, through various practices of the self (Foucault, 1990), transform themselves accordingly. Within this process, however, there remains a potential for individuals to pursue alternative courses of action to those described. While they may become familiar with the rules governing their conduct, it cannot be assumed that they will respond consistently by aligning themselves with those norms. Moreover, even when they do appear to ‘fit themselves out’ (Foucault, 1991b: 5) with the required modes of conduct, it may simply be because they have realised that conformity brings rewards. Emphasising a key point of Latour’s translation approach (1986), resistance is not the only response to power, and domination is not the only cause of compliance. It is in the context of Warmington and Woomeroo that this becomes more evident. The findings of Chapter Six indicate that, to a certain degree, both the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee have learnt to conform to the will of the state and are doing better because of it. Over the years, they have come to realise how powerful the language of strategic planning and capacity building is and they have learnt to use it. They recognise that their legitimacy rests upon being seen as community driven and they know the various strategies for creating and maintaining this image. They are now able to write their own grant applications which, for the most part, are successful. They understand the benefits that arise from forming partnerships with local, State and federal governments and they have allowed themselves to be shaped into the kind of group with which governments can work. While this may appear precisely the type of self-help being espoused by Australian and other advanced liberal governments, it is shown in this chapter that the two groups are not necessarily complicit in their subjection but may, in fact, be ‘playing along’ with the discursive practices of self-help because it suits them to do so. Equally, it must also be pointed out that there are occasions when key members of either group are not so prepared to acquiesce. Instead, they negotiate with, and ultimately transform, the norms of conduct to meet their demands instead of reshaping their conduct to fit those of the state. Others, in contrast, have come to understand what is required of them yet condemn their peers for conforming and, in their eyes, betraying their cause. For them, the only option is to reject the dominant

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model of development by leaving the group and pursuing their original goals through other means. Nevertheless, in each case there is a greater emphasis upon the agency of rural people and the various forms of conduct through which they transform and re-shape power in significant ways. From the above discussion, it is possible to identify three additional forms of power that are exercised by local people, which are both more subtle and more complex than implied by the usual dualism of submission and resistance. This list is not exhaustive by any means, but it covers the range of conduct observed among participants during fieldwork for this research: 1. Understanding the norms of conduct and ‘playing along’; 2. Understanding the norms of conduct and engaging with/changing them; 3. Understanding the norms of conduct and rejecting them. Understanding the Norms of Conduct and ‘Playing Along’ In the last chapter, it was shown how the direct and indirect power of experts has caused both the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group to move beyond their original ambitions as a political lobby or sectoral interest group and to address issues of entrepreneurship, community consultation and community development. While the discursive environment in which the groups operate may give them little alternative but to conform, it does not follow that their compliance to these demands arises from their incapacity to act otherwise, or from their unmitigated acceptance of government will. Neither should it be concluded that their own development goals for their town or region have been superseded by those of the state. For this reason, it appears that a certain degree of ‘playing along’ occurs in Warmington and Woomeroo as participants demonstrate, but do not necessarily embrace, the appropriate behaviours and attitudes required of them. Clearly, then, the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee have come to understand what is expected of them and realise that their capacity for success is largely dependent upon the assistance they receive from government. Equally, they have also come to accept that this support is not unconditional, but comes with certain expectations that they will, as one participant put it, ‘toe the government line’. Indeed, they recognise that there are certain advantages to be gained from this compliance, largely because of the financial and in-kind assistance that accompanies it. For this reason, ‘jumping through hoops’, as another interviewee expressed it, is simply ‘necessary to get the job done’: …we’re all Austin-ites when the chips are down (Gracie Mueller, Woomeroo Action Group). … maybe the Woomeroo Action Group is a bit manipulated but it’s all for the betterment of the town anyway so it doesn’t really matter (Ross Peters, Woomeroo Action Group).


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In the case of the Woomeroo Action Group, any interference from the Woomeroo Shire Council is accepted because it is recognised that both parties share a common goal to see Austin progress. At other times, however, the input from Council is not so much tolerated by the group as actively encouraged, precisely because the benefits of Council intervention outweigh any loss of power this might entail. For example, the partnership between the group and the Council usually means that some assistance from Council is available for group projects that may otherwise have difficulty progressing. Where the Warmington Revival Committee has struggled to get its ideas ‘off the ground’, the Woomeroo Action Group, in contrast, is readily able to access Council labour, equipment and funding. Indeed, as shown earlier in this account, the brickmaking and pool initiatives only began to move ahead once the Council stepped in and took over the project. In the last chapter, this was interpreted as an overt form of intervention by the Woomeroo Shire Council in its belief that the projects were too important to be left in the hands of local people. In contrast, the following quotation from Arthur Simms indicates that the Action Group itself sees such manoeuvres quite differently: as a sign of the group’s resourcefulness that it is able to induce other people to work on its behalf: … we may not be much good at doing things ourselves but we know who to get to do them for us … (Arthur Simms, Woomeroo Action Group).

Similar sentiments were expressed by members of the Warmington Revival Committee: We [the farmers] are there to sort of investigate the opportunities and put them forward and the [Q]DPI, they know how to put forward submissions. That’s why we use them. They know how to put the words right and all that sort of thing (Leslie Karlsson, Warmington Revival Committee, emphasis added).

If the process of transforming themselves into self-governing bodies has been driven by the groups themselves, rather than simply the state, then it must also follow that their reasons underpinning the shift do not necessarily derive from an uncritical acceptance of the current self-help model. Moreover, since adjusting one’s behaviour to avoid punishment or induce reward is very different from doing so because of a fundamental change in belief system, it cannot be assumed that the groups’ values have necessarily shifted any closer towards those of the state. Here, it is possible to see evidence of the groups ‘playing along’ by adopting the language and technologies of capacity building or strategic planning, even when they remain critical of them. Such forms of conduct came through most clearly during the interviews when participants were asked if they were familiar with the terms ‘capacity building’, ‘social capital’ or ‘empowerment’. Most said they had encountered them at some time or another but condemned them as ‘jargon’ or ‘buzz-words’, ‘thrown about’ by government or rural development ‘gurus’. In their opinion, the terms had little relevance to their every day activities of seeking to regenerate their farm or community, yet many were astute enough to realise how significant they have become to the process of

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applying for funding. For Sandra Mulholland, a member of the Warmington Revival Committee, the art of writing a successful grant application was to scatter it liberally with such terms. Reading aloud the funding application for the Rural Plan grant, Sandra expressed both frustration at the complexity of the language and amusement at how well the group had learnt to use it: And look at this. What does this mean? ‘Promote diversification, value-adding and co-operative business structures, add value to existing business programmes, build community capacity, support self-determination, support entrepreneurial approaches, develop partnerships, support empowerment, use facilitative processes …’ Like we all know the jargon! But I could do it. I could write that. Show me something and I could plagiarise it. Because the idea is to throw the words in isn’t it? I mean, who would say something like ‘preliminary report for community comment and subsequent amendment’? Like, who would say that? No one. But when you’ve got a spell check and a thesaurus on your computer, you can say anything you like.

Other members of the Revival Committee also described the processes of community consultation and community empowerment performed by the group as ‘garbage’ and were disparaging of other members for spending more time on talk than action. Yet – for the time being at least – they were prepared to tolerate these activities providing they did not have to become involved: They [the group] want to do a skills audit. I’m not interested in that. Jack Swann is keen on the linseed project but the other ten want to talk. They’ll go on a bus trip and see what everyone else is doing and the government is quite happy to fund that. But actually doing something … they get scared. It’s not really in my interest to take the lucerne idea to the group but without their backing it’s going to be slow (Ian Tobin, Warmington Revival Committee).

As Ian explained, the reason he wishes to remain involved with the Warmington Revival Committee, in spite of his frustration with its current activities, is because he believes the group will help him develop his own commercial enterprise at a faster pace than if he works alone. With current funding directives favouring communitybased initiatives over individual ones, it is understandable why people such as Ian may feel that they have little alternative but to participate in collective schemes, even though the trade-off may be a loss of ownership of their ideas. While their reasons for participating may be less noble than those with genuine altruistic intent, it is commonly recognised that few individuals will work reciprocally with others unless some personal benefit is evident (O’Malley and Palmer, 1996). For Ian, there are advantages to be gained from complying with the discourses of development and joining the group, particularly in the form of assistance with complex funding applications and feasibility studies. Even so, Ian cannot be described as an enthusiastic participant by any means. While he is prepared, albeit grudgingly, to meet the demands of government, his compliance is purely instrumental and cannot be said to arise from either his subjection or his uncritical acceptance of the legitimacy of those demands.


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Understanding the Norms of Conduct and Engaging with/Changing Them Turning now to the second course of action available to the Warmington Revival and Woomeroo Action Groups, it is possible to see more clearly how they engage with rule by reshaping it to better meet their needs rather than reshaping their own conduct to meet those of the state. Rather than simply accepting the will of governments because there are certain advantages in doing so, what takes place here is a more active form of conduct that seeks to challenge the discourses and practices of government and displace them with the will of the governed. Even this cannot be described as resistance, however, since the objective is less a matter of impeding power as it is of group members engaging with and transforming it through subtle and not-so-subtle influences. It is here, moreover, that it becomes apparent how the enrolment of other actors increases an individual’s capacity to act, and how ‘connected chains of association’ (Donaldson et al, 2002: 211) are formed between these localised acts of resistance and the governmentalities of the state. Such strategies can be observed among both groups, although it is the Warmington Revival Committee that has effected the most profound transformation to date. Nevertheless, the strategies of the Woomeroo Action Group in creating possibilities for the exercise of power from below cannot be underestimated, particularly since the arena of local government often affords greatest opportunity for people to exert an influence on policy (see Gray, 1991). Generally, the local decision making arena is easier to pervade than those at federal or State government levels, and this is even more so in Woomeroo where the available seats during Council elections often exceed the number of candidates. For the Woomeroo Action Group, ready access to this arena was created by the election of the group’s Vice-president, Stan English, onto the Woomeroo Shire Council in 1996. This was no happy coincidence, however. As Stan explained during his interview, the Action Group ‘needed somebody in there’ who could represent its interests in all Council matters and pass relevant information from Council meetings back to the group. As Stan further explained, it was proving very useful for the group to have somebody who could mediate between the two organisations, especially because he could use his position to lobby other councillors for support: It’s very handy to have somebody with a leg in both camps, especially if you can get a few of the blokes on side – a couple of councillors – and explain it to them first. … And if you can get a couple of the blokes on your side, you can put the story across pretty well and usually it goes through ... I don’t want it to sound like we’re stacking it but, you know, if they come up with something at the Action Group and they want to put it through to Council, they’ve got somebody on the ground (Stan English).

How this strategy served to benefit the Action Group on specific occasions may be found in the minutes of Council meetings. It is unfortunate, therefore, that access to the confidential data of these meetings was not forthcoming in this research and the end results of Stan’s manoeuvres are not clear. What is clear,

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though, is that the group’s members have been able to harness themselves to local government in just the same way that local government harnesses itself to them, and that through this process they are now in a better position to influence Council than before. In examining the case of the Warmington Revival Committee, moreover, it also becomes possible to see how such strategies can effect change at the level of practice by fundamentally transforming key programmes according to local rather than state objectives. In this scenario, the pressure to re-shape governmental discourses was exerted largely by a single member of the group, Jack Swann. Describing himself as more of a ‘doer’, Jack admitted during his interview that he was ‘not so excited’ about the community development component of the group’s latest project. Where everyone else, he said, seemed happy ‘talking and drinking coffee and going to meetings’, he preferred to focus on more practical pursuits such as getting the linseed/flax project up and running. To date, his rejection of self-help in its current form has caused Jack to avoid all community planning workshops and, more directly, to engage in heated arguments with Barbara Hendry from the QDPI in Durham. In his opinion, the Commonwealth Government could ‘keep its money’ unless it agreed to the funding being channelled towards ‘practical purposes’. When a representative from the Commonwealth Department of Transport and Regional Services (DOTARS) came from Canberra to assist the group with the Rural Plan application, however, the opportunity arose for Jack to change strategy from impeding the planning progress to displacing certain elements of it that did not suit his needs. During one of the committee meetings, therefore, he sought to convince the Canberra representative of the need for the group to make a tangible difference to the region by drawing his attention to the group’s efforts to establish a linseed/flax industry: So when this [name of DOTARS representative] came, we told it to him pretty plain, and I said ‘it’s all well and good to have this nice stuff that you’ve got in here but the community needs something to happen and we, as a group, need to be seen by the community as people who can do something. Not just have interviews with the boy scouts and the girl guides and whoever else. We want to get some practical things to happen. And so far we’ve done this and we’ve run four field days, we’ve grown some crops, we’ve had DPI research do their thing and we’ve got blokes interested in buying the oil. But we want to grow the straw and if we do that, we’ve got an industry’ (Jack Swann, Warmington Revival Committee).

While Jack indicated that he was prepared to refuse the funding from the Rural Plan if it was intended for ‘fuzzy warm activities’ only, this was undesirable from the perspective of both the Warmington Revival Committee and the DOTARS representative. Without Jack’s support for the Rural Plan, the potential for failure of the project was high, particularly since there were other members of the committee who had raised doubts over the community planning direction the committee was taking. Recognising that there was an opportunity to exert some influence over the planning process and gain support for his linseed/flax


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initiative, Jack subsequently attempted to counter-enrol the DOTARS expert and convince him of the need to include some practical expenditure into the proposal. To this end, he made another appointment with the expert, taking him on a tour of the region to highlight the problems and opportunities that it currently faced: And I was saying ‘well here’s a problem. Here’s the little towns; here’s all the farmers – myself, farmer X, farmer Y’. And I said ‘these little towns have got good infrastructure. We’ve got good people, good farmers, good machinery, good soil. We can grown any crop but there’s no crop worth growing’. And he more or less gave us a tick that day when we drove around in the car and, at night at the meeting … I said ‘in our application we’ve got this piece that we want to do flax marketing with’. And he said ‘Oh yes, OK. I reckon we can manage that. Put a tick there, write flax on your application’, you know, because he was the boss, see? So that was alright and we got through that and it was good. But it wasn’t in the original application because they [DOTARS] wouldn’t support any practical stuff, but after he was here for that couple of hours he agreed (Jack Swann, Warmington Revival Committee).

In order to capture the significance of this incident, both for Jack and the Warmington Revival Committee, it is necessary to add a few additional comments to Jack’s narrative. The first is to support his contention that any funding under the Rural Plan was primarily limited to what Jack called ‘fuzzy warm activities’; that is, the design and implementation of strategic plans for economic, environmental and social development. As he pointed out, assistance has generally not been available for the implementation of specific ventures such as the linseed/flax initiative (see for example, DOTARS, 1999c). On this occasion, however, Jack secured $16,000 for his project. Primarily, it was the interaction that occurred between Jack and the Federal Government representative which provided the means through which Jack could re-shape the Rural Plan application. Had the representative not made his trip to Warmington or been prepared to meet with Jack, the opportunity for Jack to influence the funding process would not have occurred. Here, it is possible to see, in practice, Foucault’s claim (1982) that any response to power is targeted more usually at the agents or instruments who are closest, since it is unlikely that Jack would have been able to exert his influence through the state network as far as the Federal Government in Canberra. Moreover, it is also interesting that, on this occasion, the translation of power involved Jack by-passing the most immediate instrument of state power – the Durham-based QDPI – because it lacked the authority to consent to any changes in a Commonwealth-funded programme. While Foucault’s observations are appropriate to Warmington, therefore, it must be qualified that, even though the immediate enemy is often the easiest to challenge, the likelihood of any profound change to result from such action may be low. It is perhaps for this reason that Jack, in lobbying the Federal Government, has had much more success in influencing the governing process than the Woomeroo Action Group through its daily negotiations with Council.

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Understanding the Norms of Conduct and Rejecting Them The final way of re-shaping power covered in this chapter can be discussed more briefly than previous techniques because neither group has followed this course of action to date. Since conforming to the discourses of self-help brings rewards to those who have learnt to do so, it is likely that both groups will continue to engage in this practice for as long as the rewards it incites are deemed worthy. Where no gains can be discerned, it is possible that their response will shift from one of acceptance – albeit with some re-shaping – to one of rejection. This type of conduct is still a form of translation, however, since it retains a capacity to transform the discourses and practices of government by forcing the state to reconsider its strategies. Given that current approaches to development view local people as equal partners of the state, it is imperative for the mode of rule to be acceptable to them. When it is rejected, it is not only necessary for new techniques to be implemented for stabilising rule (O’Malley, 1996) but, more importantly, for those techniques to rest upon consent and not coercion. Although the groups themselves were not found to act in this way, the rejection of power remains relevant to this discussion because it did occur at the individual level. Single members of a group can become disillusioned with the new direction they see the group taking and, unable to effect change from within, feel they have no alternative but to leave altogether. Even then, this course of action was only characteristic of a single member of the Warmington Revival Committee: a young farmer called Adam Bentley who explained during his interview that he had ‘completely lost interest’ in the group because it had moved away from its original aims. For him, the whole point of forming the Revival Committee had been to make the Warmington communities more viable by enhancing the profitability of agriculture. While he acknowledged that the problems facing the region were more extensive than this, he explained that the group had decided to focus on agriculture because that was where its strengths lay. Once its activities shifted towards community development, Adam felt they no longer reflected his own priorities and began to see the monthly meetings simply as a ‘waste of time’. At the time of his interview, Adam had not been a member of the group for over 12 months because, in his opinion, it had not made any improvement to Warmington during the six years of its existence. Indeed, Adam spoke disparagingly of the other members: ‘What are they doing? I really don’t know ... Talking a lot. Talking a lot’. He was also critical of the group’s partnership with the QDPI: ‘what was annoying the hell out of me is that … any money they [the Warmington Revival Committee] do get is going to get eaten up by the bureaucracy’. In his opinion, the Warmington Revival Committee was no longer ‘grassroots’ and certainly no longer the kind of organisation in which he wished to participate. When asked what would make him rejoin; what it was that he wanted from such a body, Adam identified changes he felt were needed both at the community and the government levels. First, he expressed a desire to see the Warmington Revival Committee become a lobby group that could liaise directly with federal or State government in the search for answers


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to the problems facing the region. He believed that these problems could not be addressed through ‘band aid’ treatments of community development but needed direct action from the Warmington group on such wider issues as the condition of world commodity prices and the direct return farmers receive for their crops. In order to turn the Warmington Committee into this kind of organisation, Adam then articulated the changes he wanted to see from the state: Governments [need to] show me that they’re fair dinkum about making a difference … You know, like government is telling us, for example, that we have to become accredited to do anything but that’s not going to make us any more profitable. It’s just imposing another cost onto us that we can’t afford … Look, if farmers in France were treated the way we were, they’d shoot everybody not only tip bloody oranges in the river. Governments have to show us they care; they’ve got to show me.

In effect, Adam has made a conscious decision to reject both the discourses of development and the people promulgating them by refusing to become involved in the group as it currently stands. This is not to say, of course, that his commitment to improving the viability of the region is not as strong as it has ever been, simply that he is now pursuing alternative means to achieve his goal. Indeed, Adam recognises that he cannot work alone and he has since joined another local group of cotton growers in an attempt to pursue an alternative crop for his farm. In his opinion, this new group is superior to the one in Warmington because it spends less time ‘talking about its problems’ and more time doing what it can to solve them: … the [cotton] industry knows its got problems but it gets up and says ‘These are our problems, now what are we going to do?’ The grains industry and the cattle industry here have got problems [but they say] ‘Gee, we’ve got problems. What are we going to do? We’ll talk about it for another ten years’. That’s what happened here. But these people [the cotton growers] weren’t afraid to face the problems and they weren’t afraid to get in and solve the problems. They said ‘We know we can’t solve them all but we’re going to get in and do our best’. And I got a lot of heart from that (Adam Bentley).

Translation in Practice: The Agency of the Experts Any attempt to highlight how the subjects of government retain a capacity to translate or transform power according to their will would be incomplete without discussing the human agency that exists among those who are the instruments of its exercise. Throughout the course of this book, the local Council of Woomeroo, the DPI Rural Partnership Officers from Durham and even David Carson, the farmer-turneduniversity-lecturer who initiated the formation of the Warmington Revival Committee, have been categorised as experts who are responsible for the conduct of conduct at the local level. In focusing upon the power of the local, however, so it becomes a matter of necessity, as well as ethics, to problematise the activity of government and consider the complexities and contradictions that typify the experiences of these individuals. While previous chapters showed some empathy by acknowledging that these experts could

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also be enmeshed in the networks of power, it still needs to be noted that, as active agents in their own right, the experiences of these actors cannot only be understood in terms of their relationship to the state. Indeed, they cannot be written off either as passive transmitters of state power, nor empty containers through which the relations of rule are reversed and local influence exerted. Instead, it must be acknowledged that power is not exercised simply through these experts but, more importantly, by them. They too must be conferred with the status of active agents in their own right, with a capacity to contest, negotiate and transform power as they see fit. It is well recognised that individuals working at the intersection of state and community do have the capacity to negotiate rule by making wider policies relevant to certain temporal and spatial localities (Johnston, 1997). Frequently, this is understood in terms of the struggles they encounter in trying to find a balance between implementing government imposed policies and responding to the needs of the local community (see, for example, Hinshelwood, 2001). In Chapter Six, it was suggested that these challenges have led to the adoption of various ‘coping strategies’ by local experts in their attempt to come to terms with a discursive environment that was not of their own choosing. Interpreted this way, David Carson’s ‘adding in’ exercise described on pages 108 and 109 may, more sympathetically, be understood as an attempt by David to meet both the demands of government – and consequently obtain much needed funding for the group – and the needs of the other group members to have some ownership of the Rural Plan project. In terms of Latour’s translation model (1986), therefore, such strategies may be said to transform power simply because the outcome at the level of practice now differs from what was originally intended. This is a reasonable conclusion to make, yet it overlooks the capacity of individuals working within the networks of the state to actively engage with, and reshape, the relations of power. Translation, as O’Malley (1996) reminds us, does not simply produce unanticipated shifts in the practices and outcomes of rule, but has the potential to reverse the relations of authority and ultimately re-shape the theory or discourse of government itself. Given this, attention must be paid to the various ways in which experts seek to pursue their wills and not simply the manner in which they carry out the work of the state. This more sophisticated approach to translation allows us to see that, while ‘coping’ with the new discourses of development forms one way of engaging with them, local experts working at the grass roots level also retain a capacity for more active forms of critique or contestation. Rose (1998a) reaches this same conclusion when he concurs that complicity or rejection are not the only two choices of action for those working in the field. For this reason, he encourages practitioners to adopt a more critical professional practice by ensuring they: … carry on doing one’s work to the best of one’s ability, making use of the opportunities that are available in the institutions and practices in which one operates, to maintain an awareness, to try to see outside of this structure, to see what is problematic about it, to render one’s own assumptions visible and contestable, and to stand up and say that there are some practices which we engage in with which we are not going to be complicit (Rose, 1998a: 87).


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The extent to which this is already occurring among locally-based practitioners or experts is most clearly exemplified by Chenoweth and Stehlik’s survey of human service practitioners in rural Australia (1999). In their study, Chenoweth and Stehlik found that the opportunity for practitioners to have some input into the policy-making process was inversely related to their physical distance from the central state. In spite of this, they noted a strong sense of commitment among research participants towards to their clients and communities, and a resolution that they would not accept the damaging consequences of certain policies without attempting some form of negotiation. While there were occasions when this led to an outright rejection of government policies, practitioners retained a belief that the best form of response was one that takes place from within the system. Primarily, this manifested itself in ‘behind the scenes’ activities such as explaining the effects of a new policy to the community, encouraging clients to lobby ministers and government officers, holding public meetings and providing media contacts (Chenoweth and Stehlik, 1999). The narratives of individuals responsible for the conduct of conduct in Warmington and Woomeroo support Chenoweth and Stehlik’s conclusions. Ultimately positioned as agents of the state, these individuals nevertheless identified themselves in their interviews as rural people, some with farms of their own, who are as much affected by government decisions as the communities or groups they serve. While such sentiments were expressed by most research participants working in the field of local or State government, the extent to which they may be acted upon to transform the discourses and practices of rule is best illustrated by the case of Barbara Hendry in Warmington: … they all liked Alex Rowe [from DOTARS] and I didn’t like him and I reckon I’m right because we still haven’t had a dollar. And notice I said ‘we’? Notice my language? I can’t divorce myself. I don’t think it works. I can’t help getting involved.

It is perhaps because of her attachment to the Warmington group in particular, and rural Australia more generally, that Barbara feels a need to provide more assistance to the group than her position as a facilitator or co-ordinator of its activities requires. During her interview, Barbara explained that, as Rural Partnership Officer, her role in community organisations is essentially intended to be a passive one, whereby she simply ‘walks along beside them and, when they fall, pick them up’. In practice, she said, this was untenable and she now found herself much more involved in the group than the job required. While she hinted, without giving an example, that there had been occasions when she had used her position with the state to the group’s advantage, she spoke of a mutual understanding with the group that these things would not be discussed elsewhere: You never never give a community any room to beat you with. You don’t tell them anything about how it happens. But that’s the difference because not everybody would show [community groups] the pathway because some people would abuse it. But these people have won my trust and I trust them not to drop me in it either. And they’ve got the smarts to know why (Barbara Hendry).

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Here, Barbara is clearly acting upon her own will. A self-defined ‘country girl at heart’, it is her concern for the future of rural Australia that drives her to re-shape the practices of government at the local level so that they meet the needs of rural people.2 Just as O’Malley (1996) suggests, however, her capacity to fundamentally transform rule extends beyond any attempt of negotiation as it is played out in practice. Indeed, as Barbara herself indicated, her position as a rural dweller working within the state system provides her with a unique opportunity to exert her own power and attempt to change the way Australian governments regard rural areas. In keeping with Chenoweth and Stehlik’s observations (1999), the way in which Barbara seeks to achieve this outcome is not so much through any overt rejection of existing policies as it is through subtle attempts to initiate change from within the QDPI system. For this reason, when Barbara discussed her public role as Rural Partnerships Officer in facilitating rural development initiatives – ‘I suppose we make the Minister look good’ – she also identified a covert role for herself by showing policy-makers how their decisions could impact upon people’s lives. It is worth noting here that, although Barbara was not the only government employee to express a commitment to the people and places she serves, she does appear to be the only one who has attempted to engage with policy to any serious extent. For the Mayor of Woomeroo – a fourth generation resident of Austin – it is his own desire to see Austin ‘stay alive and thrive’ that has prompted him to embrace current thinking on local development practice. In contrast to Barbara, his own strategies of translation do not appear to have extended beyond any localised attempt to make policy more relevant to the context of Woomeroo. This supports Chenoweth and Stehlik’s contention that, as the distance between practitioners and policy-makers increases, so the ability of the former to influence policy is reduced (1999). Primarily, Chenoweth and Stehlik are speaking in geographic terms, although their observations are equally valid in terms of the position of experts within the state hierarchy. While Woomeroo is much further spatially from the State government policy-making centre of Brisbane, it is also true that local government is still perceived as the bottom-tier of the governing system (Chapman and Wood, 1984) and, as a consequence, is often restricted to implementing, rather than shaping, federal or State government policies. This distance may create additional lee-way for local government by providing it with some autonomy in interpreting policy. At the same time, however, the capacity of local government to act through the system and change those policies is limited. By contrast, for Barbara Hendry, located as she is in the middle ranks of the principal agency for rural development in Queensland, the potential to re-shape the way governments approach the regeneration of Australia’s rural regions is much higher. 2 Barbara co-owns a farm with her husband outside Warmington and has nothing to gain from her work with the group apart from a personal satisfaction that she is making a difference to rural Australia more generally.


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Translation: Transforming Policy or Masking Subjection? The choices available to rural people in how they engage with the power of the state extend beyond the more straightforward notions of compliance or resistance as generally implied in the governmentality literature. As has been shown throughout this chapter, local people are not entirely powerless. They do retain some capacity for action, both in modifying the discourses of development as they are played out in practice and through their attempts to reverse the relations of rule and transform the rationalities underpinning them. In the first sense, it can be argued that both the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee have achieved some success in implementing various strategies to make self-help more meaningful and relevant to their own objectives. However, while ‘playing along’ may bring benefits to those who have the skills to do so, it cannot be assumed that such strategies have the potential to transform the way rural development is currently approached in Australia. Thus, it still remains to be seen whether these local, and often one-off, instances of agency have wider implications for the way rule is articulated. How people exercise their own power is a pertinent issue to any research that focuses on the act of government. Yet, how the state, in turn, reacts to this power and whether a modification or refinement of the techniques of rule subsequently takes place (Hindess, 1996), is presently unclear. The reason why this is difficult to fathom is because the process of translation is on-going and cannot be captured in a single moment. While it has been important to this research that the focus should be, not only upon the objectives of those who seek to govern, but equally upon those who feel its effects, it is simply not possible to trace the flow of power further and explore the outcomes of that response in terms of how the discourses and strategies of rule might come to be redefined. It is difficult to determine, therefore, just how far Jack Swann’s influence extended within the network of the state when he pressured the Canberra representative to allocate funding for the linseed/flax project in the Rural Plan application. Was it the case, for example, that the government representative returned to the Commonwealth Department of Transport and Regional Services in Canberra and insisted that the Rural Plan needed to become more flexible so that it could assist local people with implementing projects instead of being limited to strategic planning? Or, was the Department’s concession to Jack simply a response to an awkward situation? Indeed, it could have been decided that the funding criteria needed tightening to prevent any such incident from being repeated. An answer to this question may not be forthcoming, yet it is certainly worth mentioning that in June 2000 the Commonwealth Department of Transport and Regional Services replaced the Rural Plan with the new Regional Solutions Program. One of the key differences between the two schemes is the increased flexibility of Regional Solutions, which recognised that many local groups are ready to move beyond the planning stages of their projects and require assistance with the next step (DOTARS, 2000). Where the Rural Plan was designed specifically to provide funding for strategic planning, the Regional Solutions Program was much broader in

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scope and provided financial support to local industry development and local project implementation in the manner required by Jack Swann. Clearly, the relationship between the actions of the Warmington farmer and the change in government programme was not a straightforward matter of cause and effect. And yet, through various ‘chains of association’ (Donaldson et al, 2002: 211), the Regional Solutions Programme came to be formulated as a response to criticisms from other local communities that existing programmes were too prescriptive to adequately meet their needs. Hence, John Anderson, the Minister for Transport and Regional Services, openly acknowledged that the push for a change in government policy was initiated at a grassroots level and the state duly responded: This improvement in programme flexibility is a direct response to concerns of Regional Australia Summit delegates that ‘one size fits all’ programmes are not meeting local needs in regional Australia (Anderson, 2000: 1-2).

From this, it can be seen that the increased emphasis by governments on communitybased approaches to rural development does create new opportunities for local people to become involved in government decision-making and, accordingly, to demand that the resultant policies better meet their needs. Indeed, the whole ideal of a participatory democracy is based upon on the expectation that state services will be far more responsive to local needs if the very people affected by them have some input into their planning, delivery and evaluation (Butler, Rissel and Khavarpour, 1999). While some might argue that these rather ‘vague ideals’ (Stevenson and Parsloe, 1993: 6) rarely translate into little more than tokenism, it is reasonable to expect a certain commitment among governments to initiate programmes that are more, rather than less, acceptable to local people (see for example, O’Malley, 1996). If this is true, it is also reasonable to argue that translation has become a definitive feature of advanced liberal forms of government, whereby local input is not merely tolerated, but actively encouraged. Moreover, governments themselves are supporting this contention by arguing that the exercise of political power is two way: that local people are now empowered to work as partners of the state; that the state, in turn, is actively embracing local knowledge and that it is listening and responding to the needs of rural people. How much of this is a genuine commitment by the state to reconsider its policies in light of local input, however, and how much is simply what O’Malley (1996: 316) calls the ‘selective valorisation’ of the more desirable aspects of that input at the expense of others, now needs to be explored. To put it another way, the question that remains is this: has a certain degree of translation been built into the activity of government because it is seen by the state as an unavoidable, but nevertheless manageable, outcome of the process of governing free citizens? Moreover, it may be that the techniques for building active citizenship have the potential to create, as well as limit, the possibilities for human agency (Giroux, 1988), thereby enhancing the opportunity for rule to be challenged. For this reason, it needs to be asked whether a certain amount of contestation by local groups and individuals is tolerated by the state because their small victories


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pose no real threat to the existing social order. Is there, perhaps, some ‘factoring in’ of potential challenges to the discourses and outcomes of rule and some concession to the demands of local people because, as Dreyfus and Rabinow (1982: 169) might argue, to concede in this way ‘hides the real working of power’? From this interpretation, the instances of local agency in Woomeroo and Warmington where government decisions were challenged or contested may need to be reconsidered simply as cases in which the state was willing to meet their demands because doing so posed few threats to its overarching ambitions. For example, in the opinion of the Woomeroo Action Group, one of its greatest achievements since formation has been its success in lobbying the Queensland State Government to reinstate Austin’s railway and courthouse services. While this clearly demonstrates the ability of local people to collectively mobilise themselves against governments in an attempt to influence them, it is wrong to suggest that, on this occasion, the people of Woomeroo ‘won’ while the state ‘lost’. To begin with, it must be acknowledged that it was a different government, working in a different political climate, which agreed to reinstate some of Austin’s services during the late 1990s to the one that had that originally withdrawn them a decade earlier. At the time, the unprecedented success of Pauline Hanson’s One Nation Party in the Queensland State Government elections of 1998 forced Queensland’s mainstream political parties to reassess many of their existing assumptions about non-metropolitan areas and revoke some of their more unpopular policies (see Lockie, 2000). Furthermore, Austin is not the only town in Queensland where this kind of turnaround has occurred. Indeed, it must be remembered that the state is a political site and the possibility remains that some decisions will always be politically motivated or that some pork-barrelling will take place. Additionally, the return of Austin’s Clerk of the Courts did not occur without conditions being attached that still have the potential to place the courthouse under threat again in the future. As the new Clerk explained during his interview, the legal services provided by the courthouse will only remain in Austin for as long as local residents use them on a regular basis. At the time of his interview, he had only been in the job for three weeks, yet he considered his services under-utilised and already under threat. Should the courthouse be removed for a second time, it could easily be argued that the people of Austin were warned of the situation, that the decision is clearly justifiable and that any attempt to reverse it a second time would be pointless. A similar conclusion could equally be made about Jack Swann’s success in pressuring the Commonwealth Department of Transport and Regional Services to provide funding for his linseed/flax project. After all, the sum of money allocated to the project amounted to just $16,000. This could easily be interpreted as a gesture by the Department to keep Jack happy and to prevent him from rejecting the funding package as he threatened to do. However, O’Malley (1996: 323) rejects the argument that resistance can be neutralised in this way, arguing that those who follow this line of reasoning are forced to accept ‘an omnipotence of rule which is neither evidenced in history nor takes up much room in the governmentality approach’. To follow such reasoning, he argues, would be to assume the more

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acceptable or non-threatening elements of local action can be readily identified in the first place and, further, that they can then be isolated from the undesirable forms of conduct that have the capacity to unbalance rule. Not only is this rarely such an unproblematic activity, he says, but it would also require us to consider the power of local people as ‘never really politically challenging or consequential’ (O’Malley, 1996: 323). Nevertheless, the potential for each instance of human agency in Warmington and Woomeroo to fundamentally challenge the structures of inequity and disadvantage that characterise existing approaches to rural development must be appraised. To a certain extent, the possibility appears a dubious one. If, as McHoul and Grace (1993) and Rose (1999) suggest, local protagonists do not hope to find solutions at some vague future date but look, instead, at the small, petty concerns of the here and now, it is unlikely that such immediate demands will lead to the profound and long-term social change that is required. Yet, Rose rejects this idea, arguing that feminism, operating as it does under the slogan ‘the personal is political’, has shown how ‘such molecular and minor engagement … can connect up with a whole series of other circuits and cause them to … reconfigure in wholly unexpected ways’ (1998b: 280). In spite of this, it has already been demonstrated that the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee are making the decision to ‘play along’ with, rather than reject, their subjection because it allows them to access the funding and support that they have come to depend on. While such forms of conduct do not preclude the freedom of the governed to transform these norms in the process, the underlying principle of self-help itself is unchallenged and the government of local conduct continues. For Rose, in his earlier work (1993: 298), this outcome is not surprising given that he sees the ‘antagonistic relation between liberty and government [as] an intrinsic part of what we have come to know as freedom’. If this is true, then perhaps the greatest potential for a genuinely alternative form of action lies, as Ife (1997) suggests, in the marginalised communities that are by-passed by the mainstream economy. Already deemed to lack the aptitude to be productive and exercise their citizenship responsibly, it is possible that their capacity for action in political terms of obedience has not been subdued and a more profound form of change may eventuate. Conclusion: The Potential for Action? The conclusions for this chapter are tentative and contain some apparently contradictory elements. On the one hand, it is argued that rural Australia is not the site of powerlessness and victimisation that the literature often seems to suggest, or that the objects of government are as compliant in their subjection as certain interpretations of the governmentality literature imply. On the other hand, it supports the contention of mainstream governmentality approaches that the act of governing an advanced liberal democracy has been set up in such a way that, even when the


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capacity of local people to engage with power is enhanced, the opportunity for their actions to pose any serious challenge to the existing social order is not. By and large, both the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group are playing along with the contemporary discourses and practices of rural development and, in doing so, reinforce them by being seen as doing well. Individual acts of negotiation and redefinition are taking place, as this chapter has sought to highlight. Yet, on the whole, they are initiated from within the system and remain, as Foucault (1980c) observes, specific to local conditions and particular needs, and generally piecemeal. Should more local organisations follow Adam Bentley’s example, however, and begin to reject the current approach outright, then it is possible that some rather more serious reconsideration by the state may be required. Alternatively, there is the potential for those communities that are by-passed in the race for funding and other resources to mobilise themselves and collectively engage in a more radical critique of a system from which they are currently excluded.


Chapter 8

Conclusion: Implications for Rural Development By the late 1990s, the economic and social decline of many rural towns and regions in Australia was significant enough to prompt the Federal Government to call an emergency summit. More than 282 delegates, hand-picked from State, federal and local government agencies, community and industry groups, rural development bodies, educational institutions and national and international think-tanks, gathered for three days to discuss the problems and opportunities facing rural Australia, and to identify ways to address them. The purpose of the Summit, as the then Deputy Prime Minister, John Anderson, was quick to point out, was certainly not for delegates to come up with a plan for governments to tackle rural decline (Marney, 1999). Indeed, it was not considered the duty of governments to undertake this task, but rather the responsibility of rural people themselves. In keeping with governmental thinking at the time, therefore, the clear message to emerge from the Summit was that rural Australians must identify their own solutions to the difficulties they faced via strategies of community self-help and bottom-up, endogenous forms of development. To this extent, the discourses of rural development in Australia strongly echoed those of Europe, the US and Britain where the virtues of self-help were similarly being lauded. In Australia, at least, the turn of the century represented a particular moment when it seemed that political authorities were making serious attempts to address what many saw as a rural crisis (Lawrence, 1987; Halpin and Guilfoyle, 2004; Hogg, Carrington and Lee, 2006). A rural backlash, manifested through heightened levels of rural activism and the meteoric rise of Pauline Hanson’s Once Nation Party, coupled with public expressions of concerns by church and welfare groups about the worsening situation in many rural areas, placed increasing pressure on Australian governments to take notice of the needs and demands of rural Australians. In the wake of the Summit, therefore, the Australian Federal Government designed a raft of new programmes for rural development that offered increased funding for areas facing greatest disadvantage. It also revised existing schemes in an attempt to make them more responsive to local needs, and pledged large sums of money toward the development of ambitious infrastructural projects such as an inland railway. Private corporations also came to the party by signing up to a philanthropic trust fund, which was designed to act as a conduit for local initiative. In spite of these measures, little has changed in Australian rural policy over the last decade. If anything, the events that transformed international and domestic

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politics since September 2001 pushed rural issues off the priority agenda as political leaders become more preoccupied with border protection, the War on Terror and international alliances. Neither has there been any attempt to slow down the pace of market reform in Australia despite evidence that economic restructuring has been hugely detrimental to many farms and associated rural communities (Lockie and Bourke, 2001; McManus and Pritchard, 2000a; Gray and Lawrence, 2001). Instead, there has been a continued pursuit of free market conditions, resulting in a growing number of primary industries facing deregulation and a corresponding number of farmers being offered exit payments if they are unable to be competitive in the new economic environment. Few countries have dismantled their protectionist agenda with the same zeal, and Australia now finds itself competing, at a disadvantage, in a world market that has become ‘distorted’ by the export subsidies of other nations. In 2004, for example, the Producer Subsidy Estimate – that is, the level of funding transferred from consumers and taxpayers to agricultural producers, expressed as a percentage of gross farm income – amounted to only four percent for Australian producers compared to 68 percent in both Switzerland and Norway (Commonwealth Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, 2006). More broadly, the introduction of a new goods and services tax (GST) in Australia in 2000 has also impacted more heavily upon rural dwellers than upon their urban counterparts, given that the price of goods and services has historically been higher in rural areas anyway. Finally, the push to privatise previously government-run services has also maintained momentum, and the final sale of the partially privatised state-owned telecommunications company, Telstra, is also imminent. Many of the job losses that are likely to arise once Telstra becomes a fully privatised corporation are anticipated to occur in non-metropolitan areas (McManus and Pritchard, 2000b). One other constant over the last two decades has been the extent to which Australian rural development policy has been underpinned by a philosophy of selfhelp. This is in spite of any changes in political leadership that have occurred, which suggests that self-help is popular among those of all political persuasions. Looking further afield, it is also clear that while there are obvious policy differences between countries on a range of issues, there is widespread agreement that when it comes to developing rural areas, the promotion of self-help strategies remains preferential to top-down government control. Yet, this is where the similarity ends. Where countries such as those in Europe have accompanied the ideology of self-help with significant levels of institutional and financial support, others, such as Australia, have adopted a more liberal approach towards self-help, believing that a combination of market forces and grassroots effort will provide the required solutions to the rural downturn. In both Europe and Australia, this promotion of self-help in rural, and other policy, fields has been interpreted by analysts as part of a broader shift towards new forms of governing that rely less upon the formal authorities of the state and more upon the increased involvement of local citizens in the planning and delivery of services. While some authors have been understandably critical of these moves – suggesting that they represent an attempt by governments to offload their fiscal responsibilities (Sher and Sher, 1994; Murdoch, 1997) – more recent interpretations have sought to

Conclusion: Implications for Rural Development

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examine the complexity of these new governing arrangements. Rather than seeing self-help as symptomatic of a laissez-faire attitude among political authorities towards their rural citizens, questions are now being raised about whether, and in what ways, political power continues to be exercised through, and upon, local selfhelp efforts. It is this kind of reasoning that has underpinned the aims of this book. The purpose of this closing chapter is to return to the questions posed in Chapter One about how we might make sense of the rise of self-help in contemporary rural policy. Following that, it considers the implications of these trends for the future well-being of rural citizens and communities, and suggest that a shift in policy direction is necessary if the economic and social well-being of rural areas is to be secured. Since these debates have been empirically grounded in the Australian context, the conclusions from this work are most relevant to the Australian situation, as well as to other countries such as the US where self-help has been badged with a similar neoliberal mentality. Nevertheless, the insights gained from the Australian case are broadly applicable and perhaps serve as a lesson to all nations where discourses of self-help are prevalent. In turning to the research questions identified at the beginning of this book, it was asked: how is rural development governed when the advanced liberal democracies of the western world preach the freedom of the human subject? To what ends are contemporary forms of self-help directed in the context of rural development? By what means does this act of government take place? What effects does this new form of rule have upon rural areas of the advanced world? And, finally, how is power exercised by rural citizens in such a way that they might challenge, resist and reshape the discourses and practices of self-help according to their own objectives? The first four of these questions are addressed below. Throughout this book, it has been suggested that the emergence of self-help within contemporary discourses of rural development cannot be understood in terms of the abandonment of rural people by a weakened nation state, but rather as part of a broader shift towards an advanced liberal mode of rule. While it is the case that responsibility for the planning and delivery of services formerly provided by the state is increasingly being devolved to local citizens, this does not necessarily mean that they are free to pursue their own individualistic desires at will. Instead, as governmentality theorists posit, some form of political intervention continues to be required to ensure individuals are conducting themselves in a way that is deemed appropriate (Barry, Osborne and Rose, 1996). Since liberal forms of rule emphasise the freedom of civil society from state control, and the empowerment of rural citizens to advance their own solutions to the rural crisis, governments are faced with the challenge of governing rural society without destroying its apparent freedom or autonomy. As Chapter Two discussed in some detail, this challenge is overcome through the implementation of what Foucault (1978) describes as regulatory and disciplinary mechanisms of objectification and subjectification. These are designed to create active, self-governing, but politically docile, citizens who ‘freely’ choose

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to align their conduct with the political ambitions of an advanced liberal rationality of rule. Second, in the sphere of rural development, these ambitions primarily revolve around the production of a profitable and financially self-reliant rural sector, which fosters its competitive advantage in the global economy through value-adding and niche marketing. As we have seen, this kind of thinking is especially prevalent in Australia (see also Duff and Tonts, 2000), yet the pressure upon the European Union to retreat from its protectionist policies, and the increased emphasis upon fostering innovation in the LEADER+ programme at the expense of supporting more disadvantaged communities, may well see a more market-oriented approach being adopted there in the future. The rationale behind this policy trajectory is that, given the unstoppable forces of globalisation, rural industries and associated communities have little alternative but to accept the inevitability of change and take the necessary steps towards adjustment. That some industries and rural regions have followed this route of successful adjustment and are now engaging, on their own terms, in lucrative world markets, lends support to the view that this is the only path towards a sustainable rural future. As Chapters Four and Five revealed, therefore, any sort of action from those seeking to change their situation of economic and social disadvantage is unacceptable. Criticism of, or resistance against, the push towards deregulation, privatisation and rural restructuring are eschewed on the basis that attempts to halt globalisation are as futile as trying to push back the waves. Indeed, such action would be counter-productive given the benefits that flow to those who are prepared to embrace global trade networks and find their place within them. Conversely, those who cannot, or will not, make the necessary adjustments are held personally responsible for the continued decline of their industries and communities and are excluded from further assistance. The overall effect is that alternative remedies to the rural crisis are not to be considered and the social wellbeing of rural dwellers is marginalised in the face of techniques that seek to improve the performance of the rural economy. Third, the way in which this agenda is promoted within self-help strategies of rural development is through the implementation of a range of discursive and practical mechanisms that seek to align the attitudes and behaviours of rural people with the socio-political objectives of political authorities (Miller and Rose, 1990). Where Chapter Four predominantly focused upon the discursive mechanisms that ‘seek to limit, define and normalize … that which people should do, can do and thus do’ (Clegg, 1989: 156), Chapter Five provided a detailed analysis of the support and advisory structures that train rural people in the art of this particular kind of self-help. Here, it was suggested that programmes of capacity building, such as the QDPI’s Building Rural Leaders Program and the Positive Rural Futures Conference, operate as governmental technologies of discipline and regulation through which the conduct of those seeking to initiate their own programmes of development can be shaped more directly. Held at various points around rural Queensland, the governmental function of Building Rural Leaders and Positive Rural Futures is enhanced because they target themselves at specific rural populations who, by virtue


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of their participation, are already open to the idea of self-help. At the same time, it has been shown how the disciplinary and regulatory effects of these programmes remain concealed as, increasingly, they become regarded as a voluntary and highly beneficial service to the rural community. Fourth, and finally, it has been found that the relationship between the state and the individual is mediated, in practice, by a hierarchical layer of experts who perform the activity of government on the state’s behalf. These experts range from charismatic, national and international authorities who motivate rural people with passionate and inspiring tales of how bottom-up development works best, to locallybased agents of the state who are employed to provide direct forms of support and assistance to self-help groups. At all levels, the presence of the expert is highly significant to understanding how contemporary forms of government take place. Indeed, it has been a key finding that current strategies of rural development are set up in such a way that local self-help initiatives are unlikely to succeed unless the assistance of experts is sought as a matter of course. This was demonstrated quite clearly in Chapter Six where members of the Warmington Revival Committee and the Woomeroo Action Group acknowledged the extent to which they have come to rely on the QDPI and the Woomeroo Shire Council for in-kind assistance, funding advice, political contacts and the general motivation to keep going. At the same time, these relationships of government also provide a direct means through which political power can be deployed to ensure there is an alliance between the interests and objectives of the groups and those of state agencies. This involves, not simply the kind of development opportunities pursued by local groups, but also the way the groups themselves operate. While there is a very strong push towards governmentcommunity partnerships in the realm of rural development, it has been shown that there are only certain kinds of (self-governing) groups with which governmental authorities are prepared to work. Implications for Rural Development: Competition not Collaboration There are a number of implications emerging from these findings that now need to be considered. Useful though it may be to demonstrate how rural development is being governed, it is insufficient to do so without considering what this might mean for the people and places concerned. That state agencies still play a more direct role in schemes of self-help than formerly acknowledged is only significant insofar as the effects of that intervention upon the future well-being of country towns and regions can be assessed. For example, in places such as Austin, one might easily conclude that the relationships of rule established between the Woomeroo Action Group and the state, via the local Shire Council, is having a positive effect upon the town. Where, once, Austin was more likely to appear in media reports of dying or declining country towns, now it features regularly in accounts of strong, self-reliant communities that have successfully managed to turn themselves around through local initiative and enterprising action. With its new tourism and value-adding industries,

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Austin joins a host of other country towns in Australia and elsewhere that are cited as living testimony that self-help is indeed working to reverse the process of rural decline. A number of rural industries are similarly carving out a successful future for themselves based on their ability to meet the demands of export (niche) markets. Most notable in Australia is the wine industry, which has consistently increased its export earnings to reach $2.7 billion for the years 2004 to 2005 (Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2006). At face value, therefore, it would seem that the best policy direction for Australian governments is to continue the current trajectory of seeking out a stronger, more selfreliant and internationally competitive, rural economy. Moreover, if achieving this objective requires higher levels of government intervention than one might anticipate with a philosophy of self-help, what does it matter when the positive outcomes speak for themselves? The problem arises, however, when one assesses this approach to rural development in terms of its ability to effectively secure the well-being of rural dwellers on a wider scale. While some places are successfully managing to harness themselves to the funding, resources or support mechanisms that facilitate self-help, the competitive nature of market access and funding provision means this will inevitably will occur at the expense of other towns or regions that are pursuing same tourist dollars, grant schemes and niche markets (Goodwin and Painter, 1996: 646). This has the potential to create a situation which Haughton, in his discussion of British community economic development in the 1980s, terms interlocality competition, whereby different localities engage in ‘beggar thy neighbour strategies to attract inward investment’ (1999b: 226). In spite of the insights gained from the British experience of over 20 years ago, this kind of competition continues to exist in rural Australia where a certain degree of reluctance to share resources between neighbouring groups continues to be fostered by the neoliberal environment. Alston (2002: 100) concurs with this view, observing that: Using principles of managerialism and privatisation, government has created distrust among organisations competing for scarce funds, disillusionment amongst staff suffering from overwork and under-funding and restricted access in rural areas as service placement is determined around market principles rather than critical need.

At best, the outcome of this process is a zero-sum mode of development rather than an improvement in economic and social well-being on a wider scale (Tonts and Jones, 1996; Tonts, 2000). However, since many rural communities are entering this competition with differing levels of skills and resources to begin with, the most likely scenario will be a growing divergence between rural ‘boom towns’ and the ‘dying’ country towns that cannot or will not follow their example. One of the key paradoxes – and criticisms – of the self-help approach is that communities facing greatest disadvantage are usually the ones that already have the lowest levels of economic, human and social capital and are often the least capable of relying upon their own efforts to improve their situation. Yet contemporary discourses of development not only demand this of them, but do so precisely at a time when local skills and resources are being eroded by out-migration (particularly of skilled workers),


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service rationalisation and rural industry decline. Those with any get-up-and-go to try and change these circumstances are frequently the ones who are best placed to leave a declining town and seek improve job prospects and lifestyle opportunities elsewhere. Those remaining, therefore, are usually the most impoverished groups in rural society – the poor, ageing and unemployed – who lack such capacity. Such pressures are further compounded by the increasing demands that are now placed upon local volunteers to establish corporate-minded community organisations as vehicles for community action; to formulate strategic plans for the future development of their communities; and to submit applications for competitive grants to fund their work. These kinds of activities require a certain level of skills and knowledge that may not be present in communities experiencing economic and social decline. Indeed, as the cases of Woomeroo and Warmington demonstrate, there are clear ‘success factors’ for rural development in the current neoliberal climate: well-connected rural leaders, a strong relationship with government, marketable resources from which tourism and other new industries can be fostered, grant writing skills, and a clear understanding of, and ability to play by, the rules governing the allocation of external resources. As Tonts (2000) points out, only some communities can be winners in this environment, and it is somewhat obvious that communities with a pre-existing capacity to respond to these market-driven demands are more likely to develop at the expense of those in which such skills are lacking. And while governments may celebrate the achievements of successful communities and reward them with additional funding and resources for their ‘can-do’ attitude, those that are most disadvantage receive neither the recognition, nor the assistance, that is needed most. The extent to which this competitive and inherently individualistic doctrine informs contemporary approaches to rural regeneration is often obscured by the ideals of community and social capital that underpin the self-help model. While the mechanisms for development are clearly market oriented, the language tends to be far more collective and identifies community cohesion and collaborative action as necessary ingredients for successful development. Yet, in the contest between market competition and community well-being, the former clearly prevails. As Chapter Three argued in some detail, the reappearance of community within discourses of economic development has not induced a shift towards more equitable strategies of development based on principles of social justice and social inclusion. Instead, community action appears to be a means through which rural groups and individuals can pool resources and improve their competitive standing against others chasing the same goals. All that has occurred, therefore, is a straightforward shift from competition between individuals to competition between groups (see Cox, 1995: 35). That such groups are often exclusive rather than inclusive is less important to those who benefit from this state of affairs than the need for them to be seen as representative of the wider community. Indeed, Chapter Six showed the various strategies adopted by the Woomeroo Action Group and the Warmington Revival Committee that enable them to maintain this appearance and receive the financial assistance they have come to rely on. For as long as these strategies continue to

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work, places such as Woomeroo will be heralded as self-help success stories and the community economic development model itself will remain unchallenged. Translating Self-help So far, the conclusions presented here have been relatively consistent with a Foucauldian analytics of government since they highlight the discursive and practical mechanisms that have been established to shape self-help initiatives towards certain socio-political objectives. The effect of this ‘action at a distance’ is the pursuit of strategies that enhance the well-being of the rural economy while simultaneously embedding rural people into a state of subjection to the vagaries of the market. While these conclusions remain significant and point to the sense of marginalisation and powerlessness that is felt in many rural areas, it has been a key finding of Chapter Seven that a certain degree of power and agency continues to exist among the people who live in these areas. In this sense, the people of Woomeroo and Warmington are not the docile bodies described by Foucault in Discipline and Punish (1977a), but active agents who are capable of engaging with, and modifying, the practices and effects of their subjection. These findings do not make the sense of powerlessness experienced by those who are suffering from the decline of their industries and communities any less tangible, simply that their experiences are qualified and complicated by additional factors which further analysis must seek to explain (Opie, 1990). It is at this point that conventional governmentality accounts tend to fall short. In previous works on governing rural development, few extend their conclusions beyond a straightforward observation that many bottom-up approaches are actually top-down as decision making powers remain within the central bureaucracies of the state (Murdoch and Abram, 1998; Ward and McNicholas, 1998a). Yet this does not necessarily mean that, in some instances, groups or individuals cannot act upon their own interests to engage with and displace the will of the state. Nor does it deny the possibility that, even when rural people do seem compliant in their subjection, it is still an active response to power if it is driven by their needs and not something that has been imposed upon them. This leads us to consider the final question raised at the beginning of this book: how is power exercised by rural citizens in such a way that they might challenge, resist and reshape the discourses and practices of self-help according to their own objectives? In answering this, the most visible acts of resistance are the unsuppressed incidents of protest or political lobbying that continue to take place in Woomeroo whenever the future of a local service or industry is threatened. Additionally, however, are the more subtle forms of local power in Woomeroo and Warmington whereby the discursive practices of self-help are transformed rather than challenged. Largely, this occurs through a conscious decision by group members to ‘play along’ with the demands of state agencies, precisely because they can see the benefits of doing so. At other times, they are not prepared to be quite so compliant in their government and seek to effect change by pressuring local experts to represent


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their interests. When these tactics do not work, individual members may refuse the demands made upon them, thereby forcing political authorities into a position where they need to reconsider their own strategies of rule. Similar tactics are also evident among those responsible for governing the conduct of community groups at the local level. Indeed, rather than seeing the locally-based experts as passive transmitters of state power – or even as vehicles through which local influence can be exerted – these individuals should also be conferred with the status of active agents, and shown to pursue their own goals from within the networks of power in which they are enmeshed. That Barbara Hendry, located in the middle ranks of a Queensland State Government department, appears to have a greater capacity to engage with State or federal government policy than the Mayor of Woomeroo, is significant and suggests that further research into the experiences of these individuals is required. These findings have implications for the way we think about power and government in rural areas. Chapter Seven, for example, discussed how critical accounts of the rural crisis have been influential in revealing the depth of powerlessness and despair that exists in rural areas facing decline. While it cannot be denied that many rural people are finding life difficult, this research contests some of the existing assumptions about those places. Most notable is its challenge to a common assumption that rural Australia comprises a residual population that only stays because of a powerlessness to do otherwise. To focus solely on their despair and isolation, and to portray them as powerless victims of change who have no alternative but to watch their communities die around them, overlooks an important element of local agency. It also ignores the countless activities occurring in rural areas where local people are challenging government decisions and trying to effect positive change in their towns and communities. Celebrations of local agency and empowerment are crucial to the sociological enterprise because they reveal, rather than hide, the possibilities that exist for change and contestation. More attention needs to be paid to this possibility without, of course, regressing into inspirational, but naïve, accounts of how declining communities can turn themselves around through proactive action and an entrepreneurial spirit. Evidently, the situation is much more complex than either of these approaches acknowledge and more sophisticated analyses are needed to capture this complexity more fully. An Alternative Direction? Policy Options for a Sustainable Future It should be clear by now that the self-help model of development in Australian rural policy is incapable of providing a secure future for all but the most resourcerich and conveniently-placed localities. For the remainder – the ones that are unable or unwilling to accept there are opportunities to be gained from a competitive world economy – the likely trajectory is one of continued decline, marginalisation and exclusion from mainstream society. In light of such a depressing scenario, it is imperative that alternative policies for rural regeneration are formulated which

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seek to avoid the polarising tendencies of the neoliberal market model. What these policies might look like, however, is a matter of much debate and there is no single answer. Moreover, convincing governments of the need for a new direction is unlikely to be easy, particularly when the rationalities of the current approach align political ambitions so neatly with the ostensible interests of rural dwellers while simultaneously ensuring governmental responsibility and blame are minimised. In spite of this, the task of considering alternatives remains a necessary one. In the remainder of this chapter, two alternative models are explored briefly which, combined, provide some policy guidance for those seeking to create a more equitable and sustainable approach to rural development. The first approach – known as an ‘entrepreneurial model of economic development’ – is formulated by Beer, Maude and Pritchard in their book Developing Australia’s Regions (2003). Of the two, it lies closest to the existing programme of development presently adopted in Australia and, to this extent, is likely to be the most acceptable to political authorities because its implementation does not require any fundamental change in governmental thinking. In a language that is, by now, familiar, Beer et al maintain that market forces continue to be the best means of generating and distributing development opportunities, leaving governments with the task of helping rural areas capture those opportunities by facilitating export markets, encouraging small business start ups, fostering industry networks, supporting leadership and building social capital. While this approach might seem to offer little in the way of policy advancement, it does improve upon existing approaches in that while the methods of development remain constant, the scale of operations would expand considerably. Critical of the ‘very modest’ (2003: 258) grants presently allocated to economic development, and the short-term cycles of existing funding programmes, Beer et al identify three key areas where an expansion of government activity is required. First, the provision of larger funding pools that would allow rural development bodies to access money for infrastructure development rather than just seed grants for feasibility studies or strategic planning initiatives. In Europe, infrastructure projects have been a central component of rural development funding for a number of years, yet the provision of such services is all the more difficult in Australia due to the problem of distance and low population density in rural areas (Duff and Tonts, 2000). Nevertheless, as Duff and Tonts also point out, it is well recognised that the development of infrastructure is one of the most important contributors to improved economic and social well-being in rural areas, and additional funds are quite evidently needed in this area. Beer et al then go on to suggest that an increase in this type of funding should also be accompanied by an extension of the time frame in which financial and other forms of government support are provided for selfhelp activities. The longevity of development projects is frequently undermined by the political cycles of funding provision in Australia, with programmes often being replaced every two to three years when elections are imminent. Long-term planning becomes difficult in such an environment as development workers are appointed on temporary contracts and self-help efforts are channelled towards reactive treatments for the symptoms of decline rather than solutions to the underlying problems. This


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is illustrated clearly by the example of capacity building in Australia which, rather than being viewed as the long-term learning approach that it should, has generally been applied as a ‘quick and relatively inexpensive remedy’ (Dibden and Cheshire, 2005: 221) through one-off motivational events such as Positive Rural Futures or week-long workshops like Building Rural Leaders. Recognising the limitations of these arrangements, Beer et al suggest that leaders should be supported and trained over a matter of years rather than weeks. Such moves would be far more equitable and inclusive than present capacity building arrangements, which, as Chapter Five demonstrated, have a tendency to attract rural citizens whose leadership skills are already sufficiently developed, while failing to provide the ongoing support required for those who do not have a history of such involvement (see also Shortall and Shucksmith, 2001). The final way of ‘scaling-up’ rural development proposed by Beer et al is a shift from locally-based strategies of action to what they call ‘genuine regional development initiatives’ (2003: 258). Although regional development has a long – albeit intermittent – history in Australia, recent years have witnessed a growing interest in the regional level as the most appropriate scale of activity for development projects, not only in Australia, but also in the UK and the US (see for example, Dore and Woodhill, 1999; Jones and McLeod, 1999; Deas and Ward, 2000; Gray and Lawrence, 2001; Wheeler, 2002; Everingham, Cheshire and Lawrence, 2006). This resurgence of a regional mentality has been driven partly by natural resource management issues in Australia, amid concerns that the effectiveness of local activities are often undermined by unsustainable management practices elsewhere in the region (Barr and Cary, 2000), as well as doubts among policymakers over the efficiency of locality-based programmes more generally. While it is possible that regional cooperation may help overcome the tendency for competition among neighbouring localities, this has not been the motivating force behind the regional renaissance, particularly since enhanced competition is seen by governmental authorities as a virtue rather than a problem. Instead, policymakers have condemned the ‘duplication, overlap, fragmentation and … misallocation of resources’ that arise from a lack of coordination between local development efforts (House of Representative Standing Committee on Primary Industries and Regional Services, 2000: 26). What this implies however, is that the principles of market competition will continue to guide regional development efforts but the level at which rural citizens compete will be ‘upscaled’. Existing disparities between rural areas in terms of their economic and social well-being will not be addressed. Indeed, Beer et al readily admit that their proposal will be detrimental to some rural areas – either, they argue, because they ‘choose to shun innovation’ or because they ‘may be in such a parlous position that halting their decline may be too difficult and expensive’ (2003: 259). Precisely what will happen to those places is not clear in the authors’ discussion. Yet, if we follow Ife’s prognosis (1997), we can readily assume that they will continue to be bypassed by the global economic system and become further marginalised and excluded from the economic and social rewards that it yields as even greater levels of government resources are channelled into

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places that demonstrate an entrepreneurial capacity. Clearly, then, an entrepreneurial model of economic development is just as likely to reinforce many of the problems facing rural areas as it is to offer a solution – in spite of the virtues of calling for an expansion in the scale of government support. Increased levels of government support into rural areas – either through self-help measures or otherwise – will not go far enough in tackling decline and marginalisation unless they are underpinned by an alternative paradigm to the neoliberal market orientated approach. It is for this reason that some authors reject the market as an appropriate basis upon which to allocate resources and suggest, instead, that rural development should be founded upon principles of equity and social justice so that government support ends up in places of greatest need (Haughton, 1999b). Moreover, although rural disadvantage stems partly from economic marginalisation, it is also symptomatic of a much broader sense of social exclusion that cannot be addressed through economic measures alone (Cheers, 1998; Shortall and Shucksmith, 2001; Moseley, 2003). Drawing upon a traditional community development approach, Shortall and Shucksmith present a second, alternative mode of development that pays due consideration to social, as well as economic, well-being and addresses them in an integrated manner. They argue that the relationship between economic and social development is frequently seen in rather linear terms, with the result that social concerns have been subsumed within the dominant agenda of market growth – either by being treated as a necessary precursor to the ultimate goal of economic development, or as something that can be achieved, in a trickle-down manner, through market forces. Similarly, Moseley (2003) suggests that although stimulating the local economy is central to rural development, this alone is insufficient in overcoming the broader problem in rural areas whereby rural citizens face a lack of access to a whole range of basic rights or opportunities including affordable and adequate housing, education, training, childcare, information, and essential services and facilities (such as shops, healthcare and transport). In countries such as Australia where rural areas are often sparsely populated, providing rural people with access to the kinds of services that many urban dwellers take for granted has always been a been challenge for governments. This has become even more so in recent decades following the advent of economic rationalism in contemporary government thinking, which has lead to ‘inefficient’ services being downgraded, centralised or privatised. While rural people have attempted to find novel solutions to the withdrawal of essential services such as banks, post offices, doctors, aged care facilities and education, it is in the provision of these kinds of services that the scale of government activity needs to be expanded in the manner that Beer et al describe. However, tackling social exclusion is not simply a matter of governments extending their funding programmes to include initiatives for the provision of human and social services alongside those for economic development. Indeed, one of the defining elements of social exclusion is the lack of power experienced by the socially excluded to influence events that affect their well-being (Moseley, 2003). Any attempt to foster social inclusion, therefore, should incorporate strategies to enhance the capacity of rural people to control their own destinies, identify their own


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solutions to the problems they face and – perhaps most importantly – provide them with the material and political resources to do so (Buller and Wright, 1990; Shortall and Shucksmith, 2001). Of course, many governmental authorities would claim that this is precisely what they are doing by promoting self-help in rural areas, and would, no doubt, point to the countless capacity building activities they fund as evidence of their committment to empower their rural citizens. Yet, it has already been shown, both in this book and elsewhere, that advanced liberal ideas of empowerment bear little resemblance to earlier efforts to empower citizens by equipping them with the skills and confidence to challenge dominant ideas, structures and institutions. Instead, as we have seen, community capacity building is inherently apolitical (Mowbray, 2005) by virtue of the way it suppresses, rather than encourages, critical engagement with government policy. What is needed, therefore, is an approach to rural development that provides increased levels of government support and intervention to rural areas in the manner proposed by Beer et al (2003), but which also treats economic and social development with equal priority, allocates funding on the basis of need rather than existing capacity, and demonstrates a genuine commitment to the empowerment of rural people. There are a range of ways that governments might begin to pursue this new development agenda should they wish to make such goals a priority. Following Gray and Lawrence (2001), Haughton (1999b) Beer et al (2003) and others, these measures include: •

•

•

•

•

The provision of funding for project development (including infrastructure provision) rather than simply for project trials, business plan development or feasibility studies; The movement away from short-term remedies towards the provision of continuing support in the longer term. This relates not only to the longevity of government funding schemes, but also to the provision of ongoing funds for specific development projects as well as for long-term capacity building activities; Fostering what Haughton (1999b) calls ‘geographical equity’ in rural areas as a way of overcoming the beggar thy neighbour mentality of the market model. This does not necessarily require a shift to regional forms of action, but certainly entails the creation of more ethical relationships between rural localities so that governments and communities consider the external impacts of their decisions upon neighbouring areas; New initiatives for health, education, transport and the environment, and new models of service delivery to ensure resources in these areas are allocated on the basis of need; Community capacity building programmes that enhance local political activity and empower marginalised communities to secure the most assistance from government and private investment. One way of achieving this is, as Gray and Lawrence (2001) suggest, by establishing regional higher educational institutions (both universities and technical colleges) in rural areas along the

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•


lines of United States land-grant institutions, which can foster development partnerships, training and interaction; A genuine devolution of decision-making power to the local level including the provision of resources to give effect to that power (Gray and Lawrence, 2001).

It is clear from this brief outline that self-help would continue to be central to this new approach to rural development, yet it would be quite a different mode of selfhelp to the governmentalized form that has been the subject of debate in this book. In its present form, self-help represents a particular discursive practice of government that, in expounding the freedom of rural citizens from government intervention, continues to secure their subjection to the socio-political objectives of late capitalism through various technologies of discipline and regulation. What is being advocated as an alternative is not only an increased level of government intervention in rural development but, more importantly, the reversal of relations of rule in rural areas so that the influence to determine development priorities lies with the citizen and not with the state. Only then are we likely to see genuine outcomes of empowerment and collective action in areas that are presently facing disadvantage. Yet it has also been shown that, in Woomeroo and Warmington at least, power relations of this sort are generally piecemeal, short-lived and locally specific. The likelihood of this leading to a more profound reconfiguration of current power relations in rural selfhelp schemes presently remains to be seen.

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Index

action at a distance 23, 32-33, 57, 105, 144 active citizenship 2, 21-24, 33, 39, 41, 62, 72, 132, 139 actor network theory (ANT) 7, 36-37 adjustment 5, 52, 65, 71-73, 86, 116, 140 advanced liberalism 5-6, 19, 22-24, 32-35, 38, 42, 55-65, 72, 74, 88, 91, 101, 104, 106, 119, 132, 134, 139-140, 149 agency 6-7, 34, 36, 38, 113-115, 117, 13234, 144-45 agricultural policies 8, 48, 50, 52, 71 agriculture 8, 13, 16, 43, 48, 50-52, 60, 63, 65, 71, 93, 108 Austin 12-13, 68-69, 91-111, 113-35, 142 Australia 3, 8, 10, 12, 19, 22, 39, 41, 46, 50-53, 57, 75, 77-89, 91-111, 116-17, 137-40, 142, 145-57 bio-power see power Britain 8, 39-41, 46-50, 137 Building Rural Leaders 11, 13, 19, 77-79, 83-89, 99, 140, 147 capacity building 6, 11, 18, 33, 45-46, 49, 52, 55-56, 59, 61-65, 77-89, 93, 99103, 108, 119, 121, 140, 146-49 capitalism 56, 61, 64, 79, 150 civil society 4, 21-22, 26, 31-32, 42, 92, 139 Common Agricultural Policy 48 Commonwealth Department of Transport and Regional Services 18, 52, 103, 12425, 131, 133 community see also healthy and unhealthy communities 3-4, 21-22, 34, 41-42, 4447, 49-50, 52, 54-56, 59-62, 65-69, 7374, 78, 84, 92-93, 104, 106-110, 122, 143 community consultation 45, 93, 95-96, 107108, 120, 122 community development 3-4, 18, 39-41, 46, 49, 52, 61, 74, 120, 127, 148 competition 4, 8, 21, 32-33, 38, 43, 45, 50, 52, 57, 61-64, 70, 79, 82, 141-43, 147

conduct of conduct see also government, the activity of 5-6, 23, 26-27 confession 30-31, 87 counter-urbanisation 9-10 decline see rural decline deregulation 8, 65, 116, 138, 140 detraditionalisation 2 disciplinary power – see power, disciplinary Discipline and Punish 28, 144 discourse 11, 24-25, 27, 29, 59, 66, 72 discourses of development 34, 38, 47, 57, 60, 62, 65, 70, 74, 84, 110, 122, 127-28, 131, 135-37, 139, 142-43 discourses of self-help see also self-help, discourses and practices of 1-2, 5-6, 10, 18, 22, 39-57, 70, 72, 77, 82, 102, 106, 126, 139, 144 governmental discourses 6, 11, 22-25, 31, 34-35, 59, 100-103, 114-115, 117, 12334, 126, 128 discursive practices 5-6, 19, 25-27, 33, 5775, 77, 83, 98, 103-104, 110, 119, 140, 144, 150 docile bodies 28, 30, 79, 85-87, 89, 100, 113-15, 117-118, 139, 144 DOTARS see Commonwealth Department of Transport and Regional Services economic rationalism 9, 33, 116, 148 economy, the 7-8, 16, 21, 28, 34, 43, 50, 54, 59-60, 63-65, 68, 70, 79, 81, 86, 99, 115, 134, 140, 142, 144-45, 148 empowerment 3, 39, 46, 52, 54, 56, 62-65, 74, 79-80, 92, 102, 106-7, 110, 121-22, 139, 145, 149-50 endogenous development 1, 3, 19, 43, 45, 137 entrepreneurship 4, 32-33, 38, 43-44, 46, 50, 61-65, 70, 74, 79, 82, 86-89, 94, 99, 116, 120, 146 Europe 3, 8, 10, 39, 47-50, 137, 140 exogenous development 43

172


experts and expertise 11, 33, 38-39, 42, 46-47, 58-59, 61, 65-67, 83-84, 89, 91106, 110, 113, 127-30, 141 Foucault, Michel 4, 23-25, 30, 38, 66-67, 71, 79, 94, 113, 118, 125, 135, 139, 144 functional discriminations 26, 67, 103 funding 45-47, 49, 53-54, 60, 69, 87, 92, 97, 99-100, 102, 107, 122, 137, 141-42, 146, 148-49 globalisation 7, 43, 59-60, 63, 65, 71-73, 86, 140 governance 4-5, 22-23, 51, 117 governing through community 31-34, 65-69 government, the activity of see also conduct of conduct 4-6, 12, 23-24, 26-27, 88, 139, 145 governmental technologies 6, 11, 19, 23, 27, 33-35, 38, 57, 65, 77-89, 95, 101, 104, 111, 140 governmentality 5-6, 10, 19, 23-24, 26, 34, 38, 56, 58, 61, 87, 111, 113-15, 131, 133-34, 144 Hanson, Pauline see One Nation Party healthy/unhealthy communities 58, 66-70, 74-75, 93 History of Sexuality 29, 87 individualism 2, 21, 65 knowledge 25, 29, 58, 87-88, 101 laissez faire 31-32, 139 Landcare 65, 97 Latour, Bruno 7, 36-38, 113, 119, 128 LEADER programme 49-50, 140 leadership – see also Building Rural Leaders 6, 11, 44, 46, 51-52, 55, 62, 78, 83-89, 99, 143, 147 liberalism – see also advanced liberalism 26, 31-32, 139 local government 80, 82, 96, 98, 123, 130 market, the 21-22, 34, 43, 45, 50, 53, 144, 146, 148

Nebraska 55 neoliberalism 3, 21, 39, 43, 53, 142-43, 146, 148 New Zealand 3, 8, 22, 72 normalisation 24, 29-30, 38, 58, 66, 70, 79, 140 objectification 28, 30, 38, 58, 94-104, 139 One Nation Party 53, 133, 137 partnerships 22, 48-50, 54, 91-92, 96, 98, 102, 111, 117, 119, 126, 132, 141 personality test 88-89 political rationalities 6, 11, 24, 27, 31, 34-35, 38-39, 42, 57 ,71-74, 111 Positive Rural Futures 11, 13, 19, 77-83, 89, 140, 147 power 5-7, 11, 19, 22-26, 29-31, 34-38, 40, 46, 59, 64, 71, 91-111, 113-119, 125, 130, 139, 144-145, 150 biopower 27-32, 65-69, 74,79 disciplinary power 5, 27-30, 32, 38, 61, 75, 77-79, 83-89, 100, 117, 139, 150 instruments of power 25-26, 30, 83, 92, 94, 103-104, 110, 127 political power 22-24, 26, 119, 132, 139 problematics of power 5, 19, 23-24, 27, 57-75 practices of the self 30, 88, 93-104, 119 Queensland 12-13, 77-89, 91-111, 113-135, 140 Queensland Department of Primary Industries (QDPI) 16-17, 83-84, 93-111, 124, 126, 130, 140-141 Queensland Government 14, 16, 91, 95, 130, 133, 145 Regional Australia Summit 73-74, 132, 137 regional development 51, 147 regulatory controls / practices 5, 27-29, 3233, 38, 57, 77-83, 89, 119, 139, 150 resistance 6-7, 11, 34-35, 37-38, 91-92, 113115, 117-120, 123, 131, 140, 144 restructuring, rural 7, 52, 116, 138, 140 Rose, Nikolas 4, 23, 32, 34 rural adjustment see adjustment rural decline 9, 13, 16, 39, 42, 45, 48, 58-61, 66, 92, 116-17, 137, 142, 145

Index rural development 1, 3, 5-6, 11, 13, 19, 22, 38-57, 84, 91, 107, 113, 131, 134, 137-150 Rural Partnership Unit 17-18, 98, 105, 127, 129-30 Rural Plan, the 18, 52, 63, 108, 122, 124-25, 128, 131 rural policy 3, 10, 19, 38-29, 42, 44, 47-56, 137-50 self-government 5-6, 21-24, 27, 30-33, 38, 44, 56, 58, 61-62, 74, 78, 83, 87-88, 93-104, 119 self-help 1-6, 27, 77, 81-82, 89, 121, 13134, 137-141, 145-46 discourses and practices of 1, 4-6, 18-19, 22, 39-56, 52-75, 80, 91-111, 140-41, 144-45 criticisms of 116-17, 141-44 self-help success 14-15, 80, 82-83, 91, 94, 99, 102-104, 107, 110, 118, 131, 141-44 self-reliance 3, 33, 51, 61, 73-74, 78, 82, 99, 102, 141-42 Smiles, Samuel 2, 39-42, 55 social capital 42, 45, 59-60, 121, 142-43, 146 social exclusion 43, 148 social inclusion 45, 143, 148 sovereignty 5, 24-28, 57, 110 state, the 4-6, 11, 22-24, 26, 31, 33-38, 42, 46-47, 72, 74, 91-92, 101, 104, 111, 113-14, 119, 121, 126, 128-29, 131, 133, 141 see also welfare state

173

Structural Funds 48-49 subjectification 30-31, 58, 94-104, 119, 139 sustainable development 45, 61, 146 technologies of government see governmental technologies technologies of the self 6, 23, 30, 32, 35, 38, 88, 114 Thatcher, Thatcherism 41-42 third way 21-22 tourism 14, 17, 43, 45, 69, 141, 143 translation 7, 34, 36-38, 113-35 truth 11, 23, 25, 27, 30-31, 33, 71, 87-88 United Kingdom see also Britain 9-10, 22, 147 United States 8-10, 39-40, 46-47, 53-55, 137, 147 voluntarism and volunteering 1-2, 42, 49, 55, 87, 99, 102, 143 Warmington 12, 15-16, 19, 91-111, 113, 135 Warmington Revival Committee, The 15-16, 18, 91-111, 113-135, 141, 143 welfare state 21-22, 41-42, 72 Woomeroo 12-13, 19, 91-111, 113-135, 143 Woomeroo Action Group, The 13-15, 68, 91-111, 113-35, 141, 143 Woomeroo Shire Council 13-15, 91-111, 121-24, 130, 141, 145

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