Promoting Conflict or Peace through Identity

PROMOTING CONFLICT OR PEACE THROUGH IDENTITY In a world in which centripetal and centrifugal forces are impacting on co...

Author: Nikki R. Slocum-Bradley

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PROMOTING CONFLICT OR PEACE THROUGH IDENTITY In a world in which centripetal and centrifugal forces are impacting on communities and nations in the face of globalization and geopolitics, stress and friction are likely results that could lead to societal fissures and conflict. The search for identity in the midst of all this – which in itself is a potent force - can exacerbate or mitigate the conflict. But what are the key aspects of identity that can promote social harmony in our new world disorder? Promoting Conflict or Peace through Identity examines the role of identity in selected communities around the world and explores the prospects of expanding the borders of the mind to embrace an attitude that recognizes and respects diversity, yet sharing common values for peace through co-existence. This book, which looks at the power of identity that is one of the root causes of conflict, leads one to assess if promoting interdependence and a sense of belonging and commonality contribute to enhancing social integration that will foster unity and peace? Or are territorial borders too constricting on the mental borders that define one’s identity? Promoting Conflict or Peace through Identity offers lessons to be learned on addressing physical and psychological space that characterize our being in the concept of identity for which many are willing to lay down their lives to defend. H.E. Rt. Hon. Don McKinnon, former Commonwealth Secretary-General and former Deputy Prime Minister and Foreign Minister of New Zealand This volume is a timely and challenging opportunity for us to explore what is clearly a root cause of global tension and conflict - and that is identity construction. Dr Nikki SlocumBradley has set herself the task through eight case studies of promoting understanding of how we can build peace, mutual respect and trust across communities and borders. As we reflect, for instance, on events in Rwanda and in Darfur we are reminded that descent into genocide has tragically and typically been linked to the reasons why a group of people see another group as so much of a threat that hatred grows and violence ensues. Glenys Kinnock, Member of the European Parliament, Co-President of the ACP-EU Joint Parliamentary Assembly Identity in the sense that is paramount in this collection of studies is a relatively new concept. Unlike the traditional notion of personal identity, the form of individual being, social identity points to the many ways that a person can be identified as member of a group. Furthermore social groups can take many forms. In this book a fascinating interplay is revealed between several of the main ways that group identity can be felt, manipulated and created in actual social scenes. These include at least sharing a common language, belonging to a common culture, living in a well-defined geographical region, having a shared history. The project that has involved bringing these studies together is the amelioration or prevention of conflict. Social conflict is itself a paradoxical matter. Conflict is one of the defining conditions of democracy. However, it is also a social condition that can transform itself very quickly into lethal and merciless physical violence. Nothing can be achieved politically until the roots of the transformation of mere diversity into rabid sectarianism have been revealed. The studies have the inestimable value of at least beginning the task of revealing those roots. Rom Harré, Director, Centre for Philosophy of Natural and Social Science, London School of Economics; Fellow Emeritus, Linacre College, Oxford University; Distinguished Professor, Georgetown University, Washington, DC The cogent analysis and insights highlighted in this ground-breaking research provide an invaluable framework for preventing conflict in ACP States and worldwide. Policymakers and practitioners alike can greatly benefit from the relevance and high calibre of Slocum-Bradley’s volume. Sir John R. Kaputin, KBE, CMG, Secretary General, African, Caribbean and Pacific Group of States

No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela Long Walk to Freedom

Promoting Conflict or Peace through Identity

NIKKI SLOCUM-BRADLEY United Nations University – Comparative Regional Integration Studies (UNU-CRIS), Belgium

© Nikki Slocum-Bradley 2008 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. Nikki Slocum-Bradley has asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editor 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 Promoting conflict or peace through identity 1. Ethnic conflict 2. Group identity 3. Communalism 4. Intergroup relations I. Slocum-Bradley, Nikki 305.8 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Promoting conflict or peace through identity / [edited] by Nikki Slocum-Bradley. p. cm. Includes index. ISBN 978-0-7546-7244-9 (hardback) 1. Group identity--Case studies. 2. Social conflict--Case studies. 3. National characteristics--Case studies. 4. Ethnic conflict--Case studies. 5. Peace--Case studies. I. Slocum-Bradley, Nikki. HM753.P77 2008 305.09--dc22 2008022349 ISBN 978-0-7546-7244-9

Contents List of Boxes, Figures and Tables Acknowledgments List of Contributors List of Abbreviations 1

Introduction: Borders of the Mind Nikki Slocum-Bradley

2

The Making of Nations in Belgium and Western Europe in Historical Perspective (Fifteenth–Twentieth Century): National Ideology, Ethnicity, Language and Politics Sébastien Dubois

3

Identity Construction and Citizenship Conflicts in Central Nigeria Ogoh Alubo

4

The Formation of National Identity in Israel/Palestine: The Construction of Spatial Knowledge and Contested Territorial Narratives David Newman

5

6

7

8

9

vii ix xi xiii 1

21

41

61

Borders of/on the Mind, Borders in the Jungle: Islamic Insurgency and Ethno-Religious Irredentism in Southern Thailand David Camroux and Don Pathan

81

The Positioning Diamond: Conceptualizing Identity Constructions at the US–Mexico Border Nikki Slocum-Bradley

103

Identity Construction in the EU, NAFTA and Mercosur: Opportunities for Peace and Conflict Francesco Duina

139

Religion and Regional Planning: The Case of the Emerging ‘Shi’a Region’ Fathali M. Moghaddam

165

Custom and Identity: Reflections on and Representations of Violence in Melanesia M. Anne Brown

183

vi


10 Crossing Mental Borders: Constructing a Laissez-Passer for Peace Nikki Slocum-Bradley

209

Index

223

List of Boxes, Figures and Tables Boxes 1.1 A working definition of identity 10.1 Identity construction in conflict: the analytical process

5 214

Figures 1.1 3.1 3.2 6.1 6.2 8.1

Determinism in the identity debate Plateau State map Nasarawa State map The Positioning Diamond CCIR billboard The ‘planned–accidental’ continuum

3 54 56 112 122 165

Tables 6.1 6.2 7.1

Ontologies Positioning analyses and consequences for peace or conflict Number of standardizing passages in the EU (1959–2000) and Mercosur (1991–2000) in three areas 7.2 Major European-level women’s interest groups 10.1 Borders evoked to define identities

111 116 142 149 210

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Acknowledgments I would like to thank the contributing authors for their collaboration in, and enthusiasm for, this project. Convincing academics from diverse disciplinary backgrounds to address the same three research questions is not always an easy task. However, the willingness of the authors to do just that has resulted in a volume rich in depth and breadth of perspective. This volume would also not have come to fruition without the support of Luk Van Langenhove, Director of UNUCRIS, who has demonstrated foresight in expanding traditional conceptions of regional integration studies to include the study of the persons who do – or do not – integrate. I deeply appreciate the support of Rom Harré and Fathali Moghaddam, who not only provided invaluable comments on draft versions and related work, but also have been fortifying mentors for many years. For their invaluable technical assistance and helpful attitudes, I thank Eveline Snauwaert, Mattias Van Hecke and Sylvie Capelle. I am particularly grateful to my husband, Andrew Bradley, for his unwavering love, encouragement, patience, and the innumerable interesting and inspiring discussions. Finally, for their inspiration, I would like to thank all of those who believe in human beings’ ability to love, and in the peace that continues to elude us, by quoting one amongst them: ‘It always seems impossible until it’s done’ (Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela). Nikki Slocum-Bradley May 2008


List of Contributors Ogoh Alubo Department of Sociology, University of Jos, Nigeria M. Anne Brown Australian Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Queensland, Australia David Camroux Centre d’Études et de Recherches Internationales (CERI), Sciences Po, France Sébastien Dubois Saint-Louis University (Brussels); University of Namur; National Archives, Belgium Francesco Duina Department of Sociology, Bates College, USA; Copenhagen Business School, Denmark Fathali M. Moghaddam Department of Psychology, Georgetown University, USA David Newman Department of Politics and Government, Ben Gurion University of the Negev, Israel Don Pathan Journalist at The Nation Nikki Slocum-Bradley United Nations University – Comparative Regional Integration Studies (UNUCRIS), Belgium


List of Abbreviations ACSSMW ASEAN

Organization of Islamic Conference Association of South East Asian Nations

BIPP BRN

Barisan Islam Pembebasan Patani Barisan Revolusi Nasional

EU EWL EWLA EZNL

European Union European Women’s Lobby European Women Lawyers Association Army of National Liberation

ICG

International Crisis Group

Mercosur

Southern Common Market

NAALC NAFTA

North American Agreement on Labor Cooperation North American Free Trade Agreement

OIC

Organization of Islamic Conference

PNG PULO

Papua New Guinea Patani United Liberation Organization

RTA

Regional Trade Area

US

United States of America

WTO

World Trade Organization


Chapter 1

Introduction: Borders of the Mind Nikki Slocum-Bradley

It has been widely acknowledged that preventing destructive conflicts by addressing their ‘root causes’ would save lives and many other resources. Despite the conceptual and political endorsement this goal has received, very little research has yielded useful results on arguably the most important root cause of conflict: the ways in which people form perceptions of themselves and others (Commonwealth Commission on Respect and Understanding 2007). As Nobelprize recipient, Amartya Sen (2006), has pointed out, social and economic analyses have commonly disregarded the essential role of ‘people’s sense of identity with others’ on what they value and how they behave. While many factors contribute to fomenting violent conflict, violence between social groups – whether defined in ethnic, religious, linguistic, gender, racial or other terms – necessarily entails the construction of a certain perception of one’s own group and that of the ‘other’, as well as of all persons esteemed to be members thereof. As Westphalian-based identity perceptions are challenged by processes of globalization, regional integration and disintegration, which have dissolved or re-drawn national borders (see Newman 2001, 2006a, 2006b), people’s identity concepts have become uncertain, often generating fear. Taking advantage of this fear and uncertainty, these identity concepts have been the tool of those who would foment violent conflict, with the intention to turn one group of people against another. By manipulating the identity concepts of those often unaware, people have fomented hatred and instigated violence, including ‘genocide’, against people who were previously neighbors, friends and even relatives living together in peace. The impact of such manipulation has been illustrated throughout history: journalists for Radio Rwanda incited hatred against the Tutsis and encouraged Hutus to murder their longstanding Tutsi neighbors (Rothbart and Bartlett 2008; Slocum-Bradley 2008; see also Doom and Gorus 2000). Similarly, German politicians and journalists construed Jews to be inferior beings, leading to their estrangement, enslavement and slaughtering. In both cases, the victims were dehumanized and portrayed as threats to the society. How does this demonization of certain social groups occur, generating animosity and eventual violence against innocent and defenceless persons? In what ways are the identities of social groups construed by communicators to incite such animosity, and how are people manipulated into horrifying acts of destruction? In contrast, some diverse societies live in harmony and mutual respect. How can communicators promote

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tolerance, respect and peace between social groups? Underscoring ‘the importance of human minds in the pursuit of human security’ (p. 81), and particularly the role of identity manipulation in engineering violence, the Commonwealth Commission on Respect and Understanding (2007: 81–2) has emphasized the need for a clear understanding of ‘the ways and means through which the thinking of a large number of activists is influenced in a violent direction’. To address these questions, this volume explores the relationships between identities, borders, and conflict or peace. Each of these concepts and their relationships are explored in the following sections. This theoretical overview is followed by a summary of Chapters 2 to 9, which present case studies of identity construction in different world regions, using various methodological approaches. Here, a ‘region’ is understood not necessarily as a pre-identified geographical space, but rather as a socially constructed ‘entity’ (see Van Langenhove 2003) that may be based upon (alleged) geographical proximity, common religion, language or other cultural heritage, a common plight such as poverty, a common destiny, or any other discourse that constructs an identity. The overall purpose of this book is to contribute to peace and mutual understanding between people. It aims to do so by illuminating the nature and process of identity construction and highlighting its prominent role as a root cause in conflict or peace. It is hoped that the gained understanding of these processes and consequences will empower people to construct their and others’ identities in a way that promotes peace and social solidarity.

The Study of Identity Identities, and similar concepts under different rubrics, have been defined, dissected and discussed by authors from nearly every social scientific discipline. Multifarious theories either directly or indirectly have attempted to capture the nature, process and consequences of identities. Many have either begun their reflections with a statement regarding the complex or elusive nature of identity, such as Strauss’s (1959: 11) remark that ‘identity as a concept is fully as elusive as is everyone’s sense of his own personal identity’ or Harré’s (1993: 2) note that, ‘identity is a complex concept’. Other authors have entirely eschewed any attempt at articulating their definition of, or approach to, studying the concept. While a comprehensive overview of the vast and diverse literature is beyond the purview of this volume, an attempt will be made to extract the main issues of debate over identities, particularly as they are relevant to the other focal issues of this volume. We can already narrow the discussion here by stating that we are concerned with the identities of actors, as opposed to objects. Actors can obviously be individual persons, but they can also be anything else which is narrated – or positioned – as an actor, such as a group of persons (‘Muslims’), a country (‘South Africa’), a region (‘Europe’, ‘West Africa’, or ‘Flanders’), an institution (‘the United Nations’) or any other type of purported community (‘migrants’, ‘the international community’, ‘people of color’ or ‘Hispanics’) (Slocum and Van Langenhove 2004). In contrast, we are not here concerned with the identity

Introduction: Borders of the Mind

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of ‘chairs’, ‘art’, ‘Protestantism’, ‘globalization’, or ‘poverty’ insofar as these are not – or are not portrayed as – actors with agentive powers. The main debate about the nature of identities can be portrayed as running parallel to the nature versus nurture debate, and the ‘autonomy’ debate prevalent in philosophy and political science. In other words, different views can be placed along a continuum that stipulates the extent to which ‘identities’ are predetermined by some sort of ‘structure’ or, alternatively, are the product of human agency. At one pole are approaches that claim that identities are ‘natural’, that is either biologically inherent to human beings or to groups, or (somehow) otherwise pre-determined. On the other end of the spectrum are approaches that allocate a great deal of agency and power to individuals in shaping identities through discursive practices. This continuum is depicted in Figure 1.1.

Identities as pre-determined by structure

Identities as the product of agentive discourse

Figure 1.1 Determinism in the identity debate Amongst researchers who claim that identities are socially learned, as opposed to biologically pre-determined or otherwise innate, the main point of debate turns around the extent to which some sort of ‘social structure’ (see Breakwell 1986, Chapter 2) shapes individual identities and, if this is the case, ‘where’ the social structure is located, and how the shaping occurs. While some authors emphasize the strong determinism of a social structure in shaping individual identities, others emphasize individual autonomy and power to act in accordance with a range of principles (Harré 1979). Furthermore, the level of determinism inherent in various approaches may differ between what is stated in theory and what is reflected in the methodology employed by researchers. Marxists and other historical materialists represent one end of this spectrum, where a strong and rather deterministic social structure shapes individual identity. For example, for Leonard (1984), persons are the product of their particular socio-historical location – as constituted by the economy, the family and the state, whereby the influence of these factors is modulated by the individual’s age, class, gender and ethnicity. According to Leonard, the individual internalizes actions, thoughts, emotions and belief systems and represses socially unacceptable psychic urges by ‘identifying’ with role models. Other authors implicitly or explicitly assume that people inherently fall into certain categories – such as ‘White’, ‘Muslim’, ‘Francophone’, or ‘elite’ – and that these categories determine the ‘identity’ of the persons encompassed within. On the opposite end of the ‘social determination’ spectrum are various varieties of constructivism, represented by scholars such as Harré, Bruner, Gergen and Shotter, according to whom ‘identities’ are the (more or less fleeting) product of discourse, and individual identity and action are restrained by the nature of the

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discursive practices that are available in a given society. In the words of Shotter and Gergen (1989: ix): The primary medium within which identities are created and have their currency is not just linguistic but textual: persons are largely ascribed identities according to the manner of their embedding within a discourse – in their own or in the discourses of others. In this way cultural texts furnish their ‘inhabitants’ with the resources for the formation of selves; they lay out an array of enabling potentials, while simultaneously establishing a set of constraining boundaries beyond which selves cannot be easily made. … In the process of critique, the boundaries of our current modes of being are softened, and intelligibilities for possible new forms of personhood are revealed.

Within this type of approach, a great deal of human agency and choice is allocated to individuals, as new discourses can generate new ways of being – that is, of identifying oneself and others, and of acting. A multitude of approaches can be placed throughout the depicted continuum. Most authors might agree that people construct identities within certain sociocultural constraints. However, careful attention must be paid to the theoretical questions posed and definitions (if existent) proposed by authors, as well as to their methodological approaches, because these can conceal various aspects of determinism. Approaches that claim there is some sort of stable content to identities necessarily edge toward the left of the continuum, and ‘anything that encourages the view that particular categories are inevitable may be regarded as contributing to their reification and naturalization’ (Hopkins and Reicher 1996: 91). For example, a frequently entertained question in research and policy discussions is, ‘Can people have multiple identities?’ (see, for example, Risse 2004; Carey 2002; Schild 2001; Risse et al. 1999). This query is commonly ‘operationalized’, in the Eurobarometer and other surveys, with questions such as, ‘to what extent (on a scale from 1–7) do you feel: A) European, and B) Danish?’ (see, for example, Egeberg 1999). A high score for ‘feeling European’ is taken as evidence of a strong ‘European identity’. High scores given for both categories are presented as evidence that people can identify with both their nation state and with Europe – in other words, that they can have multiple identities, and that ‘European’ and ‘national’ identities are not incompatible. The implicit assumptions embedded in this sort of question, and in the method of inquiry, is that people ‘have’ one or more things called (national, regional, local, and so on) ‘identities’, which may or may not be compatible or complementary, and that these can be measured. What it means for the responder to ‘feel European’, and the meaning of this purported ‘European identity’, are implicitly assumed and left unaddressed, or they are characterized by the author of the research, rather than by the respondents. In both cases, the meanings are assumed to be static. In contrast, discursive approaches underscore the meanings attributed to identities in discourse – by the (agentive) interlocutors – as a function of the social tasks being accomplished through identity discourse (see, for example, Hester and Housley 2002; Rapley and Augoustinos 2002; Slocum-Bradley 2008; Wetherell and Potter 1992; Zehfuss 2001). These approaches caution against reification


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of concepts such as ‘identity’, pointing out that the meaning of any identity construction is ephemeral: it must be understood in a specific context, in which actors are accomplishing social tasks. Thus, within the context of the discursive persuasion, identities are often defined as processes (see, for example, Paasi 2002: 144; Wodak et al. 1999: 866). Accordingly, ‘identities’ are continually constituted and re-constituted by meanings applied (by persons) to persons or other purported actors. Meanings are generated (by people) using discursive tools – narrative, labels, categories, symbols, and so forth. Based upon this foundation, the following working definition of identity can be proposed: ‘Identities’ are meanings – labels, categories, symbols, and so forth – applied to persons or other narrated actors in specific contexts. Armbruster and Meinhof (2002: 18) emphasize the role of narrative in identity construction, stating that, ‘narratives are constitutive of the self rather than the reflective action of an already constituted individual’. In concordance with such a discursive approach, understanding ‘identities’ entails examining the processes through which such meanings are constructed and to what ends, within specific contexts (see Harré 1979; Bruner 1990; Harré and Gillet 1994; Harré and Stearns 1995). Box 1.1

A working definition of identity

Working definition: ‘Identities’ are meanings – labels, categories, symbols, and so forth – applied to persons or other narrated actors in specific contexts. Drawing upon Kant, Appiah (2005) develops a thorough argument for understanding the ‘structure versus agency’ debate through a ‘two standpoints approach’. Accordingly, whether one emphasizes the role of structure or agency depends upon the task one is interested in achieving, or what one is trying to make sense of. Appiah summarizes: If we’re interested in the conditions that make people act a certain way – if we’re interested, say in ‘situationist’ psychology – we tell one narrative … If we’re interested in retribution and blame, we tell another … When is something a condition of choosing and when is it a constraint upon choice? Invariably, how we answer is a matter of interest-guided judgment, of what standpoint we adopt. (59)

Given that the interests of the present volume are to examine the relationship between identity constructions and peace and conflict, in order to enable identities that facilitate peace, it makes sense that the chapters in this volume all fall, to a greater or lesser extent, toward the right, or agency-emphasizing, side of the determinism spectrum. The goal is to illuminate how agents can construct peacepromoting identities, not to list and describe all of the factors constraining identity constructions. Nonetheless, Appiah’s words of caution should be kept in mind:

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Promoting Conflict or Peace through Identity … Neither the picture in which there is just an authentic nugget of selfhood, the core that is distinctively me, waiting to be dug out, nor the notion that I can simply make up any self I choose, should tempt us. … We make up selves from a tool kit of options made available by our culture and society. We do make choices, but we don’t, individually, determine the options among which we choose. (107)

Within this general constructivist tendency, some authors in the present volume specify their own definitions of ‘identity’, while others articulate their approach to studying the constructive process thereof. All of them investigate the role of various types of borders in the construction of identities.

Borders of the Mind Since ‘identity’ is ‘… a form of categorization, where boundaries are used to distinguish one areal domain or social collectivity (“us”) from others’, Paasi (2002: 139) points out that, ‘identity and boundaries are different sides of the same coin’. In the Westphalian world order, state ‘borders, together with the institution of citizenship, designate both inclusion and exclusion and define the sociopolitical community both in terms of the “who we are” as well as the “who we are not”’ (Rudolph 2005: 14). The Westphalian system divided geographical space into states and people into nation-state categories, thus lending ‘national identities’ a ‘natural’ appearance (Billig 1995, 1996; Hopkins and Reicher 1996). Billig (1996: 183) defines ‘nationalism’ as ‘those beliefs and assumptions by which it appears ‘natural’ for the world to be divided into separate nation-states, and, thus, for the world of nations to be reproduced as today’s “natural” social environment’. The ideology inherent in the practice of using national borders to classify the world highlights the psychological character of these borders. Concomitant to processes of regional integration, the emergence of regional identity narratives has challenged the apparent ‘naturalness’ of national identities (Slocum and Van Langenhove 2005). This process has been described by Golob (2002: 2–3) as follows: This view of the international system of states as one of fortified units geared both internationally and domestically for continuous defense – individually and in strategic alliances – has been challenged in the immediate post-Cold War years by those proclaiming the rise of a community of ‘liberal democratic states’ that were no longer arming against one another, but rather opening their borders for economic (and, in the case of Europe, political) integration, often in regionally-defined spaces. In the vernacular of the constructivist literature within International Relations, which advocates for such a ‘constructed’ view of politics based upon the social transformation of identities, this is an expansion of the ‘we’, a redefinition of the ‘in-group’ to, if not fully to include then to no longer absolutely exclude those who are beyond a nation’s strict political perimeter.

Understanding the formation of regional identities as an expansion of the ‘we’ from nation-state identities well aligns with Paasi’s (2002: 146) definition of


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regional identities as ‘collective narratives on who and what ‘we’ and ‘our region’ are and how these differ from others’. Paasi emphasizes that such narratives always include a normative element of power, alluding to the fact that the psychological and ideological nature of regional borders is no less than that of state borders. Linking identity with agency, Paasi (2002: 139) argues that, ‘a region and regional identity are social facts that can generate action as long as people believe in them’. He further quotes Yuval-Davis as suggesting that, borders and boundaries, identities and difference construct and determine to a large extent the space of agency and the mode of participation in which we act as citizens in the multilayered polities to which we belong.

This power of borders and boundaries to generate identity and agency can also be said of other categories that people use to partition the world. Fearon and Laitin (2000) refer to beliefs in the naturalness of any kind of social category as ‘everyday primordialism’ (848). Extrapolating from Billig’s definition of ‘nationalism’, different types of ‘everyday primordialism’ can be specified. Thus, the practice (and concomitant beliefs and assumptions) of dividing the world into racial categories can be called ‘racism’. In the same fashion, ‘religionism’ subdivides the world into religious groupings, ‘linguisticism’ into language categories, ‘ethnicism’ into ethnic groups, and ‘socio-economicism’ classifies the world into groups of ‘poor’, ‘uneducated’, ‘elite’, and so forth. These categories are the ‘borders’ with which we partition the world and conceptualize the resulting actors. The widespread nature of such ideologies is evidenced, for example, by Carli et al. (2003), who conclude from their discourse analysis that the ‘one nation, one language ideology is still widespread in the ‘common people’ of Europe … [who still tend] to have a monolithic vision of language as a differentiator of identity and culture’ (880). It has often been argued that national identities have been used to mobilize conflicts across national borders. It has also been argued that border conflicts have been used as tools to construct a group identity by generating a sense of ‘other’ (see Tronvoll 1999). While regional integration has been sold as a means to avoiding national conflicts, it has not always proven to be the panacea it is sometimes sold as. For example, Golob (2002) illustrates how identity discourses provoke conflict between Canada and the US in spite of major advances in technical and material border cooperation. Adejumobi (2005: 19) makes a similar point at the global level, arguing that, The explosion in identities and identity-based conflicts in the world ordinarily contradicts the logic of globalization. The social dynamics of globalization should impel social integration through transculturalism or multiculturalism and engineer inter-group harmony on a global scale … This however is not the case.

A closer look at how identities are constructed, whether through national borders, regional borders or other types of psychological borders, should provide insight as to why identity-based conflicts are proliferating despite (or perhaps, as a partial consequence of) worldwide transformations in geopolitical borders.


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Intrinsic to the categorization or identification process described above is the assignment of rights and duties to actors. Since the categories evoked within a given context, as well as their meaning – including membership criteria – are malleable and dynamic, contestations over rights and duties are largely played out through competing identity constructions. Thus, the borders and identities evoked have implications for the moral standing of actors and can have important consequences for social harmony or conflict. The role of rights, duties and norms in conflict will be further explored in the next section.

Characterizing Conflict and Peace Many proposals have been put forth to define, or outline defining characteristics of, conflict and peace. In the view of proponents of ethno-methodological approaches, ‘conflict’ and ‘peace’ are that which is understood as such by the actors engaged in them. In this vein, Lederach (1995: 9) has written that ‘[c]onflict emerges through an interactive process based on the search for and creation of shared meaning’. This highlights the inherent nature of conflict in the natural process of meaning-construction. Furthermore, it underscores that not all conflict should be seen as inherently ‘bad’.1 The negativity of conflict emerges where the natural constructive process is arrested and becomes a process of destruction. This is arguably always the case when violence emerges, whether physical or psychological. As the Commonwealth Commission on Respect and Understanding (2007: 27) points out, ‘psychological violence’ is almost always concomitant to physical violence, because a physical attack, ‘is also an attack on personhood, on the human-ness of others, on an individual, community or institution’s sense of self-worth, on identity’. Research on discursive expressions of conflict has identified various patterns in contentious searches for meaning, with the aid of Positioning Theory (Harré and Van Langenhove 1999; see Slocum 2001a; Harré and Slocum 2003a and 2003b; Harré and Moghaddam 2003; Moghaddam et al. 2008). According to Slocum (2001a: 179–80; see also Slocum-Bradley 2008) some patterns evident in conflict include: •

•

• •

certain types of speech acts, including accusations, rebukes, lambasting, reproaches, belittlement, condemnations, censure, reprimanding, blaming and social obloquy; the assignment of discrepant rights and duties to different groups by allocating rights and duties according to criteria that are met by some persons but not others; assigning stable traits to groups of persons, especially ‘victim’ and victimizer identities; and undermining the legitimacy of other actors and their actions through various discursive techniques, including attributing malign intentions.

1 Moghaddam, Harré and Lee (2008: 285) argue that, from a moral perspective, some conflicts should be amplified, rather than (immediately) resolved.


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These patterns are buried in narratives about what is, and what should be, going on. The acts through which they are constituted are discursive expressions of conflict; in other words, they are the acts through which conflict is accomplished. Slocum (2001a: 113–14, 181–4) has also identified patterns in discursive acts that promote peace. These include: • • • • • •

the equal allocation of rights and duties to groups of people; identifying people as members of the same group; characterizing certain individuals as problematic and the ‘majority’ of people as unified and harmonious; characterizing certain actions as ‘unintentional’; the attribution of benign motivations; and characterizing groups as weak when divided but strong when unified.

In their attempts to define or characterize ‘peace’, various researchers (Galtung 1964; Wenden and Schäffner 1995; Jeong 1999) have distinguished between ‘negative peace’, which is characterized by the absence of war and other types of physical violence, and ‘positive peace’, which includes the absence of discriminatory and inegalitarian social structures and institutions, or so-called ‘structural violence’. Accordingly, ‘positive peace’ entails ‘the development of just and equitable social structures that respect and enhance the human rights of all’ (Wenden and Schäffner 1995, xvii) and includes the elimination of poverty (Jeong 1999: 8). Wenden (1995) assesses whether Galtung’s (1964) definition of peace represents a consensus by examining how peace is understood by various major cultural traditions, institutions and educators. She concludes that, while most recognize both the ‘negative’ and ‘positive’ components of peace, two aspects of this definition are still emerging. First, a distinction between organized and unorganized violence is not widely recognized, which will influence assessments of the presence or absence of ‘negative peace’. Second, she establishes that there is no consensus on the conditions that constitute ‘positive peace’. An understanding of the concept of peace is important, because according to her (constructivist) view, ‘which recognizes language as a dynamic force that shapes the world of meaning guiding human endeavour …, it is the meaning represented by the word ‘peace’ that will inform the goals and determine the efforts of those who strive to achieve it (Wenden 1995: 15)’.

Identity in Conflict and Peace Evident throughout the various approaches to conflict and peace is the inherent role of identity. Less evident is how this role is conceived and studied. According to Social Identity Theory (Abrams and Hogg 1990; Hogg and Abrams 1999), conflict

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is the consequence of a person’s attempt to achieve a positive social identity.2 One strategy to achieve this is to directly challenge and denigrate the out-group, in order to improve the relative status and power of one’s in-group. Alternatively, socio-biologists (see Wilson 1975; Van den Berghe 1987) argue that ethnicity is a direct cause of conflict. Socio-biological theories claim that a person’s ethnicity (phenotype) reflects his or her genotype, such that those who share a common ethnicity also have more genes in common than those of a different ethnic heritage. Thus, individuals will act aggressively towards those who are more dissimilar, because this strategy is more likely to ensure that their own genetic material is passed on. Another explanation is provided by rational choice theory, which is based upon the assumption that people have fixed, hierarchical ‘interests’, and their behavior maximizes the fulfillment of these interests, under the presumed condition of competition for scarce resources. In this view, identity groups are seen as instrumental coalitions formed in an attempt to compete and achieve one’s ‘interests’, whereby such ‘interests’ are generally pre-defined by the theorist. In critique of socio-biological theories, which manifest at the left pole of the ‘identity determinism continuum’ (refer to Figure 1.1), Fearon and Laitin (2000) contrast what they refer to as ‘primordialist’ versus constructivist approaches to studying ethnic identities and violence, explaining that, Primordialists suggest that ethnic violence results from antipathies and antagonisms that are enduring properties of ethnic groups. The constructivist position rejects the notion of unchanging, essential characteristics and thus rejects this claim. (849)

From a constructivist position, Van Hoywehgen and Vlassenroot (2000: 112) argue that ethnicity cannot be the cause of a conflict, but that ‘ethnic identity narratives justify behavior’. Such primordialism is depicted by Neumann (1999: 45–6) as a weakness of political science research based upon rational choice theory: if, as mainstream political science tends to take for granted, the political is a question of ‘who gets what when’, then war becomes one of a number of mechanisms by which a certain distribution of values and goods can be realized. Crucially, the ‘who’s’ that are supposed to get something at a particular point in time are treated as fixed entities.

Finally, various critical issues are left unaddressed by Social Identity, rational choice and socio-biological theories. For example, both rational choice and Social Identity theories assume the relevance of a particular identity category and fail to acknowledge that a wide range of identity categories could be evoked in any given situation. Consequently, the conditions under which people will define their ‘identity’ in terms of, or form a coalition based upon, a particular identity category remain obtuse (Slocum-Bradley 2008). Furthermore, the above theories fail to address the meaning of an evoked identity category (out of the many possible) and how it facilitates peace or conflict. This critique applies, for example, to

2 Within this theory, ‘social identity’ is defined as ‘that part of a person’s self-concept which is derived from membership in social groups’ (Moghaddam 1998: 485).


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Gartzke and Gleditsch’s (2006) article on ‘Identity and Conflict: Ties that Bind and Differences that Divide’, in which the authors conduct a statistical analysis of pairs of state groupings that, according to them, do or do not have different dominant ‘civilizations’ or cultural affinities. They conclude that violence is more likely ‘within than between civilizations or groups of similar states’ (55). The authors’ methodology – the state centric analysis and presumed identity structures within the different groupings – obfuscates the meaning of the identities evoked as well as the nature of identity construction and how it relates to conflict. Kaufman (2001) concludes that the ‘fundamental explanation of ethnic war lies in the meanings the participants see’ (205). He proposes ‘symbolic politics theory’ to explain the outbreak of ethnic war. This approach emphasizes the role of an ‘ethnic myth symbol complex’ that justifies hostility toward another group. The theory posits that this ethnic myth symbol complex, combined with ‘ethnic fears’ and ‘opportunity to mobilize and fight’, are the key conditions that must be fulfilled for ethnic war to occur. In applying the theory to various case studies, the author concludes that historical myths and conjured fear outweigh, and can even override, ‘objective’ (material) interests in explaining ethnic war. They do so ‘by explaining how ethnic groups understand their interests’ (206). Kaufman thus asserts that, ‘we need to know less about people’s ‘objective’ interests and more about their attitudes and the myths and symbols that influence those attitudes’ (221). A constructivist approach, through which the construction of meaning – including attitudes and identities – can be examined, is more useful for addressing such issues and the focal questions of the present volume. Constructivism emphasizes that the meaning of identities, including definitions of group membership, members’ values, attitudes, interests and so forth, are constructed in discourse that accomplishes social tasks. From this perspective, Taylor (1985) notes that social practices are carried out, and social institutions are constituted, through acts that are enabled by certain self-understandings. Thus, Shotter and Gergen (1989: xi) point out that, ‘the identities of those conducting the practice are constitutive of its nature’. In the words of Harré (1989: 33), ‘the folk who use the metaphors [of identity] are not captured by the pictures: they use them for whatever needs to be said or done’. It is here argued that what is said or done may constitute conflict, be prone to instigate conflict, or promote social harmony and peace. In mainstream psychology literature, ‘attitudes’ have been analytically distinguished from ‘identity’. Accordingly, attitudes have been defined as ‘an evaluative disposition toward some object’ (Zimbardo and Leippe 1991: 31). However, this literature commits the error of reification in that an attitude is treated as something that people ‘have’ and that can be tapped into, given the appropriate instruments (such as the Eurobarometer survey, discussed above). In contrast, constructivists (see Bamberg, 2004; Edwards and Potter 1992) treat expressions of opinions or ‘attitudes’ in the same manner as expressions of identity. In order to understand what a person ‘means’ when (s)he expresses an attitude, one must identify what the expression is accomplishing in the given discursive context.

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Thus, within a constructivist framework, ‘conflict’ and ‘peace’ can be understood as social tasks accomplished through discursive acts, as illustrated by Slocum (2001a). Such discursive acts include invoking identities in different ways. Invoked identities must tie into existing narratives (Kaufman 2001) and draw upon the discursive resources available within a given culture (Shotter and Gergen 1989). On the basis of the above insights, one can conclude that different identity discourses enable different types of practices, some of which constitute or incite conflict and others that promote peace. Within this framework, we can address the central concerns of the present volume: What kinds of identities enable peace-promoting acts, and what kinds of identities facilitate conflict-promoting acts; and why? In other words: how do identity constructions promote peace or conflict? Some research has begun to address these questions. For example, Sen (2006: xv; see also the Commonwealth Commission on Respect and Understanding 2007) has argued that creating an illusion of a choice-less and singular identity is kindling for conflict: Many conflicts and barbarities in the world are sustained through the illusion of a unique and choiceless identity. The art of constructing hatred takes the form of invoking the magical power of some allegedly predominant identity that drowns other affiliations, and in a conveniently bellicose form can also overpower any human sympathy or natural kindness that we may normally have. The result can be homespun elemental violence, or globally artful violence and terrorism.

Similarly, Moghaddam (2006) argues that at the root of terrorism lies a pervasive Islamic identity crisis and consequent search for an ‘authentic’ identity. Gergen, McNamee and Barrett (2001) have described the link between identity and conflict as locating ‘the evil’ in the actions of ‘the other’, who is portrayed as inferior, stupid or villainous. They argue that such ‘negative stereotyping’, or ‘rigid and simplified conceptions’ of the other, leads to social atomization. Such negative stereotyping, or identifications, evident in conflicts has been described by Slocum-Bradley (see Slocum 2001; Slocum-Bradley 2008). It entails identifying oneself (or one’s group) as the ‘victim’ and identifying others using stable traits with highly negative connotations, such as hypocritical, untrustworthy, intolerant, uncooperative, negligent, arrogant, manipulative, totalitarian, discriminating, greedy, abusive, egoistic, extremist, and so forth (Slocum 2001: 109–10, 176–81). Various authors (Fujii 2002; Moghaddam 2006; Slocum-Bradley 2008) have argued that norms are integral to understanding how identity constructions can promote conflict or peace. Underscoring the link between norms and identity, Katzenstein (1996) defines a norm as ‘the standard of appropriate behavior for actors with a given identity’ (5). Depending upon the social reality constructed, which sets a normative framework, violence can be construed as the ‘appropriate’ behavior in a given context. Fujii (2002: 2–3) argues that the génocidaires in Rwanda ‘were able to construct a world where genocidal thinking was the norm and to make that world the only consequential reality for victim and killer alike’.


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Similarly, Moghaddam (2006: 123) underscores the importance of authority figures and prevailing norms for understanding the behavior of suicide bombers, explaining that, ‘In some communities, what we call “terrorism” is seen as a legitimate and rational strategy for fighting against ‘barbarian invaders’. Intrinsic to norms are allocations of rights and duties, which are distributed in accordance with a person’s evoked identity (see Slocum-Bradley, Chapter 6). According to Adejumobi (2005: 20), struggles over the allocation of rights and duties within societies are the roots of identity-based conflicts in Africa: Underlying the litany of identity-based conflicts in Africa is the issue of citizenship and rights, a phenomenon that has been exacerbated by globalization. The genealogy to this is the history of African society dating to colonialism in which primordial identities were the foci of individual rights, and not the state. State citizenship was constructed on and above primordial logic. Currently, group identities have assumed not only the primary means of social expression, but also of rights and privileges in the polity. The concept of national citizenship of equal rights, benefits and duties for all citizens has been attenuated or bifurcated, with the state sunk in a cesspool of intergroup struggles and conflicts over the distribution of public goods.

Alubo (Chapter 3) also highlights the how a struggle for rights and privileges is played out through identity politics in Nigeria. Slocum (2001) illuminated how identities evoked, and the meanings attributed to them, bore consequences for the allocation of rights and duties within the context of a conflict between the university and residents in Georgetown, Washington, DC. Rights were sometimes implicitly allocated in accordance with ‘community’ membership. However, the term ‘community’ was used by some people to include students and non-students, and by others to signify only non-student residents. To make such assumptions explicit, new categories were employed, such as ‘matriculated citizens’. Evoking the term ‘citizens’ (whereby the matriculation status is irrelevant) places student and non-student residents on equal moral footing, suggesting an equal distribution of rights and duties. Simultaneously, the evocation of this superordinate category, with the equal distribution of rights and duties it implied, was a peace-promoting act (see 182–3). An examination of social norms and attributed rights and duties is therefore indispensable to understanding the relationship between identity construction and conflict or peace. Finally, various authors (Beck 1998; Sen 2006; Slocum 2001a: 196; Slocum 2001b) have pointed to the reflexive nature of identity construction, emphasizing the impact that theory can have upon social reality. In critique of Huntington’s (1996) theory of civilizational clash, Sen (2006) argues that theories that reduce people’s humanity to a single form of identity can have far reaching consequences, as theories can influence thought, action and public policy. Reduced identities, such as those portrayed by Huntington, are illusions that can be invoked to foment intergroup strife, whereby harmful consequences are often not intended by the proponents of theories. Sen importantly points out that, high theories with solitarist features like civilizational partitioning or communitarian confinement are not, of course, aimed in any way at sewing confrontation – in fact quite


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the contrary. When, for example, a theory of the ‘clash of civilizations’ is presented and promoted, the objective is to identify what is perceived as a pre-existing reality …, and the theorists see themselves as ‘discovering’ a confrontation, not creating – or adding to – one. (178)

Theories about identity, whether promoted by social scientists or laypersons, can generate and reify identity conceptions that can (be used to) foment conflict. How identity is studied thus has equally important implications for peace or conflict as the object of study.

Overview The case studies included in the present volume pursue the reviewed lines of research by exploring identity constructions in different ‘regions’ of the world. Each chapter addresses three focal questions: 1) How are identities being constructed and used in the region? 2) How are these identities related to borders? 3) In what ways do the identity constructions and processes foment peace or conflict? The authors come from diverse disciplinary backgrounds, including psychology, sociology, anthropology, political science, geography, and history. Their studies present a wide array of methodological approaches to studying identity, conflict and peace, each of which highlights different elements that constitute identity, its construction process and its consequences. The first three case studies examine identity construction within attempts at nation building. Dubois (Chapter 2) provides a historian’s perspective on the making of nations in the Benelux region, focusing on the formation of identities in what has come to be Belgium. He exposes how two different models of a nation – the political model and the cultural model – have influenced the borders of and within Belgium. Belgium, as a state, developed on the basis of a political model, its borders changing throughout Europe’s long history of territorial wars. In contrast, some contemporary identity narratives, based upon the cultural model of a nation, are promoting language-based nationalism. The resulting ‘linguistic border’ is the subject of great contention, albeit devoid of violence. He argues that this border is the platform for political and economic power plays. In his study of nation building in Nigeria, Alubo (Chapter 3) contrasts constitutional provisions for Nigerian citizens with practices that privilege certain identities over others. He highlights how religious, ethnic and other identities are strategically evoked within different contexts. Space in Nigeria is continuously re-partitioned, and new identities are constructed, such as ‘indigene’ or ‘settler’, in order to claim rights and privileges. Alubo eloquently illustrates how Nigeria is a country of ‘several citizenships’, the borders between which are conflict rife.


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Newman (Chapter 4) highlights the territorial and spatial dimensions of national identity constructions by the Jewish society in Israel/Palestine. He illuminates how these identity constructions are used to justify claims within the context of the Israeli and Palestinian conflict over territory and space. Participants to the conflict draw upon geographic, historical and archaeological narratives and discourses to ‘prove’ that the land belonged to their antecedents, and to claim, on this basis, a right to present control. Newman contrasts post-Zionist and neoZionist challenges to hegemonic mainstream Zionist identity narratives and the associated reasoning behind their territorial claims. A fundamental difference between each of these challenging discourses is the distribution of rights and duties allocated to different national groups within a geopolitical space. Newman argues that the territorial policies advocated in each of the discourses have very different implications for conflict resolution. In the fifth chapter, Camroux and Pathan examine identity constructions within the context of an irredentist movement in southern Thailand. They illuminate the roles of ethnicity and religion, as well as neighboring Malaysia, in the identity narratives of peoples in this region, contrasting these with outsiders’ narratives, which portray the irredentist movement as ‘insurgents’ fighting a ‘global jihad’. Within local ‘Patani’ narratives, the authors reveal the existence of a Malay nation, which defies the borders of the Thai state. The contradiction between geopolitical space and the ‘sense of cultural space’ shared by the Malay people manifests in a literal inter-national conflict. While religion is a strong signifier of difference, the authors argue, it is not the cause of the rejection of Thai rule; rather, it merely provides another reason for rejecting what is portrayed as an ‘infidel occupier’. Identity constructions at the US–Mexico border are the subject of analysis in Chapter 6 (Slocum-Bradley). As an analytical tool, Slocum-Bradley draws upon Positioning Theory, to which she proposes an expansion and modifications. This theory development allows for more precise analysis of identity constructions and how they relate to norms, narrative, and discursive acts that constitute conflict or promote peace. Her analysis illuminates the variety of geopolitical and other psychological borders implicit in the identities evoked, as well as the allocation of rights and duties linked to these borders, within discourses on migration and border policy. Slocum-Bradley’s fine-grained analysis enables her to pinpoint key elements at the core of identity construction that are conducive of conflict or peace. In the seventh chapter, Duina compares the processes and consequences of identity constructions in three formal regional integration organizations. Drawing upon examples from the Mercosur, the EU and NAFTA, this chapter examines how the creation and functioning of regional trade institutions generate new identities and instigate both peace and conflict. According to Duina, identities, which he concisely defines as shared beliefs and viewpoints, are created through institutional processes. These processes include cross-national institution building, regional law, public discourse and mobilization, and symbols and images generated and disseminated by the regional institutions. Illustrating his point with various examples, Duina argues that regional identities are the mechanisms through which regional organizations can promote peace or cause conflict.

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In contrast to the formal and institutionalized forms of regional integration studied by Duina, Moghaddam (Chapter 8) describes the role of identity construction in informal regional integration. Emphasizing the fluidity and unpredictability of identity borders, he argues that religious identity has played a decisive role in the rise of a Shi’a Crescent, the emergence of which was largely unforeseen by external regional planners. Moghaddam highlights the role of internal and external narratives in the emergence of the Shi’a Crescent, as well as the implications it has for peace and conflict within the region and with the West. In the final case study of this anthology, Brown (Chapter 9) examines identity constructions within and of Melanesia, a constitution of Southwest Pacific islands. She illuminates the role of custom and tradition in establishing thresholds for, restraints to, and constructions of violence, contrasting this with Western representations of Melanesia as ‘conflictual’ and ‘warlike’. Her exposé highlights the reflexive nature of identity constructions, whereby external constructions of Melanesian identity impact attitudes about Melanesia, which in turn influence policy orientation towards Melanesia. Brown argues that the resulting policies can foment conflict within Melanesia and between Melanesia and the West. She creatively proposes that an understanding of the strengths of the Melanesian culture, and its grappling with change, can bear great potential for conflict prevention, development and other positive change. As such, her perspective provides a constructive alternative to theories of civilizational clashes. Extracting insights from each of the above case studies, the concluding chapter of the volume revisits the three focal questions. It summarizes insights gleaned and reflects upon their implications for addressing identity constructions as root causes of conflict or peace.

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Chapter 2

The Making of Nations in Belgium and Western Europe in Historical Perspective (Fifteenth– Twentieth Century): National Ideology, Ethnicity, Language and Politics Sébastien Dubois

The Nature of Nations The concept of nation, as worked out by historians, sociologists and anthropologists, is mostly taken as an ideological construction essential to modern societies. Certainly, there are a few scientists who take a more or less primordialist view on nations claiming their perennial character, maintaining it can be found nearly wherever human association takes place, and often emphasizing the felt longevity of ethnic ties and sentiments which facilitate and in the end most often establish the political form referred to as nation. But the major scientific community, at least in the social sciences, prefer the more instrumentalist notion, attributing the prevailing nation model to specific modern phenomena, such as developments toward a rational, bureaucratic state, capitalist economy and general secularization (Smith 1981 and 1994). Subjectivism and constructivism predominate in the international literature. One of the most influential authors of this trend is undoubtedly Benedict Anderson with his classic anthropological definition of the nation as ‘an imagined political community and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign’ (Anderson 1994). Accordingly, the modern idea of a nation was formed by the bourgeois elites as a challenge to nobility and absolutism and the concomitant economically inefficient system, heterogeneous by stratification and culture (where, roughly, lower classes were organized by regions while the nobility’s ties were international). It aimed at both the bourgeoisie’s political hegemony and its legitimacy. As Gellner (1983) explains, the nation is the necessary consequence of modern industrial society, which is based on instrumental rationality, meaning efficient economy as well as calculable administration. A rationalist usage of labor requires the establishment of culturally homogenous territories by means of institutionalized education. Above all the

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public school system was built to remove certain barriers established by ranks, which were thought to be ‘natural’ or given by descent. Therefore, it implicates a fundamental egalitarianism. It is simply a rational move within the growing bourgeoisie’s exploitation interests to put people into position because of acquired, rather than ascribed, characteristics and abilities. In addition, it is useful for the propertied classes to have workers at their disposal, who are equipped with basic qualifications and the ability to communicate with a large numbers of people, in order to provide mobility within a certain economic territory. School systems are historically crucial to forming a generalized national culture, language and history, and a national identity (Dubois 2005). Such is the whole ‘educational pyramid’: its main aim is cultural conformity, to create the ‘effective citizen’, who is able to communicate free of context. An important distinction Gellner (1983) draws is that between a political concept of nation (as in Britain or France, where political unity was prior to the cultural one) and a unificational nationalism (as in Germany or Italy, where a national identity prevailed amongst the bourgeoisie before political unity was achieved), which gave rise to the (romantic) cultural concept of nation, the Kulturnation. A third form applies to those territories where neither a native ‘advanced civilization’, nor a political unit existed and therefore nationalisms mainly arose as secessionist (or in their own view ‘liberation’) movements, as in Eastern Europe. One could also differentiate a citizenship (political) and an ethnicity (cultural) model of nation. While the nation-state is the basic model of polity asserting itself since industrialization, nationalism is the accompanying ideology. Gellner defines it as a ‘political principle that claims political and cultural units should be congruent, that every culture should have its own characteristic political roof, in fact preferably not more than one, and that every state can only be legitimized as a culture’s guardian’ (Gellner 1996). Although the constructedness of nations, as well as of nationalism, indicates they are not naturally given, they are nevertheless not regarded as ‘false consciousness’ but as culturally and symbolically highly charged systems of values, classifications, narrations, rituals and so forth. They are constructions that become socially real through utilization when being discursively maintained as a leading interpretation pattern. People who are discriminated against by ethnicity or nationality, especially if not provided with the educational resources to view the situation from a broader perspective, tend to adapt categories they are forced into and to try to turn them productively to put an end to their humiliation. Whether or not their effort is (counter)productive in the end, is a crucial question.

Historical Identities History plays an important role in collective identity formation. History is the craft of endless rewriting, of continuous reconsideration of the facts. Every generation has its own criteria to define ‘relevance’ and its own language, in which it prefers history to be told. In turn, history is generated not only by historical writings

The Making of Nations in Belgium and Western Europe in Historical Perspective

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(the works of historians, professional or not); rather, popular narratives (as false as these can be) generally have more impact on history. This chapter considers the Belgian case study: the making of nations, the relations between national ideology, politics, ethnicity and language in Western Europe, with reference to the Benelux nation-states since the fifteenth century. This case study is of interest for world history. First, the history of Belgium, from pre-history to the present day, is intertwined with the histories of its European neighbors, in particular those of The Netherlands and Luxembourg. In fact, Belgium and The Netherlands have the same national history during the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries. The today independent grand-duchy of Luxembourg was part of the medieval duchy, of which contemporary Belgium was a province from the fifteenth to the beginning of the nineteenth century. Finally, the territories Belgium currently occupies have been the cockpit of European history. Caesar’s Gallia Belgica lay athwart the line that would separate Gallo-Roman territories from the Franks. When Charlemagne’s empire fell apart in the ninth century, the strategically located ‘Middle Kingdom’ (between the lands that would later become France and Germany) emerged as a coveted territorial objective for the next millennium. During the Early Modern Age, Belgium was called the ‘battlefield of Europe’. Louis XIV tried to conquer this territory under Spanish rule, and Germany invaded Belgium twice during the last century. The debate about the fall or decline of the nation-state can particularly be applied to the Belgian case. In Belgium, the word patriotism seems to be completely obsolete. The common words (in French) for Belgian sentiments are belgitude and belgicanisme (to be belgicain), evoking the nostalgia of Belgium (of the Belgium before the post-national age of federalism and regionalism). A political speech about the Belgian national identity (saying ‘my dear compatriots’ or ‘Belgians!’), as in France (where the President speaks to ‘Français, Françaises!’), is simply unimaginable today. National sentiments or patriotic manifestations (playing the national anthem or raising the Belgian flag) are subject to jokes. There are now numerous collective identities in Belgium. The Belgian identity is declining in Flanders but remains of some importance in Brussels and Wallonia. In Flanders, the regional and/or cultural identity is probably the most important, while it is only emerging in Wallonia and Brussels (the people of Brussels seems to be ‘the most Belgian’). Finally, Belgians are the most enthusiastic partisans of European unification, often defining themselves as European citizens in opinion polls. We will first review the history of borders that have defined ‘Belgium’, both externally and internally. Next it will examine the role these borders have played in constructing identity narratives. Finally, we will consider how these identity constructions have promoted peace or conflict.

Belgium as an Old Nation: ‘The Bravest of All the Gauls’ Belgium, although not constituted as an independent kingdom until 1831, has a more ancient past. In fact the state was born during the fifteenth century, when medieval principalities became part of the Burgundian lands (Dubois 2005). The

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Dukes of Burgundy became the Duke of Brabant, Limburg and Luxembourg, the Count of Flanders, Namur, Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland, and Lord of Tournai and Mechelen. Legally, the Dukes of Burgundy were not kings of Belgium or the Low Countries, as the principalities were not annexed to Burgundy. Until the 1580s the history of Belgium (except the bishopric of Liège), Luxembourg and The Netherlands are the same: together with parts of northern France, they formed a country called The Netherlands or the Low Countries. In Dutch, a distinction still exists between on the one hand de Nederlanden (plural, the Low Countries) and Nederland (singular, the present-day state of The Netherlands) that is a consequence of this separation in the seventeenth century. Before 1581, The Netherlands refers to the Lowlands (De Nederlanden). This country was also known by the name ‘Flanders’, particularly used in foreign countries. As in the case of Switzerland and (later) Holland, the name of one province (the county of Flanders) particularly famous is used to refer to the entire country. In 54 BC, the Belgae were overrun by the armies of Julius Caesar, as described in his chronicle Commentarii de Bello Gallico. This chronicle is the first written historical material where Belgium and the Belgians are named. Quite interesting is the fact that this Latin name is the root of the modern name in English. In this same work, Julius Caesar referred to the Belgae as ‘the bravest of all the Gauls’ (‘horum omnium fortissimi sunt Belgae’), which became one of the most quoted texts in the patriotic Belgian discourse during the nineteenth century. In fact, the ancient territory of Belgium or Gallia Belgica was significantly larger than present-day Belgium. According to Julius Caesar, the border between Gallia and Belgica was formed by the Marne and the Seine and that with Germania by the Rhine. The Helvetii settlement area became part of Gallia Belgica. During the first century, the provinces of Gaul were restructured. The northern Gallia Belgica was renamed Germania Inferior (around modern Belgium), the eastern part Germania Superior (West Germany and Eastern France) and the southern border of Gallia Belgica was extented to the south. The newer Gallia Belgica included the cities of Camaracum (Cambrai), Nemetacum (Arras), Samarobriua (Amiens), Durocorter (Reims), Diuidorum (Metz) and Augusta Treverorum (Trier). During the Middle Age the names of Belgium and Belgica disappear from the political and administrative vocabulary, but they survive in some scholarly manuscripts.

Philip the Good of Burgundy, ‘Founding Father of Belgium’ A fair share (but not most) of these territories were inherited by the Burgundian dukes, a younger branch of the French royal house of Valois in 1384, upon the death of Louis de Male, count of Flanders. His heiress, Margaret III of Flanders had married Philip the Bold (1342–1404), the first of the Valois dukes of Burgundy, who thus inherited the counties of Flanders, Artois, Rethel, Burgundy, and Nevers. Together they initiated an era of Burgundian governance in the Low Countries. The Burgundian territories were expanded under the reign of duke Philip the Good with the county of Namur in 1421, the duchies of Brabant and Limburg


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in 1430, the counties of Hainaut, Holland and Zeeland in 1432 (with the defeat of Countess Jacqueline in the last episode of the Hook and Cod wars) and the duchy of Luxembourg in 1441. Philip also managed to ensure his illegitimate son, David, was elected Bishop of Utrecht in 1456. It is not surprising that in 1435, Philip began to style himself ‘Grand Duke of the West’. In 1463 Philip created an Estates-General based on the French model. The first meeting of the EstatesGeneral was to obtain a loan for a war against France and to ensure support for the succession of his son Charles to his dominions. The reign of Philip the Good was so impressive and decisive in political history that humanists and many others referred to Philip the Good as Conditor Belgii: the founding father of Belgium (or Netherlands). Had Philip conceived a plan to create a new state or kingdom? The question was often debated by major historians in the twentieth century. More significant for this analysis is the perception of the Burgundian work between the sixteenth and the eighteenth centuries. In fact, the idea that Philip the Good was of consequence in the minds of early modern men. In the eighteenth century any statesman from the Austrian Netherlands thought so. This idea is already present in the first national history schoolbook, specially issued for scholars in 1782–1783. Its publishing was a governmental initiative and its use became an obligation in all public and private (Catholic) colleges. The Burgundian era lasted until 1477, when the last Valois duke, Charles the Bold, died on the battlefield of Nancy, leaving no male heir. The duchy of Burgundy thus reverted to the French crown, and the Low Countries passed through Mary of Burgundy to her husband, Maximilian of Habsburg. It should be noted that, until the end of the eighteenth century, The Netherlands were a personal union under the Duke of Burgundy and later the Habsburgs (Mary and Maximilian’s son Philip, the father of the emperor Charles V, was the first Habsburg to rule The Netherlands). The Habsburgs were princes of each separate Belgian province, while the central government of the Spanish Netherlands became more powerful. The Habsburgs were effectively considered national sovereigns. Until French annexation in 1795, the ‘Belgian provinces’ – one of the names given to the country, including in official documents – were in law a kind of confederate state with special status in the Habsburg monarchy.

Charles V, ‘Father of The Netherlands’ The marriage of Charles the Bold’s daughter, Mary, to the archduke Maximilian of Austria brought The Netherlands increasingly under the sway of the Habsburg dynasty. Mary and Maximilian’s grandson, Charles, became king of Spain as Charles I in 1516 and Holy Roman Emperor as Charles V in 1519. Born in Ghent (Belgium), Emperor Charles V was raised in The Netherlands and spoke fluent Dutch, French and Spanish, and some German. In 1506 he became lord of the Burgundian states, among which were The Netherlands. Subsequently, in 1516, Charles V inherited several titles, including the combined kingdoms of Aragon, Castile and Leon, which had become a worldwide empire with the Spanish

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colonization of the Americas. In 1519 he became ruler of the Habsburg Empire and gained the title Holy Roman Emperor. Charles, despite his harsh actions, had been seen as a ruler empathetic to the needs of The Netherlands. For many people, including authors of the nineteenth century, he was simply a ‘Belgian’. An eighteenth century author wrote about Charles: ‘A Belgian rules Europe and America’. Charles knew well the country and its specificities. Charles V is the sovereign who united it into one state and is called ‘the father of The Netherlands’. In 1548, eight years before his abdication from the throne, he granted the Seventeen Provinces of The Netherlands status as an entity separate from both the Empire and from France. This Pragmatic Sanction of 1549 was not full independence, but it allowed significant autonomy. In 1531, Charles V created a new form of central government for the Belgian provinces. Charles tried to make the Low Countries into an administrative unity, and he conquered the last remaining independent provinces in the region: Friesland and Guelders.

Revolt in The Netherlands The unity of the Seventeen Provinces was short-lived. Unlike his father, who had been raised in Ghent, Philip II (1555–1598), King of Spain and The Netherlands, had little personal attachment to the Low Countries (where he had stayed for only four years), and thus was perceived as detached by the local nobility. A devout Catholic, Philip was appalled by the success of the Reformation in The Netherlands, which had led to an increasing number of Calvinists. The CounterReformation, and Phillip’s attempts to centralize government justice and taxes and to suppress religious diversity, led to a revolt against him. A well-organized Protestant church movement developed in The Netherlands, and the disaffection with Catholic Spain, coincided with the Protestant revolt against the Roman Catholic church. In 1566 anti-Catholic riots spread across the country. Philip sent Spanish troops, whose harsh actions resulted in open revolt. William I, prince of Orange, led the revolt and eventually took control of most northern towns. The northern region (now known as The Netherlands) became increasingly Protestant (i.e. Calvinistic), while the south remained primarily Catholic. This religious schism, which was also political, resulted in the Union of Arras and the Union of Utrecht. In the 1580s the protestants of the Northern Netherlands managed to secede. In 1579 the Union of Utrecht, an alliance of all northern, and some southern, territories was formed, while in the Union of Arras, most of the southern territories declared their support for the Catholic Spanish King Philip II. The provinces that joined the Union of Utrecht would more or less become the modern Netherlands; those that did not would become modern Belgium. In 1581, provinces of the Union of Utrecht seized independence in the ‘Oath of Abjuration’ (‘Plakkaat van Verlatinghe’) and started the unique political (republican) experience of the ‘United Provinces of The Netherlands’ and the Dutch Golden Age. The new nation suffered a series of reverses in the war with


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Spain, but eventually the tide turned. For the United Provinces, the war lasted until 1648 (the Peace of Westphalia), when Spain recognized the sovereignty of the Dutch Republic, but held onto the loyal and Catholic region of modern-day Belgium, which was all that remained of the Spanish Netherlands. For the re-conquered Southern Netherlands, where Catholicism was imposed, the war ended in 1585 with the fall of Antwerp. This can be seen as the start of Belgium as one region. In fact, until the end of the eighteenth century and the revolutions, geographers and historians will describe all The Netherlands (the 17 Provinces of Charles V) as one country, merely divided by a ‘civil war’ and the conquest of Louis XIV (territories that are now the North of France). For the Northern Netherlands it was an ‘Eighty Years’ War’ for freedom and independence. The leading traders and intellectuals migrated to the North and took their money and knowledge with them. Moreover, the Dutch were able to block the Scheldt estuary until 1794. This caused the decline of Antwerp and the rise of Amsterdam. During the revolt, The United Provinces of The Netherlands or Dutch Republic rapidly grew to become a world power through its merchant shipping and experienced a period of economic, scientific, and cultural growth, a period known as the ‘Dutch Golden Age’. While the United Provinces gained independence, the Southern Netherlands remained under the rule of the Spanish Habsburgs (1519–1713). Under Archduke Albert and Archduchess Isabella (daughter of Philip II), the Southern Netherlands (Belgium excluding Liège) became semi-autonomous (1598–1621) and they could preserve some of their cultural splendor (Rubens). The Southern Netherlands, once back under Spanish control, had to pay for the defeats inflicted on their masters. They thus lost many territories to the Northern Netherlands and France forever. The country suffered heavily during the wars of the French king Louis XIV, who wrought havoc in Brussels in 1695. In their relative isolation between an always potentially aggressive France and enemy Protestant countries, the Southern Netherlands were on their own. Ultimately this historic fate transformed their traditional sense of autonomy into a sentiment of national belonging, which was of course a feeling only political and cultural elites were capable of experiencing. Under the rule of Louis XIV (1659–1715), the French made sustained efforts to extend their control over the Spanish Netherlands. Louis XIV’s ambitions were feared not only by the Spanish, but also by the Dutch, who had no desire to see powerful France extend its borders to their own. England also opposed French expansion, especially after William III, ruler of the Dutch, accepted the English throne. As a result, the Belgian provinces were for much of the century a battleground between Louis XIV and the shifting alliances of his opponents. These struggles reached their climax during the War of the Spanish Succession (1702–1713), prompted by the death of King Charles II of Spain. Before his death, Charles had named as his successor Philip of Anjou, who also happened to be Louis XIV’s grandson. As one might expect, Louis informed his young relative that it would be best for all concerned if Philip would immediately cede the Spanish Netherlands to France. It was an proposition that Philip could not refuse, but also one that no one else in Europe could accept. For the next decade France

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attempted repeatedly to establish its rule, while Dutch, English, and Austrian armies consistently rejected each attempt. By 1713, Louis had had enough, and with the Treaty of Utrecht, France ceded its claims over the Spanish Netherlands to the Habsburg rulers of Austria. In 1713, the Southern Netherlands thus entered into Austrian Habsburgs’ hands.

The United States of Belgium Belgium was successively under Burgundian, Spanish and Austrian ‘rule’. Some national histories will refer, in the nineteenth century, to ‘occupation’ and ‘foreign domination’. In fact, Belgium continued to enjoy virtual independence from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century, paying as little attention to the Austrian claims as it had paid to the claims of the weakened Spanish during the previous century. By the end of the eighteenth century Belgium was ready to assert its own identity. During the 1780s, the emperor Joseph II introduced some important reforms, quite similar to the French Revolution some years later. Religion, administration and justice were completely reformed. The old system, regarded as a ‘national constitution’, was compromised. After a first ‘small revolution’ in 1787, in December 1789 the states of each province (the provincial assemblies) deposed their sovereign, Joseph II. In January 1790, a Sovereign Congress proclaimed the Republic of the ‘United States of Belgium’ (États-Belgiques-Unis or Verenigde Nederlandse Staten). The Oath of Abjuration in 1581 and the American Declaration of Independence in 1776 stood as a model for the treaty of the United Belgian States. The insurrectionists were influenced by the American model. They called themselves ‘Patriots’ and revolutionist propaganda called the general of the Patriotic Army, van der Meersch, ‘the Belgian Washington’ and the leader of the Revolution, Henri van der Noot, ‘the Belgian Franklin’. This federative Republic was divided between two factions, the so called ‘democrats’ of Jean-François Vonck (also called Vonckists) and the ‘Vandernootists’. The young Republic suffered dangerously from this constant conflict between Statists and Vonckists factions, bordering on civil war. Meanwhile, Joseph II had died and his brother Leopold II had succeeded him as emperor. Leopold quickly moved to recapture the Austrian Netherlands. On 24 October imperial troops took the city of Namur, forcing the province of Namur to recognize the authority of the emperor. Two days later, the province of West Flanders followed suit, and by December the entire territory was again in imperial hands. Though short-lived, the United States of Belgium had longlasting repercussions. It had given the Southern Netherlands their first taste of independence, and had sparked a new political idea: the nation-state of Belgium.


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The French Age The leaders of the new country were deeply divided, and the Austrians rapidly re-established control. However, Austria soon found itself at war with the French Republic, and by 1795 the successful French had ‘liberated’ Belgium. Although the French instituted far-reaching reforms that later served as the foundations for the modern Belgian government, the French were in fact far more inclined to see Belgium as a source of revenue and troops. Churches were seized and despoiled, massive conscription was introduced, and popular protest was crushed with ruthlessness reminiscent of the Spanish occupation. In 1792 the troops of the French Republic managed to conquer the Southern Netherlands and the principality of Liège, but in 1793 the Austrians reoccupied the country. A new French military campaign in 1794 put an end to Austrian rule once and for all. In 1795, the Convention nationale of France annexed ‘Belgium and the principality of Liège’.1 Under French rule there was no autonomy as there had been under the Spanish and Austrian regimes. The administration was centralized; aristocratic privileges were abolished; and the church was persecuted. Military conscription measures provoked a peasants’ revolt (1798–1799), but repression was extremely harsh. The same republican institutions were imposed upon the newly integrated territories. Belgium became part of the French Republic and was divided in nine departments. Napoleon implemented a wide ranging framework of civil law, known as the Code Napoléon, which later became the basis of civil law in Belgium. In 1794 Austrian rule came to an end with the French conquest of the Southern Netherlands and the bishopric of Liège, and the annexation of these to France. It was in fact the first foreign domination in the history of Belgium, because during the Early Modern Age, Belgium was not a part of Spain or Austria, but was a more or less autonomous state. The annexation by revolutionary France was no pleasant experience at first, but rapidly became an interesting opportunity as France, under pressure from the Continental Blockade, turned out to be a huge market, including Napoleon’s armies who needed uniforms that the Belgian textile industry was happy to provide. During this ‘French Age’ (of the Belgian history), industry took off. Steam engines and machines were smuggled into Belgium and British immigrants erected factories. Wallonia became the most industrialized county of Europe, while Ghent was the only industrial city in Flanders. The French government imposed military service on all young males, so many Belgians were forced to fight in the Napoleonic wars. During his reign, all political freedom was suspended. In Flanders, use of the Dutch language for any purpose was suppressed, and the press was also barred from using it. By that time, Belgium was already well established as the unofficial name for the Southern Netherlands, indicating the existence of a sense of national identity 1 The land of Liège, completely wedged in the territory, was since 985 an independent state belonging to the Holy Roman Empire: the dukes of Burgundy and Charles V had not been able to conquer it definitively.

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(Dubois 1999, 2005). The people were called Belgians by officials and by Napoleon himself. In schoolbooks, the word Belgium designated a part of France, divided in nine départements. The territories of the old Southern Netherlands and – for the first time in history – the principality of Liège were united and comprised under the name of Belgium. The Belgians called themselves Belgians and their country Belgium. In common language, France was for the Belgians a foreign country and the partisans of the new regime where called Français, regarded as traitors by the Patriots.

The ‘United’ Kingdom of The Netherlands After the defeat of Leipzig, the Allied armies presented themselves as ‘liberators’ from Napoleon’s tyranny. In February 1814, the ‘independence of Belgium’ was proclaimed by the Allied Powers in Brussels, and a ‘Government of Belgium’, composed of Belgians but under the rule of an allied governor, was designated. This ‘independence’ would be short-lived. After Napoleon’s abdication, the Allied Powers meeting at the Congress of Vienna (1814–1815) decided to erect a barrier against France by uniting Holland and Belgium under the rule of King William I, self-proclaimed when Napoleon returned from the island of Elba. The official name of the new state was ‘Kingdom of The Netherlands’. King William I tried to promote the common past of the two countries, as he wanted to be seen as a new Emperor Charles V, uniting all the Low Countries. In official papers, all the kingdom was consequently called Belgique in French and Nederlanden in Dutch. That was nevertheless only political propaganda. William’s political program was to amalgamate Belgium to Holland, despite the fact that Belgians were significantly more numerous. The ‘United Kingdom’ was sapped by mutual distrust from the beginning. As an enlightened despot, William I wanted to take control of affairs. Much to the displeasure of Belgium, he did not want the Belgians to meddle in the affairs of his kingdom, although the Belgian population outweighed the inhabitants in the north (Holland) two to one. He refused to devolve power to government ministers, as demanded by the Liberals, and he imported a legion of bureaucrats from Holland to run things in Belgium. This was extremely different from the kind of ‘home rule’ the Belgians had become used to. As a Protestant, William I wanted to control the Catholic institutions. He also tried to impose Dutch as an official language, to the detriment of French, which was spoken by the Belgian elites since the eighteenth century (the government of the Austrian Netherlands worked in French). The young Walloon and Flemish upper classes, who spoke French, were afraid that their career opportunities would be affected. William I promoted the industrialization of the country. To support mechanized industry, he embarked on large scale infrastructural development and provided financial assistance to businessmen. His measures met with the approval of the industrialists of Wallonia and Ghent. In the rest of Flanders non-mechanized rural industry suffered greatly from the competition represented by new factories, which caused some dissatisfaction. The Catholic Church supported this rural


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opposition because it refused to accept a protestant king. Moreover, William I wanted to limit clerical power, which resulted in catholic distrust. Very soon an opposition developed in Belgium that led to the formation of the ‘monster coalition’ between Catholics and Liberals. These two dominant political tendencies had a common claim to freedom, although the phrase meant something very different to each of them. The Liberals demanded modern civil liberties and economic freedom. The Catholics wanted to free themselves from royal and state intervention in their affairs, hoping to restore a Catholic social order. Like the Liberals, they supported a separation of Church and state. In 1828 Catholics and young Liberals formed a union with a joint programme. Finally, in 1830, tensions in Belgium rose to such an extent that the area broke away from the north and formed a new independent Belgian state.

‘Sacred Love of my Country, Give us Courage and Pride’ From 3 August 1830, Daniel Auber’s opera La Muette de Portici was forbidden in the Theater La Monnaie in Brussels, because of its alleged ‘bad influence’ on the audience, but on the famous evening of 25 August it was again on the programme. The main reason for the ban was the famous aria: ‘Amour sacré de la patrie, rends-nous l’audace et la fierté; à mon pays je dois la vie, il me devra sa liberté’ (Sacred love of my country, give us courage and pride; to my country I owe my life, it will owe me its freedom). Upon hearing the powerful words, the audience took to the streets of Brussels to revolt. This revolt spread to the working classes and lasted until the evening of 26 August. Step by step, the uprising in the streets of Brussels developed into a full-blown revolution, followed by ‘famine uprisings’ in Leuven, Liège, Verviers and elsewhere. On 23 September, volunteers from all over the country joined the rebellion in Brussels. On 27 September King William I ordered his soldiers to avoid further bloodshed, and the Dutch troups consequently withdrew. A constitutional monarchy was established in 1831, with a monarch invited from the House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha in Germany by the British. The major powers in Europe agreed, and on 21 July 1831, the first king of the Belgians, Leopold of Saxe-Coburg was inaugurated. This day is still the Belgian national holiday.

National Narratives Political changes and new boundaries generate new historical narratives. In 1795, when Belgium became part of France, some historians wrote about the old Gaul: annexed by France, Belgium returned to the ‘mother homeland’. In 1815, when Belgium was made part of a new kingdom of The Netherlands by the Congress of Vienna, many historians talk about a ‘reunification’ of ‘the great Netherlands united by Charles Quint’. Just after the Revolution of 1830, the same books were reprinted, and some passages provided a pro-independence interpretation of the past.

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Two types of nation-building processes can be identified in Belgium: the older one, Belgium as a nation and the second one, Flanders as a nation. Historical, geographical and cultural narratives accompany each as justifications to ‘explain’ the evident existence of the nation with ‘obvious’ facts. Even the patterns of selection of relevant ‘facts’ and ‘invention’ are largely the same. Belgium as a nation is a typical nation-state model, resulting essentially from an administrative and political process (beginning in the fifteenth century), whereby the existence of an administration creates a common sense of a country. After the 1830 Revolution, Belgian authorities saw history writing as a particularly important task, because it thought its survival as a state depended on it. History had to prove that Belgium had the right to exist, that Belgium was an old and respectable nation. Historians, consciously or not, were nationalist. The theory of most historians was that Belgium as a nation could be traced back to Roman times and that, since its earliest visible conception under the dukes of Burgundy’s rule, it had always suffered from invasion, occupation and oppression. The creation of the Belgian state in 1830 was thus presented as the result of a century-long struggle of the Belgians to liberate themselves from Spanish, Austrian, French and Dutch ‘occupations’. But these national histories were less the facts of scientific historians than of politicians, writers and poets. Today, this theory of the ‘foreign oppressors’ is still very popular. The context is nevertheless not the same. Historians have proved, for a long time now, how this theory is wrong. Moreover, authors known today for their so-called ‘Belgian patriotism’ or ‘Belgicanism’ (including the most famous one, Henri Pirenne, in the beginning of the twentieth century), insisted on Belgian autonomy. (Monarchs were regarded by Early Modern people as national monarchs.) Nevertheless, this theory of the ‘foreign oppressors’ remains a guiding principle in various popular ideas. It further implies Belgians’ secular inclination for localism, their distrust for the state, their soft anarchism, their inclination to disregard speed limits, and even their tendency to evade taxes! The Flemish (sub-)nation was born within the Belgian state and results in part from Belgian independence and its particular political history. The Flemish nation-building process is more characteristic of a cultural model of nation, which is chronologically later than the political and administrative model representative of the Belgian nation-building process. In the (sub-)nationalist discourses, important is the idea of an old Flemish identity. Accordingly, Flanders is older than Belgium but has been forced into the composition of an ‘artificial’ state, created by European diplomacy. Thus, Belgium is younger and less ‘authentic’ than Flanders. This narrative, projected into the future, claims that Belgium is nearing its end as a viable state, an idea that is omnipresent in political speeches, press and media, particularly since the federal election of June 2007. Despite the fact that this notion is not new (in the 1960s foreign newspapers already advocated UN intervention in Belgium), the international press portray a major crisis, proceeding to many comparisons with Czechoslovakia or Bosnia! Another leitmotiv is the defense of the Flemish language, oppressed by the French-speaking elite of Belgium. Some Flemish nationalists have rewritten the ‘foreign oppressors’ story, applying it to Flanders and including Belgium (which is


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regarded as a Francophone creation and as generally dominated by Francophone bourgeoisie) in the list of oppressors. In accordance with this narrative, ‘liberation’ from the secular ‘foreign oppression’ is yet to be achieved with the birth of an independent Flemish Republic. In 1973 the Flemish authorities decreed that they would recognize the date of 11 July in celebration of the victory of the Flemish towns over the French king, Philippe le Bel, at the Battle of the Golden Spurs in 1302. In fact this is part of a nationalist Flemish narrative: Flemish nationalism makes no distinction between the medieval county of Flanders and the actual Flemish Region. Nevertheless, in 1302 ‘Walloon’ soldiers fought at the Battle of the Golden Spurs too! The same nationalist discourse presents Brussels as being a ‘Flemish’ city for a millennium. In fact, it was a capital town of the duchy of Brabant, a province frequently in conflict with the county of Flanders. The political and economic context explains the success of this collective identity. As explained above, French became the language of the administrative and cultural elite of the Austrian Netherlands (in the north as in the south of Belgium) during the eighteenth century. This process of francization was reinforced by the French occupation between 1794 and 1814: French became the official language of all administration. Meanwhile, in the north of Belgium the peasants continued to speak (though less frequently read or write) a range of local Flemish dialects. According to the Constitution of 1831, the official language of the Belgian state was French, but this language was not imposed: article 23 guaranteed the ‘freedom of language’: Belgian citizens could use the language of their choice anywhere. This was an important change after the French and Dutch politics between 1794 and 1830. French was required, however, only for government business and the law. In practice, the speakers of regional Flemish dialects were at an acute disadvantage. They could not be tried in their own language. Secondary and higher education was de facto a French-speaking monopoly. At certain moments in life, an educated person would always speak French, even at home. The Belgian state had consecrated French with an exclusive place in public life. The Belgian elites of the nineteenth century industrialization spoke French, reinforcing the French language’s ‘domination’. Many impoverished Flemish peasants flocked to the South of Belgium during the glorious era of the Industrial Revolution, since Wallonia was the heartland of Belgium’s wealth in coal and steel. It is another particularity of the Belgian case that identity is not ‘ethnic’ in nature. It is not by chance that many French-speakers today have Flemish names and some Flemish politicians have French names, as Flemish – Walloon intermarriages were not uncommon.

The Linguistic Border: Flemish and Walloon Identities Thus, Flemish and Walloon identities, and the origins of the ‘language question’ in Belgium, are fairly recent: Flemish and Walloon or Francophone (including Brussels’ French-speaking people) identities were born only after 1830. At the end of the nineteenth century, the Flemish-speaking area of Belgium was called


34

‘Flanders’, by extension of the medieval county’s name, the territory of which corresponds with only half of modern Flanders. At this time, definition of the Flemish identity, including unification of Flemish dialects into a more uniform language, was the work of an intelligentsia. The name ‘Wallonia’ for the Francophone area was popularized by a poet in 1886, whereas the adjective Walloon (‘Walloon provinces’ for example) had already existed since the Early Modern Age, albeit quite rare at that time. Today as in the twentieth century, many Walloons with a Flemish name do not ‘feel’ Flemish. This idea of the ‘artificiality’ of Belgium is also present in the discourse of French-speaking partisans of ‘back’ to France. Ironically, Wallonia, as the rest of Belgium, was part of France for fewer than twenty years (1795–1813). Irredentist opinion is marginal. Today French-speaking people are more ‘Belgian’ than ‘Francophone’ or ‘Walloon’.2 While a Walloon identity does not seem to be emerging, a Belgian Francophone identity has emerged because of the linguistic conflict with Flanders. Language legislation was introduced gradually. In 1878, Flemish was recognized as an official language for administrative matters, and Flemish-speaking secondary schools were set up in the Flemish provinces. In reality most instruction still took place in French, with only some subjects taught in Dutch. Once a suffrage reform in 1893 gave the vote to growing body of Flemish-speaking people, the state was forced to compromise with their demands. By 1913, Flemish was officially approved for use in Flemish schools, courts and local administrations. In 1932, a crucial step was taken, when Flemish became not just permitted but required in Flemish schools. A general ‘Dutchification’ of administration and education took place in the Flemish provinces. In 1935, the introduction of compulsory schooling until 16 years of age (later extended to 18) was another important step in building Flemish self-confidence. The union of language and territory became inevitable. The consequence was the creation of two administratively distinct ‘linguistic regions’. This was conjoined only by the overlap in Brussels, where the French-speaking people were continually more numerous in an increasing number of localities around the capital. The border of the language areas could still easily be changed, however, according to the outcome of each national census. Thus, the ‘linguistic border’ within Belgium is not only linguistic or cultural; it is also a political and administrative border. It is a major symbolic issue in the recent political history of Belgium. The border was delineated in 1962–1963: In the first Gilson Act of 8 November 1962, the boundaries of certain provinces, arrondissements and municipalities were modified (among others, Mouscron became a part of Hainaut and Fourons became a part of Limburg), and facilities for linguistic minorities were introduced in 25 municipalities. On 2 August 1963, the second Gilson Act entered into force, fixing the division of Belgium into four language areas: a Dutch, a French and a German language area, and Brussels as a bilingual area with both French and Dutch as its official languages. The

2

The word Francophone includes the French-speaking people of Brussels.


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borders can only be changed by law and in accordance with the outcomes of national censuses. The linguistic disputes attained their climax around 1968 with the splitting of the Catholic University of Leuven, one of the oldest European universities located in Flemish Brabant, into the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven and the Université catholique de Louvain (a new campus city, Louvain-la-Neuve, built in Walloon Brabant). The problem came from the presence of a French-speaking university in Flemish territory, as an exception to the linguistic law. Flemish-speaking students marched to the slogan of ‘Walen buiten’ (‘Walloons get out!’). The government of Prime Minister Paul Vanden Boeynants fell over the issue in 1968. Today, the two linguistic communities essentially live in territories isolated by the ‘linguistic border’, except in Brussels, where Flemings are nevertheless a small minority. In the 1960s, the three major parties (Liberal, Catholic and Socialist) were split in two: one each for the French- and Dutch-speaking electorates. Thus, Belgium is today a federal state without federal parties operating on both sides of the linguistic border. Consequently, elections are a contest among Flemish parties in Dutch-speaking Flanders and Francophone parties in Wallonia. Only in officially bilingual Brussels can voters choose from either Flemish or Francophone parties. Each negotiation to form a new government3 is a negotiation between different political and community parties. Flemish and Francophone parties’ programs can be completely different, but they must form a government together: according to the Constitution, ministers of the federal government (except the Prime Minister) must be 50 per cent Flemish and 50 per cent Francophone. The border also divides two economies, following different economic trends. The reversal of economic fortunes doomed the unity of Belgium. The Industrial Revolution of the late eighteenth and the nineteenth century accentuated the linguistic North-South division. Francophone Wallonia became an early industrial boom area, affluent and politically dominant, while Dutch-speaking Flanders remained agricultural and was economically and politically outdistanced by Brussels and Wallonia. The last 50 years have marked the rapid economic development of Flanders. In contrast, Wallonia’s outdated heavy industry went into decline. This shift of economic power to the Flemish, who now constitute an absolute majority (58 per cent) of the population, has been accompanied by a crescendo of demands for political gains. As a result of growing dissimilarities within the country and the waning of the national elite, a long process of constitutional reform began, to overcome the conflicts between Flemings and French-speakers. In 1970, there was a first state reform, which resulted in the establishment of three cultural communities: the Dutch Cultural Community, the French Cultural Community and the German Cultural Community. This reform was a response to the Flemish demand for cultural autonomy. The constitutional revision of 1970 also laid the foundation for the establishment of three Regions, which was a response to the demand of the Walloons and the French-speaking inhabitants of Brussels for economic

3

The electoral system is a proportional one.

36


autonomy. On 18 February 1970, Prime Minister Gaston Eyskens announced the end of ‘la Belgique de papa’ (father’s Belgium). In the Second State Reform of 1980 the names of the communities changed to reflect the extension of responsibilities. They are now officially called the Flemish Community, the French Community and the German-speaking Community, each with a parliament and a government. At the same time, the Flemish and the Walloon Regions were created, each with a parliament and government. Later the parliament and government of the Flemish Region and the Flemish Community were merged. The Third State Reform of 1988–1989 created the Brussels-Capital Region, with its own parliament and government. The Communities received more devolved power in the field of education, and the Regions were further consolidated. In 1993 the phrase ‘Belgium is a federal state that consists of Communities and Regions’ was formally inserted into the Constitution. During this Fourth State Reform, the responsibilities of the Communities and the Regions were expanded again, and their resources were increased. Other major changes included the direct election of the parliaments of the Communities and the Regions, the splitting up of the Province of Brabant into Flemish Brabant and Walloon Brabant, and the reform of the Federal Parliament’s bicameral system and the relations between the Federal Parliament and the Federal Government. The first direct elections for the parliaments of the Communities and the Regions took place in 1995. By the Fifth State Reform in 2001, Communities and Regions gained again more powers and responsibilities. The resulting federalism is original. Other federal states were (more or less) independent countries and became united in an increasing centralization process. Belgian federalism transformed a classic centralized state (conceived on the French ‘Jacobin’ model) into a federal one. The word federalization itself is employed to name this process: a ‘deepening of federalism’ signifies in Belgium more power for the regions, not a better rule of the federation. In this situation, some see a visible threat of complete disintegration of the country, while others stress the unity of the country time and again. The problem is that Belgian federalism is bipolar and centrifugal. The Frenchspeaking and Flemish populations are approximately 4,300,000 and 6,000,000, respectively. The German-speaking Community represents only approximately 65,000 people living in Eastern Wallonia, near the German border. Projects of provincial federalism, modeled after the Swiss, are subjugated to the linguistic conflict. Thus, although every new phase of federalization claims to be the last, devolution keeps dragging on, and each new step brings about calls for a further deepening of federalism. Nevertheless, opinion polls indicate that loyalty to Belgian unity is still widespread and dominant all over the country. The linguistic border dividing Belgium is each day more important, and relationships between the communities are quite difficult. Belgians are living in two separate ‘communities’. Brussels, constituting ten percent of the population, remains the exception. The city is largely French-speaking and officially bilingual, but Flemish and Francophone people have different schools and different universities (even on the same street), different newspapers, and different television


37

and radio broadcasts. Cultural and sport associations receive subventions from the Communities: they must consequently be Flemish or Francophone, they cannot simply be Belgian.

Conclusions The history of Belgium is instructive on issues of identity, borders and conflict. In 1830 the idea of cultural or linguistic identities had no meaning. The Belgian Revolution and independence resulted from an old administrative and political unity. Since the fifteenth century, the past has been interpreted as national (Belgian). The Early Modern monarchical patriotism and proto-nationalism evolved into a modern form of patriotism and nationalism during the revolutions, particularly when, in 1790, the emperor Joseph II was deposed by ‘the Belgian Nation’. The boundaries of Belgium, delineated by Early Modern wars, also delineated a national identity (like in other countries such as France or The Netherlands), and an accompanying Belgian traditional discourse promotes peace. The ‘compromis à la Belge’ (Belgian consensus) is well-known – even abroad – as an original art to find political solutions. Since 1830, a new national identity evolved inside the Belgian state: the Flemish identity. In Flanders, there is a preference to refer to all aspects of social life (political parties, broadcasts, cultural and sport associations, and so on) as Flemish, rather than Belgian. In contrast, the Walloon and the Francophone identities are too light to be considered as real national identities. The Francophones remain Belgians despite the disaffection of Flanders for Belgium and the Flemish national discourse against Belgium. Thus, in the history of Belgium, only one boundary is new: the linguistic border. This border has fomented (political) conflict. However, the ‘Language Question’ has not generated violence in Belgium: no terrorism, no arms, and no blood. The conflict consists only of political debate. The culture of consensus has brought about a fundamental sense of moderation and compromise. The willingness to enter into structural negotiations and to avoid a (Flemish) majority ‘dictatorship’ is probably the main reason why violence, bloodshed and terrorism are absent from Belgium’s political history. But although the long tradition of consensus has guaranteed political stability and relative peacefulness, it has its limits. Consensus is a pragmatic solution, not an idealistic one. Every new phase of state reform claims to be the last, but devolution nevertheless keeps dragging on, as if every new step brings about the need for a further deepening of federalism. The Belgian consensus is: compromise is never enough. It seems consequently impossible to settle the matter once and for all. In the end, separation (the unwillingness to compromise anymore) seems the only final solution to the problem. But a splitting of Belgium is not so easy given the common past. Brussels is the capital of Belgium, but also of the French Community, Flanders and Europe. Surrounded by Flemish localities, the majority of Brussels’ inhabitants speak French. Finally, Brussels is the common centre of economic and social life.

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The linguistic border dividing Belgium is perhaps more ‘mental’ than territorial. Until the sixties, there was a Belgian economic and political elite. These men studied in the same universities. They were members of the same political parties or the same business clubs. Since the 1960s, two societies – one Flemish and one Francophone – have evolved more separately every day. Ironically, it is the Belgian state that makes the linguistic border possible. Contradictory to the regionalist narratives and the idea that Belgium is an artificial union of Flemish and Walloons, Flanders and Wallonia were born from the state of Belgium. The international boundaries of Flanders and Wallonia are the same as Belgium’s, as neither Flemish nor Walloon narratives claim territories of France, Germany or The Netherlands. Constitutional freedoms of language and association have permitted the birth of the Flemish Movement. Furthermore, during the nineteenth century, the national Belgian discourse promoted the Flemish dialects as part of the Belgian (national) character, distinguishing (officially French-speaking) Belgium from France. Noteworthy, albeit beyond the scope of this chapter, is a European discourse prevalent in Belgium. Belgians are reputed to be one of the most European people of the European Union. The European discourse promotes peace within Belgium, because it generates a supra-national identity even when the national identity is being weakened by Flemish identity narratives. Thus, between the European and the Flemish discourses, Belgium will naturally, slowly and peacefully disappear. This historical exposé reveals that collective identity results more from a shared perception of the past than from the past itself. Different interpretations of the past (and of Belgium’s future, as a consequence of the past) generate different collective identities. This historian’s lesson is probably the most important to understand how collective identities are born and die, and how they can promote peace or conflict.

References Alen, A. (1990), Belgium. Bipolar and Centrifugal Federalism (Brussels: Ministry for Foreign Affairs, External Trade and Cooperation for Development. Anderson, B. (1994, revised edition 1983), Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso). Armstrong , J. (1983), Nations before nationalism (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press). Beaune, C. (1991), The Birth of an Ideology. Myths and Symbols of Nation in Late Medieval France (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press). Bell, D.A. (2001), Inventing Nationalism. The Cult of the Nation in France, 1680–1800 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press). Blom, J.C.H. and Lambrechts, E. (eds.) (1999), History of the Low Countries (Oxford: Berghahn). Cook, B.A. (2004), Belgium. A History (New York/Bern/Brussels: Peter Lang). Deprez, K. (ed.) (1989), Language and Intergroup Relations in Flanders and The Netherlands (Dordrecht: Foris Publications).


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Deprez, K. and Vos, L. (eds) (1998), Nationalism in Belgium. Shifting Identities, 1780–1995 (Basingstoke: Macmillan). Donaldson, B.C. (1983), Dutch. A Linguistic History of Holland and Belgium (Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff). Dubois, S. (1999), Les bornes immuables de l’État. La rationalization du tracé des frontières au siècle des Lumières (France, Pays-Bas autrichiens et principauté de Liège) (CourtraiHeule: Continuga). Dubois, S. (2005), L’Invention de la Belgique. Genèse d’un État-nation (1648–1830) (Brussels: Racine). Duncan, A.A.M. (1970), The Nation of the Scots and the Declaration of Arbroath (London: The Historical Association). Eriksen, T.H. (1993), Ethnicity and Nationalism. Anthropological Perspectives (London: Pluto Press). Fishman, J.S. (1988), Diplomacy and Revolution: The London Conference of 1830 and the Belgian Revolt (Amsterdam: CHEV). Fitzmaurice, J. (1996), The Politics of Belgium. A Unique Federalism (Boulder, CO: Westview). Forde, S., Johnson, L. and Murray, A. (eds) (1995), Concepts of National Identity in the Middle Ages (Leeds: Leeds Texts and Monographs). Gellner, E. (1983), Nations and Nationalism (Oxford: Basil Blackwell). Gorman, T.K. (1925), America and Belgium. A Study of the Influence of the United States upon the Belgian Revolution of 1789–90 (London). Hermans, T., Vos, L. and Wils, L. (eds) (1992), The Flemish Movement. A Documentary History, 1780–1990 (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Athlone Press). Hobsbawm, E.J. (1990), Nations and Nationalism since 1780 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Hooson, D. (ed.) (1994), Geography and National Identity (Oxford: Blackwell). Kossmann, E.H. (1978), The Low Countries (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Lijphart, A. (ed.) (1981), Conflict and Coexistence in Belgium. The Dynamics of a Culturally Divided Society (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press). Lyon, B. (1974), Henri Pirenne. A biography and intellectual study, Gent. Macrae, K. (1986), Conflict and Compromise in Multilingual Societies. Belgium (Waterloo: Wilfred Laurier University Press). Martiniello, M. (ed.) (1998), Multicultural Policies and the State. A Comparison of Two European Societies (Utrecht: ERCOMER). Murphy, A.B. (1988), The Regional Dynamics of Language Differentiation in Belgium. A Study in Cultural-Political Geography (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press). O’Dea, M. and Whelan, K. (eds) (1995), Nations and Nationalisms: France, Britain, Ireland and the eighteenth-century context (Oxford: Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, 335). O’Neill, M. (2000), ‘Language, Ethnicity and Nationality in Belgium’, in M. O’Neill and D. Austin (eds) Democracy and Cultural Diversity (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Rooney, J.W. (1982), Revolt in The Netherlands. Brussels 1830 (Lawrence, KS: Coronado Press). Rudd, C. (1986), An Historical and Empirical Analysis of the Belgian Party System. National and Sub-national Perspectives (Colchester: Croom Helm). Seton-Watson, H. (1977), Nations and States. An Enquiry into the Origins of Nations and the Politics of Nationalism (London: Methuen).

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Smith, A.D. (1981), The Ethnic Revival in the Modern World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Smith, A.D. (1991), National Identity (Harmondsworth: Penguin). Smith, A.D. (1994), The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford: Blackwell). Smith, A.D. (1998), Nationalism and Modernism. A Critical Survey of Recent Theories of Nations and Nationalism (London: Routledge). Smith, A.D. (2000), The Nation in History. Historiographical Debates about Ethnicity and Nationalism (Oxford: Polity). Thomas, D.H. (1983), The Guarantee of Belgian Independence and Neutrality in European Diplomacy: 1830s–1930s (Kingston, RI: D.H. Thomas Publishing). Tollebeek, J. (1998), ‘Historical Representation and the National State in Romantic Belgium (1830–50)’, Journal of the History of Ideas 59, 329–53. Vos, L. (1993), ‘Shifting Nationalism: Belgians, Flemings and Walloons’, in M. Teich and R. Porter (eds.) The National Question in Europe in Historical Context (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 128–47. Warden, J.G. (1985), Belgium, Management of the Community Crisis 1961–81 (Leicester: University of Leicester). Witte, E., Craeybeckx, J. and Meynen, A. (2000), Political History of Belgium from 1830 Onwards (Brussels-Antwerp: University of Amsterdam). Witte, E. and Van Velthoven, H. (eds) (1999), Language and Politics. The Belgian Case Study in a Historical Perspective (Brussels: VUB Press). Wright, S. (ed.) (1995), Language in Conflict. Contrasting Experiences in The Netherlands and Belgium (Bristol: Multilingual Matters). Zolberg, A. (1974), ‘The Making of Flemings and Walloons: Belgium, 1830–1914’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History 5, 179–235.

Chapter 3

Identity Construction and Citizenship Conflicts in Central Nigeria Ogoh Alubo

More than at any period since the civil war, Nigeria is grappling with questions of a sense of belonging, common citizenship and various forms of inclusion and exclusion. There are now vociferous – and ubiquitous – allegations of marginalization and a sense of ‘no one cares about us’ (Abah and Okwori 2002). The platforms for such agitations have increasingly changed from national organizations such as labor, students or other social movements, to ethnic and geo-regional ones. Various regions of the country, and the ethnic nationalities comprising these, now make common demands (such as more revenue from the center, and where the President should come from). They are closing ranks and opening existing borders in spite of internal differences and allegations of domination of minority groups by majorities in these regions. Toure Kaza Toure has, for instance, argued perceptively that there are layers of minority and majority groups at the national, state and local council levels, and that at each level the allegations of marginalization and the ‘oppression of minorities’ are replicated (Toure 2003). The concept of minority and majority relates both to ethnic origins as well as political and religious orientation. The politics of inclusion and exclusion is contested, fought and lost on the platform of collective identity, based mostly on ethnic origins and/or religious affiliations. At other levels, lineage and other narrower considerations are suborned to include and exclude some groups (Ibrahim 2006). There is thus a new sense of centrifugal forces imperiling the ‘one nation’ concept, the notion that Nigeria should remain a unified state. Particularly since the return of civil rule in 1999, many of the collective agitations and other forms of identity based politics have resulted in violent explosions, which typically involve the following: •

• •

the declaration of some ethnic and/or religious groups as persona non grata and their subsequent hunting down and physical elimination. In some cases, roadblocks are mounted and the assailed group(s) ‘cleansed’ from passing vehicles; burning and looting of property; mass rape of women;

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•

• • • •

•


mass migration of the persecuted to safer zones and regions, usually the ethnic territory/homeland where the assailed ethnic or religious group has large numbers; or to police and military installations; imposition of curfews and ‘stop and search operations’ as part of government efforts to restore order; deployment of troops to the conflict areas; disruptions of normal rhythm of life such as social and economic activities, and education; absorption of the displaced by relatives and/or the setting up of refugee camps and official state programmes for refugees, reconciliation and resettlement efforts; government panels of enquiry whose reports are rarely made public or acted upon (Alubo 2006: 43; also Federal Government of Nigeria 2003).

By December 2004, over eighty major eruptions were recorded in the first five years of civil rule, and up to 50,000 lives have been lost in the various waves of violence (Alubo 2006). The accurate numbers may never be fully established because of the typical penchant on the part of government to underreport casualties, just as groups at the receiving end tend to exaggerate figures. According to a leading Nigerian political scientist, Isawa Elaigwu (personal communication), up to one million people may have been killed in the waves of identity based violence, the same number lost to the civil war. But unlike the civil war, this undeclared war has many fronts and is ‘so pervasive that there is hardly any part of the country that has not been affected’ (Imobighe 2003: 14). Research conducted by the Institute for Peace and Conflict Resolution in all of Nigeria’s six geopolitical zones, into which the 36 states are grouped, reached a similar conclusion (Federal Government of Nigeria 2003). However, by the sheer numbers of blowouts, ferocity and persistence, Central Nigeria and the Delta regions stand out (Alubo 2006; Jibo et al. 2001). At the base of the violence is the unfinished business of nationhood and the nature of citizenship. Nigeria, as Steve Abah has noted was ‘cobbled together’ from diverse ethnicities, a fact which has continued to challenge ‘one Nigeria’ (Abah 2003). It has also been observed that the issue is not diversity per se but its management (Toure 2003). This challenge seems to have led to a gravitational pull away from the center to geo-ethnic associations. Thus, since 1999, all of Nigeria’s three major ethnic groups have associations that articulate their positions in the rising profile of ethnic mobilization and nationalism (Madunagu 2000, 2006; Babaginda 2002). Similar associations also exist for the minority groups and thus constitute visible threats of Nigeria dissolving into ethnic kingdoms a la Somalia. The potential and actual threats to one Nigeria are more accentuated by the militia and armed wings of most the ethnic associations such as the Odua People’s Congress for the Yoruba speaking; the Bakassi Boys in the Igbo speaking areas; similar groups in the North, Central and Delta regions (Elaigwu 2005; Anifowose 2004; Obasi 2002). Associations that more directly threaten secession include the Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (the region that attempted

Identity Construction and Citizenship Conflicts in Central Nigeria

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secession during the civil war in 1967–1970 and has been resurrected), and the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta. Furthermore, there are currently various armed groups in the Niger Delta who regularly engage security forces in battle and take oil workers hostage. Their activities have led to reduced oil production and revenue as well as increased insecurity in the region. In August 2007, wide scale violence between various militia groups led to the deployment of troops in Port Harcourt, the Rivers State capital. Rather than the more ominous prospects of a collapse, the different groups have used their associations to demand a better deal from ‘one Nigeria’. The standard demands include a greater share of federal revenue, the creation of more local councils and states (and thus more money from the center); and more ‘federal presence’ or the location of amenities such as schools (Alubo 2004). It was argued in the run-up to the April 2007 elections that the next President must come from the South-South, a demand also made by other regions. The phenomenal rise in identity related politics and violence relate to what Nigerians commonly refer to as the ‘national question’ (Elaigwu 2005, Akinyemi 2005; Aniche and Muhammad 2005) or simply, issues of citizenship rights and entitlements, and how these are secured or denied on the basis of ethnic and religious identities. Sometimes these issues are stretched to include whether Nigeria, as currently constituted, should continue to exist or split up (Elaigwu 2005: 552), or whether there is a need for a sovereign national conference, at which the various constituents could debate the terms for the union. As there are no definite plans for the latter, the contestations portend to continue and perhaps accelerate. These agitations and contestations challenge the more recent attempts at nation building where citizenship, in accordance with the 1999 constitution in operation, is inclusive irrespective of differences in ethnicity, religion and gender. The challenge is not the constitutional provision per se but the practice that privileges particularistic criteria over universal criteria. These processes of agitation for a reconfiguration of Nigeria, and demands for a better deal by all citizens, are exemplified by the case illustrations in this chapter. As used here, identity defines the individual and provides responses to the question, ‘Who am I?’ Identity is also how others define and label a person, irrespective of whether the latter accepts the definition. Identity has a combination of ethnic, religious, gender, class and other layers, all of which refer to the same person, either in self-definition or as defined by others. Identity is also about meanings in relation to social existence. Central here is its multi-layered nature and the tendency for some forms to dominate in particular circumstances. In effect, identity has both objective and subjective components: An identity is a distinguishing label that objectively exists, is subjectively felt, and enables its bearers to experience individually and collectively a sense of solidarity. As a label, it can be assumed by, or imposed on bearers. It is also a prism by which objects, people, and collectivities are sorted, organized, mapped and ordered into meaningful [and] understandable units. Identities are socially constructed, dynamic and multifaceted. Subjectively, identification with a category is simultaneously a definition of self, so that groups come to identify themselves as ethnic, religious, occupational, national and other

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Promoting Conflict or Peace through Identity terms. Objectively, individuals do not identify in general, but do so in relation to others’ definitions of themselves and the boundaries implied in such definitions. (Kuna 2004: 33; emphasis added; see also Jega 2003: 14–16)

This chapter addresses three related issues, namely: 1) how identities are constructed and used in central Nigeria; 2) how these identities relate to borders or demarcations, physical and mental, between groups and; 3) how the (processes of) identity construction can bring about peace or foment conflict. These issues are explored in relation to citizenship and coexistence in a country of diverse ethnic and religious groups. As part of a larger project, these issues were investigated through in-depth interviews and focus group discussions with a cross section of communities that have experienced identity violence in the past five years. The communities are part of Jos North in Plateau State Capital, and the Southern Senatorial zone in neighboring Nasarawa State. In each location, trained university undergraduates served as research assistants and interacted with the following: leaders of youth groups, religious leaders, community and traditional leaders, leaders of women’s groups, and male and female community members. The group leaders were engaged in in-depth interview sessions, while focus-group discussions were held with the community members. We ensured that data collection procedures were carried out from both sides of the conflict. All focus group discussions and in-depth interviews were audio-recorded and later transcribed and analyzed. This chapter is presented in three sections: the first provides some conceptual perspectives for understanding the problématique of identity politics in modern Nigeria, while the second presents some illustrations of violent eruptions of contestations over identity and citizenship. The final section discusses the meanings and impact of identity construction for the ‘one Nigeria’ project and concludes that in Nigeria, some bona fide citizens are subjected to discrimination and various forms of exclusion from rights, privileges and opportunities enjoyed by others. There are therefore raging contestations by excluded people, demanding to become included, and by the included to maintain the status quo ante (Alubo 2004, 2006). The study concludes that the identity constructions, and the ensuing contestations, sometimes lead to conflict and discusses why this is the case.

The Politics of Identity Construction in Modern Nigeria As is true of many countries, in Nigeria there are various forms of identities which distinguish one group from others. These various identities often have borders, physical and mental. Three main types of identity may be deciphered: ethnic, religious, and indigene/settler status. Deriving from circumstances of birth, ethnic identity is determined by one’s categorization into one of 374 groups in Nigeria. In general, Nigerians distinguish majority and minority ethnic groups, with the Hausa/Fulani, the Ibo (also written Igbo) and the Yoruba as the majority groups. The others are commonly lumped and classified as minorities and are found in


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many more states than the majorities, who are mostly in the South-West (Yoruba); South East (Ibo) and Northwest (Hausa/Fulani). Ethnic identity provides the ingredients for the construction of the second type of identity: indigene/settler status. In practice, an indigene is one whose ethnic group has a home land or territory within a particular geographical location such as a state. Religious identity, on the other hand, relates to the three main religious groups in Nigeria: Christians, Muslims and Traditionalists/animists. The division is, however, mostly between the two former, as animists are either silent or align with Christians or Muslims, depending on the stakes. These three types of identity are distinct, albeit inter-related. Ethnicity and religion are often related such that the Hausa/ Fulani are mostly Muslim, just as most of the Ibos are Christian. Indigeneity is also constructed on the basis of ethnic affiliations. However, as examined later, there are contestations over indigene/settler constructions as indeed over the three types identities, all of which take precedence over Nigerian identity. The ultimate objective of the contestations is to exclude the ‘other’ from opportunities and privileges. In many countries, there is a common citizenship with rights and entitlements as the common denominator. There are also institutionalized mechanisms for seeking redress in case of denials or breaches. However, in Nigeria the situation is more complex, as the constitution has provision for universal criteria as well as the more particularistic one of ‘indigene’. The constitution, for example, mandates the President of Nigeria to appoint at least one minister from each of the 36 states, ‘provided that in giving effect to the provisions aforesaid, the President shall appoint at least one Minister from each state, who shall be an indigene of such state’ (1999 Nigerian Constitution, section 147; emphasis added). While not defined anywhere in the constitution, indigeneity in Nigeria relates to what I have called ethnic homeland/territory, such that an indigene has ethnic roots in some particular geopolitical space within the state (Alubo 2006). The Federal Character Commission, an agency that inter alia enforces representation of various states in employment, has defined indigeneity in the local council and states. It accepts people whose parents and/or grand parents were indigenes and/ or people accepted as indigenes by the council. When one is an indigene of a local council in the state s/he is automatically an indigene of the state (Federal Character Commission ND: 16). Nigerians who have their ethnic genealogy elsewhere, even if they were born in a particular state or lived all their lives there, are regarded as ‘settlers’ (Alubo 2006; Ibrahim 2006). In this way, identity construction is based on a form of genealogy that privileges claims over a particular space within the state. This construction excludes those who may be born in a state but have no ethnic homeland there and are therefore referred to as ‘settlers’. In the Nigerian experience, being an indigene or a settler is a permanent identity, as there is no provision for the latter to convert to the former. As shown below, these identities are effectively the basis for a two-tiered citizenship structure in terms of rights, entitlement and opportunities. In this way, the contestations over identity are usually markers for other contests, particularly in relation to material benefits and opportunities. Thus, it is commonplace for people who share ethnic and religious identities in one

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circumstance to suffer exclusion in the others. Where this happens, particularistic criteria such as ‘settlers’, ‘strangers’ or non-indigenes come to the fore. In this way, identity is invariably related to citizenship. While all persons who are Nigerian by descent are citizens, as provided for in the constitution, certain practices introduce other criteria that effectively exclude some Nigerians. Since the civil war, issues of citizenship and identity had, for the most part, remained contained. Borders between the various groups did not seem to lead to conflicts. We now turn to address how identities are constructed and used in central Nigeria, how these identities relate to physical and mental borders; and how identities can promote peace and conflict. Historical Origins of the Citizenship Crises The current situation is as much historically inherited as it is a failure of the various post-colonial governments to adequately address the issues of multi- ethnicity and diversity. The British colonial power granted independence in 1960 to Nigeria’s three major ethnic groups and regions: Hausa in the North; Yoruba in the West Region and Ibo in the East. Minority groups, who were subsumed under these three, lived in perpetual fear of domination. Identity construction during the period was coterminous with being one of the three major ethnic groups. This situation later led to struggles for separate identities as ethnic and/or religious groups. The ethnic tripod remains crucial to the understanding of persistent issues of a sense of belonging and a common citizenship. This is why most of the discourse on ethnicity and citizenship has been dominated by considerations of majority and minority and relative differences in power and opportunities between the majority and minority ethnic groups (Osaghae 2002; Nnoli 1978). It has been argued that as part of the political calculus of ‘ethnic majoritarian rule, the Nigerian major ethnic groups, singly or usually in alliance, block the will and civil liberties of minority groups’ (Otite 2002: 16). Majority vs. minority politics was largely evident in the immediate postindependence period, called the First Republic, during which agitations by minorities in the West Region for more self determination led to the creation of the Mid-west Region. But as Obaro Ikime (2002) has shown, the calculations were motivated more to weaken the West and the regional party, the Action Group, than to truly redress the concerns of the minority. This allegation is lent some credence by the benign neglect of minority agitations by the ruling Northern People’s Congress in the North, and ruling National Convention of Nigeria and the Camerouns in the East; both of whom supported the creation of the Midwest region. This neglect was in spite of agitations for separate identity and self-determination, and the formation of organizations such as the United Middle Belt Congress in the North and Calabar, Ogoja and Rivers in the Eastern region (Tyoden 2001; Hagher 2002). Agitations for the creation of more states and local councils, or simply spaces over which groups could exercise more control and influence, are unrelenting. However, the creation of states and local councils have not, in themselves, solved the problems of a sense of belonging and integration, nor have they allayed the


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fears of domination (Alubo 2004). Instead, these exercises create additional theatres for contestations, as new majorities and minorities are created in the process. Indeed, as Obaro Ikime has argued: … each time a state is created, there is a new majority nationality and new minorities, and relations within the states have been more acrimonious since states were created than before because the struggle for resources and development become more localized and so more intense. (Ikime 2002: 65–6)

Much more than creating new majorities and minorities, new states also reconfigure the indigene-settler structure. Thus, whenever new states are created, some people who were hitherto indigenes of the previous states cease to enjoy that status. In this way, the creation of states, ipso facto, redraws the borders and also reconstructs identities. State creation reconstructs identities because the construction of indigeneity, as we have seen, is based on claims to having an ethnic territory within a state. Furthermore, indigene/settler status assumes different dimensions, depending on the locus of the contestations: federal, state and local councils. The terrain for construction widens and narrows and the criteria change accordingly. At the federal level, for instance, ethnic groups from the same state are indigenes and unite against other contestants. The same ‘indigenes’ in solidarity at the federal context become divided into specific ethnic – and some times religious – groups at the state level. This same fission and fusion takes place at the local council levels, where indigenes are subdivided into clans and lineages. At the local council level other forms of identity construction prevail, which further narrow the bases to other forms of relationship and family genealogy. Part of the ammunition for the war of indigenes and settlers is the duplicitous nature of the Nigerian constitution, which privileges indigenes without a corresponding recognition of residency. In response, state and local councils have evolved intricate ways of advancing the interests of the indigenes over settlers. There are now certificates of state and local government issued to indigenes (Alubo 2003, 2004). These certificates have become prerequisites for a wide array of opportunities, such as admission to schools and employment, even as the conditions for obtaining these are immutable. This is because indigeneity is ascribed and cannot be acquired. Hence, it introduces important dimensions to ‘one Nigeria’ and integration. As Sam Egwu has rightly observed, ‘Indigeneity has important implications for the quality of citizenship’ (Egwu 2004: 37). Frequently, the distinction between indigenes and settlers is made for a variety of reasons, including identification and solidarity as well as entitlements and inclusion. Indeed, … many Nigerian communities use the distinction between indigenes and nonindigenes as a way of demarcating the boundaries between people who are eligible to hold chieftaincy titles in a particular place, and participate in traditional institutions of governance more generally, and those who are not. Indigeneity also serves as a way for communities to keep land within the hands of their own group-a goal that is controversial but important to many Nigerians whose ethnic identity is tied to a small


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geographical area. In a broader and more amorphous sense, indigeneity reflects the communities’ efforts to keep track of who their members are by placing an emphasis on the historical memory of individuals’ familial connections to a particular place … non-indigene communities are the result of patterns of migration that began with colonialism, often by people in search of jobs, land or other economic opportunity. (Human Rights Watch 2006: 10–11)

The important defining criterion, at least in terms of everyday practice, is the impossibility of changing from settler to indigene status. This immutability is at the heart of the contestations and attendant violence examined in the next section. The situation is further complicated by the lack of material benefits concomitant to Nigerian citizenship. Nigeria has no social security or official safety nets, thus reducing citizenship to the more abstract rights of being presumed innocent until proven guilty, freedom of assembly and speech, and so forth. Material benefits, such as employment and scholarships, are based on the particularistic criteria of indigeneity, which though patently discriminatory, is also contained in the constitution. This practice thus raises further questions of integration as the structure of opportunities exclude some Nigerian citizens. Thus, beyond the pious exhortations about patriotism, the practice of citizenship is discriminatory at several levels. First, since the period when General Sani Abacha was Head of State (1993–98), the headship of federal establishments have invariably gone to the indigenes of states where these are located, often in total disregard for seniority and other more objective criteria. Second, when opportunities open up, there are sometimes clear announcements that only indigenes are eligible. Third, citizenship in Nigeria, as already noted, has little material benefits, these can only be accessed through ethnic membership and indigeneity – and thus excluding others. This is primarily due to common practice: The reality of the Nigerian situation is that although citizenship is constitutionally determined by both ancestry and the place of birth or sojourn, in practice Nigerians always revert to and insist on ancestry as true and recognizable determinant of who you are and what you may be entitled to …. (Abah and Okwori 2002: 24)

As elsewhere in Africa (Adejumobi 2001; Neocosmos 2006), citizenship in Nigeria is about group, rather than individual, rights. Hence, groups to which one belongs and entitlements they have, are crucial in the politics of identity construction and contestations. Economic Adversity Until the commercial exploitation of petroleum, Nigeria shared the characteristic features of underdeveloped countries which were annexed into international capitalism as appendages to the West – mostly for markets and sources of raw materials. Thus, Nigeria exported agricultural produce, such as groundnuts, soy beans, cocoa, cotton and palm products, in exchange for manufactured goods. The demand and, consequently, the prices of these primary products were determined by the metropolitan countries (Onimode 1985).


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The Nigerian economy was dramatically altered in the 1970s when oil revenue replaced cash crops as the main source of government revenue and foreign exchange. According to one estimate, Nigeria’s oil revenue averaged $25,000 million annually between 1973–1980 (Parfitt and Riley, 1989: 3). This period of huge oil revenue became known as the ‘oil boom’ and was characterized by ambitious – albeit most of them white elephant – projects and general expansion, particularly in the public sector. To service the expansion, Nigeria imported huge amounts of skilled labor, especially from Southeast Asia, Ghana and other West African countries. In many states and regions, up to one third of the civil service consisted of expatriate workers. The rallying cry during the period, popularized by the Head of State Yakubu Gowon, and the Governor of the Central Bank, Clement Isong, was, ‘money is not the problem but how to spend it’. However, in spite of the oil wealth, the overwhelming majority of the people remained poor, illiterate and diseased (Onimode 1985). This reality is particularly significant because the elimination of this troika constituted the rallying cry for independence. Since 2002, the crude petroleum has averaged $50 per barrel and, at the production level of over two and half million barrels/day, the recent revenues have surpassed the period of the famed boom. But unlike the previous boom, which was characterized by massive public works and the expansion of the public and private sectors, the reverse is now the case. The hallmarks of the current boom are higher percentages of debt servicing and repayment and general reduction in the workforce through programmes of monetization (which among others, took jobs away from drivers, cleaners and other public sector semiskilled workers in preference to subcontracting) and so-called ‘right sizing’ of the civil service. The macroeconomic policies of trade liberalization and World Trade Organization (WTO) conditions led to mass flooding of the Nigerian market by imports, especially from China and Asia. This dumping chokes Nigeria’s industries with attendant loss of employment. The Nigerian President, Olusegun Obasanjo (1999–2007), once revealed that the Nigerian market had over 72 brands of toothpaste—only five of which are local. The same is true of confectionaries and textiles where all manner of biscuits and textiles (aside from the booming market in used clothes) have flooded Nigeria. Consequently, the textile industry, hitherto the exemplar of Nigeria’s industrialization and people focused development (because of the linkage to cotton growers, ginneries, transporters, distributors, and so on) has been effectively asphyxiated. Data from the Union of Textile Garment Workers show that out of a total of 250 textile mills in Nigeria in the 1980s, a full 220 have been closed down, while others operate at less than 30 per cent of installed capacity. Over one million jobs have been lost (NUTGWN 2005) in a typical impact of globalization in the South (Khol 2000; Olukoshi 2004). The significance and impact of this adversity on issues of citizenship relate to finding employment. Opportunities have contracted, and employment has become scarce in both public and private sectors. As opportunities recede, primordial criteria are applied to share the little there is. It is no longer news that many states (Plateau for example) have relieved non-indigenes of their appointments in the civil service, obviously to pass these to indigenes (Egwu 2004). There is then a

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reinforcement of sentiments that the former, also Nigerians, are conceived as snatching food from the mouths of the latter (Alubo 2004). This is the proper context within which certificates of state indigeneity, and vacancy announcements indicating that only indigenes can apply, can be understood. The discrimination against settlers assumes additional significance because of the uneven development in Nigeria. This manifests in limited locations (former regional capitals, port cities and few other centers) where more jobs are available. Nigerians – indigenes and settlers alike – flock to these centers. The Politics of Divide and Rule Nigeria’s multi-ethnic structure, as here contended, is not the challenge per se; the issue is how this heterogeneity is managed. The central government has taken several initiatives to manage diversity. These include the National Youth Service scheme, through which university graduates are compelled to live and work for one year in regions other than where they originate; Unity Schools (whose motto is suggestively Pro Unitate), where teenagers of diverse origins study together in secondary schools as part of the strategy of ‘catch them young’; and the Federal Character principle, which ensures that appointments at the national level reflect Nigeria’s diversity. At other times, governments seem to wish away the challenges of diversity. The old national anthem, which recognized that ‘though tribe and tongue may differ, in brotherhood we stand’, was replaced with the bland ‘Arise o compatriots, Nigeria’s call obey’, even as who ‘compatriots’ are, is problematic. Some states in Nigeria, such as Southeast and Northwest, were renamed in 1976, supposedly to tone down regional attachments (Alubo 2006). The height of this de-ethnicizing was attained in the 2006 National Census, when questions about ethnicity and religion were expunged, supposedly to stop claims of being the largest, second, and so forth, ethnic or religious group. In spite of the various attempts to forge unity, the politics of a sense of belonging, exclusion and inclusion has continued. Some of the reasons relate to poor records of social provisioning by the government, leading to allegations of marginalization. Nigerians have sought to redress these challenges through community mobilization, levies and development efforts. Therefore, the response to government failings in social provisioning has a communal and ethnic content. It is these ethnic, and sometimes religious, dimensions that are easily mobilized by politicians. Thus, ‘othering’, which in this sense further divides the country, is a regular process of electioneering campaigns, leading to appeals to ‘my people’. Flowing from this process, Nigerian politicians often assume some messianic roles, in which claims to save the people or being an ‘Emancipator’ to liberate them are common (Adeyi 1997; Egwu 2004). The politics of divide and rule is also achieved through the exploitation of religious differences. Nigeria has three main religious groups: Christians, Muslims and animists (traditional). The division is mostly between the two former groups, as animists are either silent or align with Christians or Muslims, depending on the stakes. Religious differences in Nigeria rose to fever pitch in 1986 when the country was surreptitiously enrolled as a member of the Organization of Islamic


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Conference (OIC) (Usman 1987; Gofwen 2004; Enwerem 1995; Kuka 1999). Soon after the OIC enrollment, the usual school uniform for girls in Unity Schools was religiously differentiated. The usual skirt, blouse and headgear were reserved for Christians, while trousers and the hijab (which covers the head down to the shoulders but with an opening for the face) was introduced for the Muslim girls. The change, which has remained, thus symbolized a ‘duoform’ and further division in the colleges, which were originally conceived as unity schools. Since the OIC controversy, Nigeria has recorded several religious clashes between Muslims and Christians. The most recent, in May 2006, was the protest over the publication of cartoons (which allegedly denigrated Prophet Mohammed) in Danish newspapers. In Nigeria, several churches were torched, and up to one hundred people lost their lives, during the protest. These recent incidents exacerbate the existing divisions, such as separate cemeteries for Muslims and Christians in major cities in the North. The more routine process is the use – and abuse – of religion in political campaigns. Frequently, political tickets are evaluated on the basis of the extent to which they reflect Christian-Muslim composition, and appointments are analyzed from the perspective of the dominance of one religious group over the other. There are regular appeals to the electorate to vote for the ‘believer’ rather than the ‘infidel’. However, when power is eventually won, both ‘infidels’ and ‘believers’ sit together to share the spoils, apparently with few divisions. It is in this sense that Bala Usma is right in recognizing the manipulation of religion as a strategy of elites (Usman 1987). To conclude this section, I must note that these differences stay beneath the surface for most of the time and need a trigger to ignite violence. In Nigeria there is a known relationship between public employment and private enrichment. Through a recognized and thriving system of corruption, some public service workers enrich themselves personally (Ibrahim 2003). As an illustration of the widespread nature of corruption, Transparency International has listed Nigeria in the top five most corrupt countries in the World for over five consecutive years. Furthermore, in the last quarter of 2006, investigations by the Economic and Financial Commission, a Nigerian anti-graft outfit, found that 31, out of Nigeria’s 36, state governors have corruption cases to answer. In addition to providing opportunities and influence, public service can be used for private enrichment, further illustrating how contests between indigenes and settlers are as much over material stakes as they are about representation.

A Tale of Identity Conflicts in Central Nigeria This section illustrates how identity constructions have resulted in violent conflicts in Central Nigeria. It also shows how the process is related to state borders defining indigenes and settlers, as well as religious and ethnic divisions. Contentions over identities have exploded in Kaduna, Plateau and Nasarawa states. In the first location, the violence was over religious identities while the others are over ethnic identities.

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Religious Identity Politics and Violence The surreptitious enrollment of Nigeria in the Organization of Islam Countries was rightly observed by Ewerem (1995) as a ‘dangerous awakening’ of religious sentiments. Since then, the seemingly cordial relationships between the two religions became characterized by mutual suspicion and acrimony, especially in Kaduna State. The grievances of the Christians include the takeover of their schools by the state, marginalization, especially in the civil service, and subsuming of the entire Christian southern half of the state under the Emir of Zaria (Mustapha 2003). These historical factors lie at the heart of the identity politics and persistent conflicts of the Southern Kaduna peoples (Atyap, Bajju, Jabba and others) and the Hausa-Fulani in the locality. In the recent past, several incidents have been recorded, particularly in Kaduna State. It is therefore appropriate to outline the religious identity constructions, the resulting violence and the politics which underlie both. The first major violent explosion in Kaduna State was in the College of Education Kafachan in 1987. Here, the annual week of the Fellowship of Christian Students’ activities included an open-air crusade. During the crusade, a female Muslim alerted other Muslims that the preacher was denigrating Prophet Mohammed and Islam. The Muslim students began to assault Christians and broke up the convention in disarray. The crisis quickly spread outside the campus where Christians and Muslim began to kill each other and burn houses. Consequently: … In Kaduna, the state capital, a team of Moslem Youths came out all over the major streets. Initially, they attacked homes and shops of Kaje people [also called Bajju, this is one of the main ethnic groups in Southern Kaduna, where Kafanchan is located]. But within a short while, it denigrated to an outright attack on Christians, their property and churches. This pattern of attack spread to the major cities of Zaria, Katsina, Funtua and Kankia. (Gofwen 2004: 91–2)

What began on the campus of the College engulfed the entire state. Here, the violence was between Christians and Muslims, but, as reflected in Gofwen’s evocation of the Kaje and Hausa clans, there were also ethnic dimensions. The second explosion relates to the introduction of shari’ah or Islamic rule in 2000. Soon after the return of civil rule, the Governor of the Northwestern State of Zamfara introduced shari’ah (Mair 2000; Sha 2005). This process seemed to challenge other northern governors, including Kaduna’s, to do the same. Consequently, by 2004, all but five – which are in the predominantly Christian central region – of the nineteen Northern states had introduced shari’ah (Sha 2005: 195). The introduction of shari’ah in Kaduna was facilitated through a committee of the House of Assembly and of the Executive. The Christians in the state complained that in both, the cards were stacked in favor of the pro shari’ah lobby. In addition to having the majority in both committees, groups of Muslims demonstrated daily in favor of shari’ah throughout the sitting. Organized as the


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Christian Association of Nigeria, Christians staged a peaceful protest around the town and to the Government House to voice displeasure over the composition of the committees and shari’ah law. On the return trip, they were attacked and some were killed. This marked the commencement of the shari’ah crises, which later engulfed the entire state. Beside the Muslims and Christians, the Hausa/Fulani and the Bajju singled each other out for attack (Gofwen 2004). The official sources indicate 609 deaths, 746 vehicles burnt, 123 churches and 55 mosques burnt (Gofwen 2004: 119). The military was deployed to bring the situation under control. The 2000 shari’ah killings led to reprisal attacks against Muslims and people of Hausa/Fulani and ‘northern’ origins in the predominantly Christian Southeast. Other explosions of religious violence in the North (such as the Danish cartoon crisis in 2006 and the 2002 protest of the Miss World Beauty pageant), which targeted Christians, evoked similar retaliatory responses in the Southeast. Ethnic Identity Conflicts and Violence Ethnicity is prominent among the factors driving identity politics and therefore has the potential for fomenting trouble or creating peace. The saliency of ethnicity is brought home by recent experiences in central Nigeria, especially in Plateau and Nasarawa. This section sketches these experiences. Ethnic Crises in Plateau State Perhaps because of its semi-temperate weather and picturesque rock formations, Plateau State is fondly called the ‘home of peace and tourism’. This nickname, which is displayed on license plates, has been challenged by recent experiences between the various ethnic and religious groups. Plateau has 52 ethnic groups, a number exceeded only by Adamawa with a count of 80 (Alubo 2006). Most of the ethnic groups in the state claim to be indigenes and exist side by side with settlers. However, in the construction of indigene/settler identities, the terrain expands or narrows, depending on the stakes (Alubo 2006). This configuration enables groups to assert claims to ownership of land, and frequently the power to dictate and control the running of political affairs. The ethnic configuration in Plateau is such that most of the groups are in particular local council areas, with only a few (such as the Berom, the Taroch, Ngas, and Goemai) in two or more contiguous councils. The Hausa/ Fulani are found in virtually all the local councils, with heavier concentrations in Jos North, Wase, and Shendam. Most of the other ethnic groups are predominantly Christians or animists, while the majority of the Hausa Fulani are Muslims. In this sense, Plateau State is another illustration of the close relationship between religion and ethnicity in Nigeria (Alubo 2004; Enwerem 1995) such that ‘conflicts that are essentially ethnic in nature, also have religious colouration’ (Sha 2005: 196). From the very beginning, there was peaceful coexistence between the Hausa/ Fulani and the other ethnic groups, as symbolized by inter-ethnic marriages, invitations to each other’s cultural festivals and close associational life. In spite

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Figure 3.1 Plateau State map of general peaceful coexistence, there was simmering discontent as indigenes accused the Hausa/Fulani of dominating the polity and of exhibiting religious arrogance by calling others infidels (Mustapha 2003: 101). While these strains seem well contained, they could have stoked the fire of the violent explosion in the 2001–2004 period. The simmering discontent led to two major blowouts in 2001 and 2002. Jos, the capital city of Plateau state, experienced massive explosions of violence from 7 September 2001. The various accounts (Danfulani and Fwatshak 2002; Human Rights Watch 2001), have some agreement that: •

•

during the Jumat prayer the only thoroughfare around a Mosque in Kongo/ Russia – a sprawling squatter camp – had been customarily blocked. A motorist, Rhoda Nyam was said to insist on passing through, and the ensuing altercation assumed a citywide violence, pitting Christians against Muslims; Alhaji Muktar Mohammed was appointed as the coordinator of the Federal Government Poverty Alleviation Programme. There was some uproar about why such an important appointment should have gone to a ‘settler’ rather than an ‘indigene’.

These triggers came in addition to longstanding political issues in the relationship between indigenes and settlers. During the regime of General Babaginda, for example, additional local councils, including Jos North, were


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created. One Alhaji Aminu Mato, a Hausa Muslim, and therefore a ‘settler’, was appointed from Abuja as the caretaker Chairman. His appointment was stoutly opposed by the indigenes who felt it should have come to them. As the 2001 violence unfolded, the targets were stretched from indigene/ settler to religion: Christianity and Islam. Violence was particularly ferocious in areas of large Christian or Muslim concentrations. In either area, virtually all persons of a different religious orientation were forced to flee or were killed (Danfulani and Fwatshak 2002; Human Rights Watch 2001). The orgy of blood letting continued to spread as both sides attempted to avenge the deaths of their number and loss of property. After the 2001 explosion, there was also an outcry among the Muslims over the relocation of a polling station from Angwan Rogo, a predominantly Muslim slum, to Eto Baba, where Christians predominate. When the electorate assembled for voter registration in the new Polling Station in May 2002, pandemonium broke out. There were killings by both sides and the burning of property. As in 2001, identity politics was broadened from ethnic affiliation to religion. Gangs of youths took over the streets and intercepted passers-by. Through the administration of simple religious tests (Christians asked about the trinity; Muslims asked about Shahada), people received free passage or instant death. A curfew was imposed, and the deployed security forces rapidly brought the situation under control. Peace soon retuned to Jos but not to the hinterland, to where the crisis had spread. Indigenes/Settlers Identities and Conflicts in Nasarawa State There was a similar explosion of violence in the Southern Senatorial District in Nasarawa, a state south of Plateau. The major ethnic groups are Kwalla, Alago, Migili, Koro, Eggon, Tiv, and Jukun (Nasarawa State Judicial Commission of Inquiry 2002: 11). This district is inhabited by both agriculturalists and pastoralists, with the former in the majority. Relationships between the two groups are characterized by intermittent conflicts occasioned mostly by the straying of cattle (Nigerian cattle rearers are nomadic) into farms. Except for these sporadic incidents, relationships between the various ethnic groups were generally cordial. The 2001 crisis relates to fears of domination by the Tiv, whose large numbers could sway electoral results. It was alleged that, due to ‘the desire [of the ‘indigenes’] to suppress Tiv votes, the local tribes in Nasarawa were incited to terrorize and drive the Tiv away from the State’ (Hagher 2002: 207). More fundamentally, it was a problem of a sense of belonging, and how ethnic identity determined the quality of citizenship. Central to the crisis was the question of access to opportunities, political appointments and how these issues are determined by ethnic identity – essentially, who is indigene or settler. Fear of domination of the less populous ethnic groups, who consider themselves indigenes, is translated into denial of inclusive citizenship for the Tiv, a large recent immigrant group regarded by the former as settlers (Tiv memo 2002: 6). The lingering issues received impetus from the return of democracy and party politics in 1999. Politics and elections thrive on the garnering of votes, a factor

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Figure 3.2 Nasarawa State map that the new civilian administration in the state seemed to recognize. Accordingly, as a reward for block votes, more Tiv people than hitherto were appointed to key positions in government. The other ethnic groups in the senatorial district took umbrage and claimed that positions meant for the various local government councils in the senatorial zone had gone to settlers rather than the indigenes (Nasarawa State Judicial Commission of Inquiry 2002). In addition to representation, there were the issues of creation of chiefdoms and districts- essentially more spaces for the exercise of political power. The new civilian administration created, among others, the Azara Chiefdom, which itself brought forth new districts and villages, requiring the ‘selection of new district and village heads’ (Governor Adamu 2002: 4). As part of the process, the district headship of Kurume became a major tussle between the Tiv and the Kwalla ethnic groups. The appointment went to a Kwalla ethnic group member, most of whom live in the neighboring Plateau State. The Tiv considered the appointment a slight and argued that as the ethnic group with a higher population in the district, the appointment should have gone to them. They demanded a reversal, failing which they declined responsibility for any outcome. The new village head was soon beheaded in a nighttime invasion of his residence. Relations between the Tiv and other ethnic groups continued to deteriorate, and secret killings of Tiv commenced around February 2001. In terms of the targets, ‘other ethnic groups were severally and collectively pitched against the Tiv’ (Federal Government of Nigeria 2003: 137). The targets were thus fellow


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minorities, who previously had been in solidarity for collective emancipation from the majority Hausa/Fulani. One of the immediate triggers was the murder of the Chief of Azara, who was also the Special Adviser to the State Governor. In reaction, mass killing of the Tiv commenced, forcing them to seek refuge among their ethnic kin in Benue State. Roadblocks were mounted and Tiv travelers were pulled from passing vehicles and executed (Tiv memo 2002: 21). Other sources indicate that the Tiv did the same from the Benue end (Alli and Egwu 2003). There were therefore losses on both sides with the Tiv bearing more of the brunt.

Conclusion: Facing the Identity Crises Experiences in Nigeria’s central region indicate that identity politics is thriving, in their simmering and violent forms. Indeed, it has received fillip from a complex set of factors such as historical advantages for the majority ethnic groups, the role of religion in the politics of divide and rule, and above all, the protracted economic adversity and its impact on livelihood and employment opportunities. The above instances illustrate how identity politics have led to conflict and violence. This is not, however to suggest that differences in identity or ethnic diversity necessarily lead to violence. Indeed, as experiences from the same region show, there were periods of peaceful coexistence when the various groups shared a close associational life. Typically, each group would proudly display costumes at a specifically designated ‘cultural day’, to which all other ethnic groups would be invited. On such occasions, diversity only adds to the rich composition of the community. However, where access to resources, opportunities or the rights of individuals depend on the groups to which they belong, identity often leads to conflict and violence. In all the above cases, the nature of borders between the various groups was both fluid and firm. The borders were essentially between the various ethnic and religious groups; both are mental borders, whereby the former often has a physical counterpart, because the various ethnic groups can point to where their territory commences and stops. However, where the borders are between fellow indigenes, such borders are fluid in daily lives, except when there is some infringement, such as cross border farming. The mental border of the indigene/settler distinction is almost iron cast and greatly influences daily lives. Indigenes and settlers live in largely different neighborhoods because, like in much of Central Nigeria, there is ethnic segregation. Incidences of the explosion of violence further reaffirm the nature of borders and who is guaranteed free passage or harm. During the conflicts and immediately thereafter, to cross the physical neighborhood borders was an invitation to violent attacks. Now that peace has returned, the physical borders remain and serve as reminders to the various groups where each feels safe or unsafe. Indeed, people caught on the wrong side have sold their properties and moved to safer zones. Identities are constructed through complex processes of tracing genealogy, such that only those who have ‘ethnic land’ within a state are regarded and treated

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as indigenes in that state. Others who may have been born there and regardless of how long their forebears have lived there, are regarded as settlers. This form of identity construction is used to give more opportunities to indigenes and to confer rights and privileges which are denied to settlers. The crucial factors are often how these identities are used in gaining or denying access to scarce resources and how contestations by those excluded, lead to violence. Religious identities often transcend the ethnic and the indigene/settler distinctions. Thus during most of the crises, indigene/settler identities devolved into pitched battles between Christians and Muslims. There are recognized physical borders between the various ethnic groups, which also constitute indigenes and settlers. Such borders demarcate ethnic territories. Among the indigenes, borders do not serve more than symbolic purposes, so long as there are no encroachments. There is free and safe passage between these borders. Between indigenes and settlers, however, the physical nature of borders comes through more forcefully, especially since most settlers often inhabit particular sections of town where different moral codes are enforced. Borders and identities are for the most part well managed and do not lead to violence. However identity-based conflicts do implode and explode, particularly when one group is excluded from opportunities and rights that are available to others. The major contestations, which are between indigenes and settlers, continue to frustrate attempts to build a unified country where all feel a part and can live and make a livelihood anywhere. This goal is challenged by the existing discrimination, especially on the basis of indigene/settler identities, which as we have seen, is a basis of affirming entitlements and access to opportunities. Indigenes and settlers have different structures of opportunities with widespread discrimination suffered by the latter. In effect, Nigeria has a two-tiered structure of citizenship: the first is occupied by indigenes and the second by settlers and married women. Hence, ‘… the self declared indigenes and natives [would continue to be] pitched against settlers in deadly confrontations over access to local power, resource[s] and question[s] of identity’ (Ibrahim 2006: 105). Ethnic and religious identities may not in themselves lead to conflict, but when groups transform from a group in themselves to a group for themselves, violence looms. When this is not the case, the various groups proudly – yet peacefully – display their attires and other forms of culture. What is more, through the various ethnic structures, the various groups could be easily reached and mobilized for developmental projects, such as building schools and roads. Where groups feel excluded or marginalized, mobilization for redress commences, and violence is probable. This is all the more likely where there is a wide gulf between universal precepts and the experiences of daily life. In Nigeria, where indigenes and settlers have different rights and entitlements, the conditions exist for identity construction to foment conflict and violence, rather than peace and harmony.

References Abah, S. (ed.) (2003), The Geographies of Citizenship (Zaria: Tamaza).


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Abah, S. and Okwori, J. (2002), ‘Agendas in Encountering Citizens in the Nigerian Context’, IDS Bulletin 33:2, 24–30. Adamu, G.A. (2002), ‘Ethnic Conflicts in Nigeria’, paper presented at the Presidential Retreat on Peace and Conflict Resolution, National Institute of Policy and Strategic Studies, Kuru. Adejumobi, S. (2001), ‘Citizenship, Rights, and the Problem of Conflict and Civil Wars in Africa’, Human Rights Quarterly 23, 148–70. Adeyi, M. (1997), The Politics of Emancipation (Jos: Ade Press). Agbese, P. (2003), ‘Federalism and the Minority Question in Nigeria’, in A. Gana and S. Egwu (eds), Federalism in Africa (Trenton: Africa World Press). Alli, W. and Egwu, S. (2003), ‘Population Displacement in the Tiv-Azara Communal conflict’, in O. Nnoli (ed.), Communal Conflict and Population in Nigeria (Enugu: PACREP Books). Alubo, O. (2004), ‘Citizenship and Nation Making in Nigeria: New Challenges and Contestations’, Identity, Culture and Politics 5:1–2, 135–61. Alubo, O. (2006), Nigeria: Ethnic Conflicts and Citizenship Crises in the Central Region (Ibadan: PEFS). Alubo, O. and Egwu, S. (2007), ‘The Crisis of Ethnic Citizenship’, Research Report for the CODESRIA’s Multinational National Working Group on Citizenship in Africa. Anifowose, R. (2004), ‘Urban Violence in Nigeria: The Case of the O’Odua People’s Congress (OPC) Militia’, in M.O.A. Adelugbe (ed.) Industrialization, Urbanization and Development in Nigeria, 1950–99 (Lagos: Concept Publications). Danfulani, U. and Fwatshak, S. (2002), ‘The September 2001 Events in Jos Nigeria’, African Affairs 101, 243–55. Egwu, S. (2004), ‘Beyond “Native” and “Settler” Identities: Globalization and the Challenges of Multicultural Citizenship in Nigeria’, in J. Moru (ed.), Another Nigeria is Possible (Abuja: Nigeria Social Forum). Elaigwu, J. (2005), ‘The Nigerian Question: The Way Forward’, in D. Trust (ed.), Discharging a Burden: The Nigerian Question (Abuja: Daily Trust Publications). Enwerem, I. (1995), A Dangerous Awakening: The Politicization of Religion in Nigeria (Ibadan: IFRA). Federal Government of Nigeria (2003), Strategic Conflict Assessment in Nigeria (Abuja: The Institute for Peace and Conflict Resolution). Federal Character Commission (no date), Federal Character Commission Handbook (Abuja: Federal Character Commission). Gofwen, R.I. (2004), Religious Conflicts in Northern Nigeria and Nation Building (Kaduna: Human Rights Monitor). Hagher, I. (2002), Beyond Hate: Understanding the Tiv Struggle for Citizenship Rights and Justice in Nigeria, Ibadan: Caltop. Human Rights Watch (2006), They Do Not Own this Place: Government Discrimination Against Non-indigenes in Nigeria (New York: Human Rights Watch). Ibrahim, I. (2003), ‘Corruption in Nigeria: Transition, Persistence and Continuity’, The Nigerian Social Scientist 6:2, 3–13. Ibrahim, I. (2006), ‘Expanding the Human Rights Regime in Africa: Citizens, Indigenes and Exclusion in Nigeria’, in L. Wohlgemath and E. Sall (eds), Human Rights, Regionalism and the Dilemnas of Democracy in Africa (Dakar: CODESRIA). Ikime, O. (2002), ‘The Nigerian Civil War and the National Question’, in E. Osaghae, E. Onwudiwe and R. Suberu The Nigerian Civil War and its Aftermath (Ibadan: John Archers).

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Imbobighe, T. (ed.) (2003), Civil Society and Ethnic Conflict Management in Nigeria (Ibadan: Spectrum). Jega, A. (2003), ‘Identity Transformation and the Politics of Identity under Crisis and Adjustment’, in A. Jega (ed.) Identity Transformation and Identity Politics under Structural Adjustment in Nigeria (Kano, Centre for Research and Documentation). Jibo, M.A.S. and Galadima, H. (2001), Ethnic Groups and Conflicts in Nigeria: The NorthCentral Zone of Nigeria (Ibadan: the Lords Creation). Kohl, M. (2000), Globalization and the South (Abuja: Spectrum). Kukah, M. (1999), Democracy and Civil Society in Nigeria (Ibadan: Spectrum). Kuna, M. (2005), ‘Variations in Perceptions and Impact of the Shari’ah in Twelve States in Northern Nigeria’, in E. Alemika and F. Okoye (eds) Human Rights and Shari’ah Penal Code in Northern Nigeria (Kaduna: Human Rights Monitor). Madunagwu, E. (2002), ‘A Survey of Ethnic Nationalism’, The Guardian, 27 January. Madunagu, E. (2006), Understanding Nigeria and the New Imperialism (Calabar: Clear Lines Publications). Maier, K. (2000), This House has Fallen; Midnight in Nigeria (Boston: Little Brown). Mustapha, R. (2000), ‘Transformation of Minority Identities in Post Colonial Nigeria’, in A. Jega (ed.) Identity Transformation and Identity Politics under Structural Adjustment in Nigeria (Kano: Centre for Research and Documentation). National War College (2002), Report of the National Workshop on Ethnic Militia, Democracy and National Security in Nigeria (Abuja: National War College). Neocosmos, M. (2006), From ‘Foreign Natives’ to ‘Native Foreigners’: Explaining Xenophobia in Post-apartheid South Africa (Dakar: CODESRIA). Obasi, N. (2002), Ethnic Militias, Vigilantes and Separatist Groups in Nigeria (Abuja: Third Millennium). Olukoshi, A. (2004), ‘Globalization, Equity and Development: Some Reflections on the African Experience’, Ibadan Journal of Social Sciences 2:1, 23–42. Onimode, B. (1983), Imperialism and Underdevelopment in Nigeria (Lagos: Macmillan). Osaghae, E. (2002), Crippled Giant: Nigeria since Independence (Ibadan: John Arches). Otite, O. (2002), Managing Nigeria’s Ethnic Pluralism in a Democratic Environment (University of Calabar: University of Calabar Press). Parfitt, T. and Ritey, S. (1989), The African Debt Crisis (London: Routledge). Sha, P. (2005), ‘Shari’ah and Ethno-Religious Conflcits in Nigeria’, in E. Alemika and F. Okoye (eds), Human Rights and Shari’ah Penal Code in Northern Nigeria (Kaduna: Human Rights Monitor). Tiv communities (2002), Memorandum Presented on behalf Tiv people of Nasarawa South Senatorial District of Nasarawa State Presidential Judicial Commission of Inquiry into Inter-communal Conflicts in Benue, Nasarawa, Plateau and Taraba States. Toure-Kaza, T. (2003), Ethno-Religious Conflicts in Kaduna (Kaduna: Human Rights Monitor). Tyoden, S. (2001), ‘The Minority Factor in Nigerian Federalism’, in J. Elaigwu and R. Akindele (eds), Foundations of Nigerian Federalism, Jos: Institute for Governance and Social Research. Usman, B. (1987), The Manipulation of Religion in Nigeria (Kaduna: Vanguard Publishers).

Chapter 4

The Formation of National Identity in Israel/Palestine: The Construction of Spatial Knowledge and Contested Territorial Narratives David Newman

In an era of supposed post-nationalism [sic], exclusive and insular national identities are assumed to be disappearing and replaced with transboundary global village identities. The proponents of cultural globalization argue that the sense of belonging to a specific people or piece of territory has been replaced (or at least is being replaced by) a deterritorialized and borderless world. While we may retain single passports, our real citizenship is that of a global society which moves more freely, disseminates information more globally and transfers economic resources and capital across national borders with much greater ease than in the past. The resulting events of 9/11 may have somewhat changed that situation, but this is seen as being a temporary hiccup which can not stand in the way of long-term structural globalization forces. Moreover, the impact of, and fear from terror is itself a global force, whose ideas and proponents take advantage of the ease by which borders – geographical borders as much as loosely defined information borders – are crossed with greater ease than in the past. And yet states remain the cornerstone of the international system. It is only in Western Europe where the borders between states have entirely disappeared. Traditional physical borders remain important in much of the world, even if it is relatively easier to travel and to cross those borders, providing one has the correct documents and visas of passage. And while some state borders become more flexible, our attention shifts to a host of other border types – cultural, social, economic and religious – which determine the groups to which we belong, our respective freedom of movement (not just measured in geographical or spatial terms) and the extent to which our sense of multiple belongings are tied up with a series of multiple (perhaps even conflicting) identities. Even in states where borders have disappeared and physical movement between neighboring political or social entities is more flexible than in the past, the notion of national belonging and identity remains strong. Citizens of the state remain British, Dutch or French, they continue to salute the national flag, sing the national anthem and study the history of their own specific society. They also retain fierce

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sporting loyalties which often run in the face of the globalization theorists. In some cases, especially Western Europe, this sense of national identity may be diluted with a greater emphasis than in the past on global processes, multiculturalism, immigration and ethnic minorities, but this complements, rather than replaces, the strong sense of national belonging experienced by citizens of most states. This is particularly the case in those countries where conflict and contestation remain the order of the day. Where ethnic groups compete with each other for hegemony and control, where they dispute the location of the border, where they fight over the control of territory, they continue to be influenced by a strong process of state sponsored socialization which emphasizes the unique and the distinct, the exclusive and the self, at the expense of the wider societal forces of movement and interaction. One only has to read the national press, the educational texts and the internet blogs in the Balkans, in Cyprus, Lebanon, Israel/Palestine, to name but a few, to see how strong the sense of national identity remains in these contexts. This chapter discusses the formation of national identity in Israel/Palestine, with a focus on the ways in which national identity has been, and continues to be, constructed amongst the Jewish society in Israel (making up 80 per cent of the country’s citizens). The processes through which the state was founded, along with the fact that conflict between Israel and the Palestinians remains the single most important issue on the national agenda, even after sixty years of statehood, is central to the discourse through which Israelis affiliate with their state as much more than simply a place of residence. This is reflected not only through historical and political narrative but also in the ways in which these narratives are used as a means of strengthening the tie between its citizens and its territory, thus ensuring that the younger generations of Israelis will retain their loyalty to a state in conflict, will continue to serve in its army (euphemistically known as the Israel Defence Forces) and will reject alternative claims for independence or sovereignty from competing national groups (the Palestinians). The mechanisms through which this sense of national identity is constructed, but equally challenged are focused on in this chapter. The processes of socialization operate through a system of education which transform mundane curricula such as Geography, History, Archaeology and Sociology into the means through which identity is disseminated and justified. At the same time, the past two decades have witnessed a growing challenge to the normative forces of identity socialization. These include external challenges emanating from Arab and Palestinian sources who reject the Israeli-Jewish hegemony over state control and definition, a challenge which is to be expected even if it took some time before it was consolidated into a serious alternative challenge. But equally there are challenges from within, which have emerged amongst a younger generation of Israelis, pulling in different directions – some in the direction of loosening the bonds of an insular, narrow and exclusive Zionist identity for the state, others pulling towards an even more rigid and super-patriotic definition of the state at the expense of all other minority or ethnic groups residing therein. The chapter also focuses on the way in which territorial identities in particular are formed and the way in which such identities impact actual government policy

The Formation of National Identity in Israel/Palestine

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making as it relates to conflict and peace. The geographic and the spatial are often relegated to a position of secondary importance, sometimes neglected altogether, in the study of changing political and social dynamics. At the best, the geographic is often seen as constituting a physical, unchanging, frame within which social and political processes operate, and whose ultimate configuration is entirely dependent on the more dynamic societal processes. This is not the position taken in this chapter. The territorial and spatial are dynamic factors in their own right which feed into the process of change as much as they are the outcome. In the context of Israel/Palestine, space and territory are part of the process through which identity formation takes place. Attachments and feelings of belonging to specific places and spaces are central to the political and historical struggle over the control of land, a relatively small piece of territorial real estate no larger than 25,000 square kilometers including Israel and all of the occupied territories, Israeli and Palestinian. The small area involved, the rapidly growing population and constantly changing settlement patterns also explain why the competition for land is so intense. The extent to which territorial identities impact upon conflict and peace is only part of the wider geopolitical context of a very troubled Israel-Palestine region. Territory is a major component of the conflict, but it is neither the sole, nor the single most important, component. Refugees and the right of return, the status of Jerusalem, the impact of settlements, along with bitterly contested historical narratives of justice, victimization and violence, are all part of the conflict arena. These components are all intricately interlinked, while a final resolution of the conflict will be a complex process of bartering, compromise and exchange of tangible and quantifiable components of these diverse issues. Conflict resolution will only be reached if and when all of the issues, even the most complicated and emotive, are put on the table, when both sides are prepared to make compromises over those issues which they fervently believe are theirs by right, and when each side can be convinced that it has not made any more compromises than the other side. Such compromises are influenced by, and in turn affect, the very nature of the identity attachment that different groups within the population feel towards the state as their major focus of attachment. In a post-national world, Israel retains a strong sense of nation statehood and, for as along as it continues to face an existential conflict, the national focus will continue to be a strong element influencing both its domestic and foreign policy. If, and when, conflict resolution is achieved, it may be possible to think in terms of different modes of political and state behavior, but it is a scenario which can not be posited until the minimal situation of bilateral conflict resolution has been achieved. For this reason the term ‘conflict resolution’, rather than peace, is used in this chapter. Peace is something much larger and much more abstract than simply conflict resolution, the latter being no more than the first stages of a peace process. But without guaranteed conflict resolution, the clear separation of peoples and their respective territories, the equal self assurance of independence and sovereignty and, perhaps most important of all, the absolute removal of violence and fears of threat emanating from the ‘other’ side, the more developed stages

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of peace making – normalization, opening of borders, cultural and economic exchange – can not even begin to take place. In Israel/Palestine, we have not yet reached the implementation of those first stages of conflict resolution resulting in a complete end to violence and physical threat.

Identity Socialization through Education The struggle for identity hegemony is reflected in the entire process of socialization to which children growing up in the country, or newly arrived immigrants, are subject as a means of strengthening their bonds and attachment to the state in general, and the contested territory in particular. The conflict is not only about the right to control and be sovereign in the present, but equally about the historic, cultural and religious rights and antecedents to this land. As such, subjects which may otherwise be considered mundane – such as geography, history, archaeology, planning and architecture – take on a political dimension. Each of these are taught or practiced in such a way as to strengthen the bond between a specific national group, the changing human landscapes and the built environment. Geographic, historical and archaeological narratives and discourses are themselves contested, with each of the participants to the conflict using these discourses to ‘prove’ that the land belonged to their antecedents, therefore giving them a right to control the present. This is further reflected in the way that Israeli schoolchildren experience the landscape not only through textbooks but also through the physical encounter with the places and spaces that they learn about. An important part of Israeli school curricula is the school field trip or ‘hike’, through which children undertake a number of two-three day trips to different parts of the country, hike through the landscape, learn about the Biblical and historical events which took place at different sites and are transformed into experts about the Land of Israel. In the past, the study of the land in this way was known as a curricula topic called Moledet, literally meaning ‘homeland studies’. However, during the 1980s, this name was hijacked by an extremist right wing politician, Rehavam Zeevi, for the name of his political party and was transformed from a concensus term of landscape socialization into a term which carried a specific political orientation, associated more with territorial expansion and West Bank settlements, than with a general educative process aimed at strengthening the link between the land and the people. Zeevi was the founder and promoter of the Land of Israel Museum in north Tel Aviv, a popular museum which emphasized the historical attachment of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel. The museum is visited by school groups and youth movements as part of their educational curriculum. Within some of Israel’s universities, there has been a struggle for hegemony between the country’s geography departments and those termed as ‘Land of Israel’ departments. The latter are not simply a local version of area studies, such as American or European studies. They tend to focus on those historical narratives which are unique to the Jewish experience in Israel/Palestine, not on contemporary social and political processes. Many of the country’s large community of historical


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geographers have affiliated to these departments focusing on a narrow, nonconceptual understanding of geography as a discipline, preferring to study and teach the minutae of the specific historic links between the Jewish people and the Land of Israel. It is perhaps not surprising that historical geography is a well developed sub-discipline within Israel’s universities, and it also proves a popular pastime for many extra-curricular activities, especially amongst the senior citizens and retired population, for whom exclusive identities and attachments are more important than for a younger, more global generation of students and young adults. In a country where archaeology has become a popular pastime for many, and where almost the entire country is built on archaeological remains of former periods, the mundane activities of digs and excavations take on a political and emotive dimension. In a desire to prove the dual conditions of ‘priority’ and ‘duration’ (Burghardt 1973), archaeology is used to ‘prove’ that ‘my’ people were here first, that the artefacts belong to ancient Jewish tribes, thus somehow justifying the contemporary claims to territorial hegemony and control. Israel’s famous military warlord, Moshe Dayan, was known for his plundering of archaeological sites and the growth of his private collection of artefacts and remains, proving the Jewish links to the territory. No construction can take place anywhere in the country until an archaeological survey has been undertaken and, if there is even the slightest possibility that there may be something of archaeological importance at the particular site, the construction of roads, settlements and other infrastructural requirements can be held up indefinitely. With the exception of ancient Jerusalem, the single most famous archaeological site used as part of the social construction of national identity is Masada, the fortress overlooking the Dead Sea in the Judean Desert. It was to here that some of the Zealots of Jerusalem fled during the Roman conquest of the region in the first century AD. They held out for a lengthy period of time until, after a prolonged siege, they were on the verge of being overrun by the legionnaires. Rather than to die at the hand of the Romans, or being taken into captivity, they chose to practice mass suicide. Masada, which was only unearthed in the 1960s, became the symbol of Jewish revolt, as contrasted with the Holocaust symbolism which depicted Jews going to their deaths like sheep. Masada became the symbol of heroism (which is perhaps ironic given the fact that they all committed suicide) rather than be killed by the enemy. Masada became the place for swearing-in ceremonies for young Israeli soldiers who would recite ‘Masada will never fall twice (again)’, indicating the resolve of the Israeli army to defend their country and preserve its sovereignty and territorial integrity. Sociologist Yael Zerubavel compares the role of ancient Masada with that of the defense of the pioneer outpost settlement, Tel Hai in northern Palestine in 1923, as examples of the formation of national myth and national identity. In the years leading to the birth of Israel, Zionist settlers in Palestine consciously sought to rewrite Jewish history by reshaping Jewish memory. Zerubavel demonstrates how, in each case, Israeli memory transforms events that ended in death and defeat into heroic myths and symbols of national revival. She shows that the construction of a new national tradition is not necessarily the product only of

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government policy but a creative collaboration between politicians, writers, and educators (Zerubavel 1995). Although the Masada myth has been put under scrutiny by a more critical and younger generation of Israelis, it continues to resonate amongst many Israelis as one of the key elements of contemporary national pride and identity, an identity which contrasts with the perceived diaspora situations of a weak and defenceless minority. For many, especially amongst the state founder generation, the establishment of the modern state of Israel purports to create a new type of Jewish identity, one which is strong and sure of itself, which stands up for itself in the face of all comers. As such, Masada became a key symbol in the way in which this identity was transmitted through the heroic stand of the zealots in their defiance of the mighty Roman forces.

Identity through Landscape Transformation For Israeli schoolchildren, geography, history and archaeology focus on the religious and Biblical links between the Jewish people and the ancient land of Israel. The Bible narratives are thrown up to indicate the ‘unbroken’ link between the land and the people, and this is further reflected in the naming of places and spaces in contemporary Israel by association with the Biblical sites at the same location. This has been termed by Benvenisti as constituting the ‘Hebraization of the landscape’, through which the early Zionist pioneers of the first half of the twentieth century renamed the landscape and its places by recourse to Hebrew and Biblical place names (Benvenisti 1987). Benvenisti argues that the original pioneer generation of Zionist immigrants and settlers did not undertake landscape Hebraization as a conscious means of disinheriting the indigenous Arab residents of the region. He claims that they were not sufficiently aware of the potential conflict which would arise out of the resettling of the land by idealistic European immigrants in, what they perceived as being a relatively desolate and unsettled region. However, a different view is taken by Arab-Palestinian geographer, Ghazi Falah. He argues that the formation of Israeli statehood was accompanied by a conscious process of landscape ‘Israelization’, through which the Arab cultural landscape has become de-signified, and that this is reflected in textbooks and on maps depicting the region and its places (Falah 1996). Yoram Bar Gal has analyzed the way in which geography textbooks in the school curricula have emphasized the ties between the people and the land through their discussion of borders, past and present (Bar Gal 1993, 1996; Bar Gal and Bar Gal 2008). Places become the subject of myth, with the significance of historical events being exaggerated, as a means of demonstrating the man-land attachment and affiliations. The naming of places according to any one of the two religious and cultural traditions constitutes an exclusive means of control and identity – it does not allow for the sharing of space – and is central to the socialization process experienced by Israeli schoolchildren almost from the first day of their encounter with the formal processes of education.


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New communities and settlements which are founded in Israel are normally allocated a place name by a government committee set up for this purpose. The Committee will always investigate the historical significance of the particular place and will, in most cases, recommend a name which emphasizes these links. In some cases, this may even serve to override the desire of the local residents, who may prefer a more functional or modern name for their community. Geographers Saul Cohen and Nurit Kliot have discussed the process of place naming within Israel and the way in which names are chosen to reflect links between the ancient (Biblical) or recent (early Zionist period of immigration during the first half of the twentieth century) historical periods (Azaryahu and Golan 2001; Cohen 1998; Cohen and Kliot 1981, 1992). In the case of the West Bank settlements, the historic naming of places is even more blatant. The majority of the West Bank settlers have moved to this region as part of an overt political act aimed at ensuring that this region will remain under future Israeli control (not to be ceded as part of any peace territory, not even as part of a two state solution to the Israel/Palestine conflict). They are, in large, religiously motivated, and they see the West Bank as constituting the core historic area of the ancient Jewish and Biblical kingdoms (Newman 1998). The West Bank is only called by its Biblical name, Judea and Samaria, while for them these territories were not ‘occupied’ or conquered in the Six Day War of June 1967, but were ‘liberated’ with God’s assistance, and returned to their rightful owners. These areas are even more central to their identity as part of the reborn Jewish state, than are the main metropolitan centres of Tel Aviv and Gush Dan, which were less significant in terms of their historical antecedents. Contextually, maps and cartography provide the territorial texts through which identities are strengthened. Maps constitute the ultimate geographical text. Mapping is itself an inherently political topic, not least when the location and shapes of borders, the names chosen for places, as well as the preferred spatial scales can all be used to demonstrate specific political messages. During the past decade, mapping and cartography have been subject to their own process of textual deconstruction in an attempt to understand the role of the mapmakers and the cartographers in the construction of spatial knowledge, especially – albeit not exclusively – during the periods of the colonial empires (Black 1997; Wood 1993). The Israeli government decision, for many years, not to show the green Line on official maps of Israel was an essentially political decision. The creation of maps which only showed Jewish or Arab settlements, or used only Hebrew or Arabic names, have all been part of the political contestation for territorial control (Collins-Kreiner et al. 2006). The National Atlas of Israel, prepared by the Israel Surveyors Department, is in stark contrast to the Atlas of Palestine of 1948, showing a landscape which has all but disappeared, prepared by the Palestine Land Society. The more sophisticated contemporary use of computerized and digitalized maps has made it much more difficult to ‘hide’ spatial information today than at any time in the past. Notwithstanding, the cartographers and the map drawers are themselves participants and players in the process through which spatial information is constructed and territorial identities strengthened.

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The Contested Narratives of Hegemonic Identity Historical truth [sic] is created by the powerful. The social construction of knowledge in the western world may be more egalitarian than in the past, but it is still largely dependent on access to education, to research funding and links with publishers. This is even truer of school text books, most of which are vetted for various forms of political correctness and which may often be approved providing they emphasize those social and political messages which are considered to be more in line with the state and national ethos than alternative or critical narratives. Within Israel/Palestine, the Jewish population of the state (within its pre-1967 sovereign boundaries) constitutes 80 per cent of the population. School textbooks are written to focus on Jewish and Israeli history. At the best, there will be sections on the rights of minorities in textbooks dealing with democracy, while history books (and only those of the most recent genre) may occasionally include small sections on Arab attachments to the land, the Arab history in the region and/or the Arab political arguments regarding the Arab-Israel conflict, the birth of the Palestinian refugee problem, or the Arab historical claims to territory. When the Israeli Minister of Education, Yuli Tamir, a former activist in the Israeli peace movements, suggested that school history books should also make mention of the fact that Palestinians refer to Israel’s War of Independence as constituting the ‘naqba’ (the Disaster), she was condemned by many of her Parliamentary colleagues from right wing parties as being unpatriotic. As would be expected, the state flag and the state national anthem depict the Jewish yearning for Zion and, as such, have little or no meaning for the non-Jewish minority Arab-Palestinian population. In recent years, the key socialization disciplines, such as geography, history and archaeology, have also become a source of identity contestation for a younger generation of empowered Arab and critical Israeli scholars. These voices have posited alternative historical and political narratives that are less exclusive and throw up, at the very least, shared claims to territory and historical rights. There have always been alternative Arab and Palestinian histories of the region. But, compared to the histories of Zionism and the birth of the state of Israel, these have been few and far between. They were also largely dismissed as being overtly ‘political’ and insufficiently ‘scholarly’. They were often published by popular presses instead of academic publishing houses, and not always by senior tenured professors at universities. As such, they were often deemed as being polemical and propagandic in nature, as compared with the ‘solid research’ of many of the studies produced by Israeli academics. In short, not only did a disproportionate number of the historical analyses of the region focus on the exclusive and unique experience of Israel as a newly founded state, alternative historical narratives were often subject to a process of delegitimization if they questioned the version of events that was perceived as the ‘correct’ version. The construction of alternatives to the hegemonic national identity began to change as a result of three key factors. In the first place, as a result of the Six Day War of June 1967, Israel became transformed from a weak and besieged nation into a mighty military power, controlling the territory and fate of another people.


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The exclusive narrative and legitimation of the weak became less acceptable to a world which now saw Israel as the controller rather than the controlled. Its use of historical research and scientific quality to justify its own political claims became too blatant, especially as it continued to emphasize its position as a weak and beleaguered state. The global community was, from this stage on, more prepared to listen to the alternative narratives, of those who now occupied the position of the underdog and who, so it began to be accepted, also had genuine grievances about the way in which history was being written and interpreted. Secondly, by the 1970s, a first generation of Palestinian scholars at universities around the world began to undertake their own scholarly work, asking different questions, using different source material and archives, and coming up with alternative political and historical narratives. While some of these studies may have been more blatantly and overtly political than many of the Israeli studies, focusing almost entirely on the political discourse at the expense of the social and economic discourses, this represented a form of counter-narrative aimed at legitimizing the narrative of the ‘self’. They still did not have the same level of access to tenured positions, research funding or publication outlets, and their work was associated with a small number of individuals, such as Edward Said, or publication outlets such as the Journal of Palestine Studies. While the latter was criticized by many Israeli scholars for being political rather than academic or scientific, equivalent journals such as Studies in Zionism, Israel Studies and Israel Affairs were, at one and the same time, automatically accepted as legitimate publications because of their self perceived scientific neutrality and ‘objectivity’ [sic], despite the fact that the majority of papers published in these journals only served to even further strengthen the specific Israeli/Jewish identity component of past and present statehood. But perhaps the third and most significant change came about as a result of the emergence of critical voices within the Israeli scientific establishment, not least the school of Revisionist or New Historians, from the mid 1980s onwards. Spearheaded by scholars such as Benny Morris (at Ben Gurion University), Ilan Pappe (at Haifa university and now at Exeter), and Avi Shlaim (St Catherines College in Oxford), Israeli scholars themselves challenged the veracity and exclusivity of the existing scholarly research (Morris 1988, 1993; Pappe 1988, 2006; Shlaim 1998). Not only were these scholars challenging their own community and academic colleagues, but they were also using Israeli and Zionist archive and source material, much of which was now becoming available for the first time thirty years after the events took place. Of particular importance was Morris’s study of the origins of the Palestinian refugee problem, recognized for its comprehensive use of historical documents and source material, although questioned for its selectivity of sources and political interpretation by the mainstream Israeli historian community. Despite the fact that Morris underwent a later political transformation, his historical studies and their use of Israeli archival material remain an important cornerstone for the legitimation of alternative historical narratives, not just for the Palestinian and Arab scholars, but also in raising serious questions amongst a younger generation of Israeli students.

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Archaeology too became a major source of contested constructions of knowledge. It came as a shock to many Israelis when Palestinians also began to use archaeology as a means to making counter claims to territorial priority. During the 1990s, a series of research papers, many of them published in the Journal of Palestine Studies by archaeologist Albert Glock, questioned the hegemonic archaeological narrative of the Israeli practitioners. Glock threw up many questions concerning the identification of artefacts and their almost exclusive identification with Jewish Hebrew attachments to the Land (Glock 1994, 1995). When Glock died under mysterious circumstances, his death was attributed by many Palestinians to a planned assassination by Israeli secret agents because, they argued, he had dared to raise questions relating to the historical antecedents and, by association, contemporary justifications to control over the land (Fox 2001). One of the most vehemently contested debates took place within the field of political geography (Newman 2004). Ghazi Falah, an Arab-Palestinian citizen of Israel and geographer, who gained his first and second degrees at the Hebrew University and later completed a PhD at the University of Durham, began to publish research dealing with the formation of Israeli human landscapes. Falah was appointed to a position at Tel Aviv University in the early 1980s, but was not kept on beyond an initial two year period. It has been argued that this was partially due to the political positions which he took in his scholarly work, focusing on the changing nature of Arab settlements and landscapes and his questioning of the geographic narratives which, until then, had exclusively concentrated on the Jewish and Israeli settlements. In one altercation, Falah questioned the nature of Bedouin sedentarization and the fact that it had been analyzed solely within the framework of the socio-economic modernization of a traditional community as it interacts with the western and technological state. Falah argued that much of the sedentarization was forced upon the Bedouin community by a state who did not take kindly to nomadic populations, especially non-settled populations whose cultural affinities were supportive of the Arab, rather than the Jewish, side of the political and territorial conflict (Falah 1983). A further exchange of academic narrative took place over the process, described by Falah, as the ‘Judaization’ of the Galilee, in which he argued that the processes of settlement planning in Israel’s northern region were designed to extend territorial control on the part of the state and, at the same time, prevent the spontaneous settlement expansion of the indigenous Arab population of this region (Falah 1989), an argument which was later supported by critical Israeli geographical research, not least that of Oren Yiftachel of Ben Gurion University (Yiftachel 1992). In both cases, Israeli scholars demanded the right of response to the journal editors, arguing that Falah had been selective in his use of source material and data, and that his was a political rather than scientific agenda (Soffer and Bar Gal 1985; Kliot and Medzini 1985; Yiftachel and Rumley 1991). Within the contemporary social science academic milieux within Israel, Falah’s views would not be considered in any way radical. Many Israeli scholars have taken critical political positions which are far more radical. But given the timing (the early 1980s) along with the fact that geography has been a very Israeli


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profession, Falah arrived on the scene before his time. He did not succeed in obtaining a position at an Israeli university, where his analysis of changing human landscapes would have enriched the scholarly debate, even if it infuriated many of its practitioners. Falah argued that he had been targeted by the Israeli academic community because of his attempt to break the monopoly over the way in which national and geographic knowledge was constructed (Gravois 2007).

Zionism, Post-Zionism and Neo-Zionism – Challenging Hegemonic Identities In addition to the alternative Palestinian and Arab discourses, there has also been an emergence of alternative and critical voices from within the Israeli community. This has taken place at both ends of the political and ideological spectrum of Israeli society encompassing the post-Zionist discourse of the left, and the neo-Zionist discourse of the right. Each of these discourses challenges the mainstream (some would say, pragmatic) Zionist position which has formed the core of national identity since the inception of the state in 1948 (and prior to that date). The post-Zionist critique of state identity challenges the notion of Israel as a nation-state in an era of post-nationalism and the reality of two national populations residing in the same territory but not sharing equal rights. The latter, the neo-Zionist critique is supra-nationalist, arguing for an even stronger identity of exclusiveness, rejecting all territorial or political claims emanating from other peoples residing in the national homeland. There is one common element to these two alternative versions of national identity, namely the territorial (Newman 2002). In both cases, the post-Zionists and the neo-Zionists reject the notion of a two state solution to the conflict, necessitating the demarcation and delimitation of a physical boundary separating the two states. For each, Israel/Palestine is a single territorial entity lying between the Mediterranean Sea in the west and the Jordan River to the east, within which both peoples reside. However, the resulting power configurations and identity relations are completely different for each of the cases. Under post-Zionism and a state for all its citizens, there would be power sharing and equality between both peoples with no single national or religious group usurping the symbols or semantics of an exclusive state identity. Under neo-Zionism, there would be a dominant Jewish state in which sovereignty would be extended to include the Occupied Territories of the West Bank (Judea and Samaria) and the Gaza Strip, and within which the Arab-Palestinian minority would not share full citizen rights and would even be encouraged to move out if they were not prepared to accept the authority and hegemony of the expanded Jewish state. These two internal challenges to the normative state identity have taken on different forms. The post-Zionist narrative emerged from an academic discourse amongst intellectuals but has spread to becoming a much wider public discourse, despite – and perhaps precisely because of – the criticism to which it was subject from the mainstream establishment of academia and government. Younger, global, less Jewish conscious generations of Israeli citizens are sympathetic to the loosening of the strong national exclusiveness, although they do not necessarily

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buy into the notion of a single bi-national democratic and secular state, not because they are opposed to the concept in principle but because they do not believe that it would be practically or politically possible to live in total peace and harmony with their Palestinian and Arab neighbors. Contrastingly, the neoZionist narrative has emerged from a religious and fundamentalist discourse, aimed at strengthening even further the Jewish attachment to the state. While they believe that the conflict will never be resolved, they argue that no other peoples have any legitimate claims to the territory and that the only way to ensure future Jewish hegemony over the land is through the construction of settlements and the expansion of physical annexation to the point where it will simply not be possible to undertake any further territorial concessions. Post-Zionism draws its intellectual heritage from the post nation-state and post-nationalism discourses of the globalization era (Ram 2005, 2006; Silberstein 1999). For them, the state building ideology of Zionism is over emphasized within the social, political and educational frameworks. Many proponents of post-Zionism view Israel as a state which should shed its national symbols such as the Star of David flag and the ‘Hatikva’ anthem and replace it with a state of ‘all of its citizens’, in which Israeli-Jewish and Arab-Palestinian residents are equal citizens in a single bi-national secular democracy and in which, power is shared by all of its citizens, regardless of their ethnic or religious affiliations or beliefs. The strongest critics of post-Zionism came, not as expected from the right wing and ultra nationalists, but from the centre-left Establishment and the traditional left wing critics of Israeli policies vis-à-vis the Palestinians. Post-Zionism removed the discourse of identity from a framework which accepted the state as a given, and within which criticism of policies and critical enquiry could take place, to a situation which effectively dismantled the framework of the existence of the Jewish state as a default position. Notwithstanding the strong criticism of their position, the post-Zionist critique became part of a wider public discourse and has taken its place as an alternative paradigm of understanding state behavior amongst some of the liberal and social science faculty in Israel’s academic community. But they too have adopted a rigid ideological position as they have become more firmly established in the national debate, viewing everything (whether it is relevant or not) through the limited analytical lens of colonialism and discrimination. By contrast, neo-Zionism draws its own discourse from a relatively narrow and insular focus on the Jewish people. For them, Jewish history and heritage is everything. The state of Israel is a special state and can not, nor will it ever be, simply a normal state in a family of nations. The state may have been founded as a result of the efforts of the Zionist pioneers under the leadership of figures such as David ben Gurion, but in reality this was all part of the hidden hand of God who set out to liberate the oppressed Jewish people, to return them to their historic homeland and to eventually bring about the ultimate redemption of the Jewish people by virtue of them being present in their one and only homeland. The state, the army and, most importantly, the land itself is ‘holy’. Once ‘liberated’ and returned to its rightful owners (as promised to the Jewish people in the ancient books of the Bible) it can not be voluntarily relinquished. True peace can not be achieved by relinquishing territories or by evacuating settlements. The lack


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of a deeper Jewish religious identity amongst the wider Israeli population is, for the neo-Zionists, the major failing of the state during its sixty years of existence. A strengthening of national and historical identities amongst the younger generations is required, especially within the secular (majority) school system. In their world view, the Israeli population has to wake up to the fact that the Land of Israel belongs ‘by right’ to the Jewish people and that only this will provide the inner strength to continue the struggle for hegemony for as long as it takes until the ultimate Divine redemption. The establishment of settlements is one practical way in which the neo-Zionists attempt to ensure the long-term retention of the West Bank (Judea and Samaria) under Jewish control. The neo-Zionist narrative has had a significant impact on the body politic of Israel, if only because the physical construction of settlements has proved to be a major obstacle on the path to peacemaking and peace implementation, while the inherent religious beliefs of its followers means that they are willing to resort to vociferous and, in some cases, even violent methods of opposition to any weakening of the existing state hegemony, including the move towards territorial compromise and settlement evacuation. Their messages have a strong socialization context, being preached in many of the synagogues by Rabbis, and through religious leaflets and newspapers distributed in synagogues and study houses, as well as in a strong system of national religious schools throughout the country. They reach a wider population at a more impressionable age than does the discourse of post-Zionism, partly because they enjoy some of the same agents of socialization (especially the school system) which are used by the state as a whole. The post-Zionist discourse has roots within the broader post-nationalist discourse of the past two decades, a discourse which focuses on the evils of colonialism and the exclusivity of ultra-nationalism. Unlike other discourses of post-nationalism however, post-Zionism has an internal problem to the extent that not all of its proponents negate the necessity of a Jewish state – a very national form of state. Thus even post-Zionism (as it is euphemistically known mostly by its detractors) is a fairly broad church, including critique of the state and its policies of occupation at one end of the continuum, to negation of the exclusively Zionist and Jewish state at the other end. Given the continued situation of conflict and feelings of threat felt by much of Israel’s population, it is a much harder discourse to put across than is its more narrowly defined counterpart of the neo-Zionists. Although the post-Zionist discourse may be more prominent on university campuses, it is more open to alternative discourses is the neo-Zionist discourse in the schools and synagogues which are affiliated to particular religious or political streams within society, with narrowly defined discourse borders and limited questioning of the ideological positioning of the leaders and message disseminators. Post-Zionism is less imposed as an alternative way of thinking about the state than is neo-Zionism on its potential constituent population and it remains a discourse of the elite rather than of the masses (Ram 1995). PostZionism opens up the state to external influences and disbands the state ethos in its present form. Neo-Zionism throws up the fortress mentality, strengthens rather than weakens identity borders, making them even more difficult to cross

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and, as such, provide the easier solution to a grass roots population for whom the conflict with the national ‘other’ remains a constant threat in their psyche, influencing the formation of their strong national and state identities.

Concluding Comments I: Israel at Sixty: What is an Israeli Identity? Well over 70 per cent of Israel’s citizen population were born and grew up into the reality of an existing state. And the majority of them were born into a post-1967 reality, when Israel was transformed from a besieged and isolated state fighting for its existence, into a state in control of the entire West Bank and Golan Heights and determining the fate not only of their own citizens, but also of a growing and stateless Palestinian population. The younger generation of Israelis was also born into a post Camp David peace era, as a result of which the single regional power who threatened the collective existence of the state of Israel (Egypt) was removed from the cycle of conflict. Although Israel continues to face security threats from katyusha missiles and suicide bombers, these remain threats at the level of the local and the individual, not the collective existence of the state as a whole. Children and young adults in Israel are also far more global than their parents’ and grandparents’ generations. Israel is a country with one of the highest levels of personal computers per household and internet connections in the world. Israelis travel abroad a great deal, as contrasted with the previous generations who travelled rarely, were uncomfortable in English and preferred the security of remaining in their home country in a way which the younger generations do not require. A million of the country’s citizens, a fifth of the entire citizen population (almost a quarter if only taking the Jewish population into account) immigrated from Russia and the states of the former Soviet Union in the early 1990s. This population is entirely secular, with weak, sometimes no links to the specific Jewish heritage of the country. Most of them immigrated because of the promise of better socio-economic conditions rather than the inbuilt desire to be part of their Zionist homeland. The younger generation of the Russian immigrants has undergone a remarkably successful process of social and economic integration into the country, but do not necessarily identify with the cultural and religious dimensions of being a Jewish citizen of a Jewish state. So how does a younger, more secular, more global oriented young adult or child identify with his/her state which still inserts a powerful socialization element into its curriculum and educational texts? No doubt, the existence of the conflict remains a powerful factor, requiring all Israeli youth to undertake three years of military service (two years for females) immediately after High School. The impact of Holocaust Day, Remembrance Day and Independence Day ceremonies and festivities respectively, remain collective events to which most of the population identify and affiliate. But while a younger generation of Israelis is prepared to defend its country against potential foreign invasions or scud missiles flying in from neighboring countries, it does not necessarily identify with the need to control a stateless national population that desires its own independence and sovereignty. They travel the world, see how Israel is often regarded negatively by


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countries and societies with whom they feel an affinity and ask themselves the question why, indeed, Israel with its advanced education, European culture and superior technology, can not simply be a normal state amongst all other states, a very pragmatic version of the post-Zionist perspective on the state. For some the answer is simple and immediate – the world is full of antiSemites. Israel was established out of the ashes of the Holocaust and if Israel did not exist today, there would be no safe haven for Jews around the world. This position results in a hardening of national identity and, for some, brings them to a neo-Zionist perspective, namely the stronger we are and show ourselves to be, the greater the chance of future survival. The fact that high-school children are taken on week long trips to Eastern Europe to visit the sites of the Death camps and the awful atrocities visited upon the Jewish people in the pre-Israel era is one way in which the state falls back to the lowest common denominator in instilling a sense of defensive mentality and strong national pride into much of the younger generation. The scenes of many of these youngsters, who do not necessarily have any form of cultural or religious affinity with the state into which they were born or to which they immigrated with their parents in the search for a better life, marching into Auschwitz and Birkenau with the Israeli national flag raised aloft is as strong a socially constructed identity as any of the socialization mechanisms previously described in this paper. For some commentators, this is what Israel is all about and if the younger generations forget this, then Israel will undergo its own internal self-destruction. For other commentators, however important it is never to forget the horrific lessons of the Holocaust, using it in this way is a sign that the state has failed to instill a positive cultural identity amongst much of its youth, and that it has no other option than to fall back to the worst of all symbols, Auschwitz, as a last ditch attempt to reconstruct this form of national belonging and sense of national identity. Some of Israel’s older generation, especially those who were Holocaust survivors and were directly involved in the establishment of the state in 1948, see this lack of strong identity and commitment amongst many of Israel’s younger generation as an ideological failure. They blame the post-Zionists for emasculating Zionism of its state building ideology, and fear the neo-Zionists for bringing Israel into confrontation with the whole world. But what they fail to recognize is that Israel has moved on during the sixty years of its existence. The fact that the country’s youth and young adults were born into an existing and strong state is to the credit of the older generations, and it is precisely the success of the state which has enabled the younger age cohorts to view the state and its role within the wider global community in a completely different way. The latter desire to integrate into a global community and the state has provided the skills and education for them to do so. They see an end to occupation as the means for global integration, rather than the continuation of occupation as the means for survival. They see occupation as a weakness rather than as a strength. Thus it is the success of the state founder generation, not the end of ideology, which has raised questions amongst Israel’s younger generation and future leaders, concerning their own affiliations, belongings and national identities.

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Concluding Comments II: Identities, Conflict and Peace These questions of identity are part of an ongoing dynamic. The state of Israel is young – sixty years in 2008. It was born out of the emancipations and national movements of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries but with a strong territorial focus on the ancient homeland and the symbolic land of ‘Zion’. It remains a state in conflict with its neighbors, and this, in turn, is linked into broader notions of anti-Semitism and threats of extinction by a generation of leaders who are not always sufficiently aware of the wider societal significance of the vast political, military, social and economic changes which have taken place during a short history of rapid growth and dynamism. Nevertheless, the state continues to use socialization messages which may have been relevant fifty years ago but do not necessarily speak to the younger and more global aware generation of today. Israel is a country which is part of the global community and desires to be even more strongly integrated within this community, but continues to disseminate educational messages which stress the unique and the different. It is a country whose younger generation and future leaders seek a new identity balance, one in which the normal processes of education and enlightenment, such as geography, history and archaeology, are used for those purposes rather than a socially constructed medium through which identities and knowledge are constructed. These two contrasting pulls on identity have a strong influence on the ways in which different sectors of the population view issues of peace and conflict. NeoZionists view the existence of Israel and the Jewish nation through the prism of exclusivity and a history of persecution, a besieged nation which has to continue to stand up to all its enemies and detractors, a nation which does not have the right to give up territory which was bequeathed to it by God. For their part, post-Zionists see Israel as a country like all other countries, one which should not dominate or occupy another nation, a country which will only reach a situation of security and stability by shedding its focus on ultra-nationalism which is rooted in history and religion. Each of the identity formations view security and stability as being achieved in totally opposite ways. Neo-Zionists do not believe that it is possible to exist without strength and adherence to the past, while post-Zionists do not believe in the long term existence of Israel if it does not shed occupation and withdraw from all of the territories conquered in 1967. These two contrasting positions have constituted the underlying ideologies underpinning the respective right or left of centre political positions on the conflict during the past forty years, since the Six Day War of June 1967. Neo-Zionists have promoted concepts of a Greater Israel and have attempted to implement these ideologies through de facto annexation and the continued construction and establishment of settlements throughout the territories. Post-Zionists have promoted a political policy of territorial withdrawal, recognition of the legitimate rights of the Palestinian people and, until recently, a two state solution to the conflict – while some have moved even further in recent years, promoting a single bi-national secular democracy to encompass both peoples within a single, nonnational exclusive, state. Paradoxically, a strong move towards a form of national


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consensus has emerged, in which right wing political leaders (such as Ariel Sharon and Ehud Olmert) who have been closer to a neo-Zionist position, have adopted the political solutions posited by the left wing political parties. These solutions focus on the concept of two states for two peoples, which have traditionally been closer to a post-Zionist position on the conflict. This would suggest that, despite the noise made by very vocal ideological groups (more so on the right than on the left), the practical implementation of the ideological principles has largely been negated by the wider Israeli populations. These populations have coalesced around the two state solution to the conflict as a result of realpolitik and demographic realities, rather than any ideological positioning. The majority of the (Jewish) citizen population of Israel wants to retain a state which has a significant Jewish majority and is democratic, in the sense that citizens have equal rights in all forms of life – social, economic and political. This necessitates the shedding of the occupied territories and its more than three million Palestinian residents. Questions still remain concerning the ultimate status of the one million Palestinian residents of Israel, a population which will continue to constitute an ethnic and political minority even in a post-conflict Israel. However, many Israelis they see this as more manageable than the current situation of almost demographic parity – a situation which prevents Israel from retaining its clear majority and raises serious questions concerning Israel’s claims to be a true democracy. While the two ideological and identity positions outlined in this chapter are less significant in policy terms than they are in terms of the public discourse, they have left their mark on the way in which politicians and government leaders form policy, in attempting to find a balance between distinct and contrasting claims from their own domestic constituencies. While the neo-Zionist position has been more vocal, more practical (in terms of creating settlements) and, in some cases, more violent in pushing forward their claims, it is the alternative position of pragmatism (the same sort of pragmatism which resulted in the establishment of the state of Israel by its founding father David ben Gurion sixty years ago) and territorial withdrawal which has, in policy terms, gained the upper hand. This is probably more centrist than a post-Zionist position, but its disengagement from territorial jingoism and absolutism brings it much closer into the post-Zionist domain than the irredentist models of the neo-Zionists. This does not automatically determine that a two state resolution of the conflict will, indeed, come about in the short term future, but it is clear if conflict is to ever be resolved, this will be the way forward. The alternative, the lack of conflict resolution, brings Israel closer to the neo-Zionist position – continued occupation and widening annexation, a situation which will continue to threaten the stability, not only of Israel, but of the region as a whole.

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Bar Gal, Y. (1993), ‘Boundaries as a Topic in Geographic Education’, Political Geography Quarterly 12:2, 421–35. Bar Gal, Y. (1996), ‘Ideological Propaganda in Maps and Geographical Education’, in J. van der Schee and H. Trimp (eds), Innovation in Geographical Education, Proceedings of the Commission on Geographical Education, 28th Congress of the International Geographical Union, The Hague, 67–79. Bar Gal, Y. and Bar Gal, B. (2008), ‘“To Tie the Cords between the People and its Land”: Geography Education in Israel’, Israel Studies 13:1, 44–67. Benvenisti, M. (1987), The Shepherds’ War: Collected Essays (1981–1989) (Jerusalem: Jerusalem Post for West Bank Data Base Project). Black, J. (1997), Maps and Politics (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press). Burghardt, A. (1973), ‘The Bases of Territorial Claims’, Geographical Review 63:2, 225–45. Cohen, S. (1998), ‘Terra Sancta: Maps, Politics and History’, Mercators World 3:5, 16–21. Cohen, S. and Kliot, N. (1981), ‘Israel’s Place Names as Reflection of Continuity and Change in Nation Building’, Names 29, 227–42. Cohen, S. and Kliot, N. (1992), ‘Place-Names in Israel’s Ideological Struggle over the Administered Territories’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 82:4, 653–80. Collins-Kreiner, N., Mansfield, Y. and Kliot, N. (2006), ‘The Reflection of a Political Conflict in Mapping: The Case of Israel’s Borders and Frontiers’, Middle Eastern Studies 42:3, 381–408. Fox, E. (2001), Palestine Twilight: Archaeology of the Holy Land and the Murder of Dr. Albert Glock (New York: HarperCollins). Glock, A. (1994) ‘Archaeology as Cultural Survival: The Future of the Palestinian Past’, Journal of Palestine Studies 23:3, 70–84. Glock, A. (1995), ‘Cultural Bias in the Archaeology of Palestine’, Journal of Palestine Studies 24:4, 48–59. Gravois, J. (2007), ‘Middle East Studies in the News: Mapping Out the Investigation of Ghazi Falah’, The Chronicle of Higher Education, 24 November. Falah, G. (1985), ‘The Spatial Pattern of Bedouin Sedentarization in Israel’, GeoJournal 11:4, 361–8. Falah, G. (1991), ‘The Facts and Fictions of Judaization Policy and its Impact on the Majority Arab Population in Galilee’, Political Geography Quarterly 10:3, 297–316. Falah, G. (1996), ‘The 1948 Israeli-Palestinian War and its Aftermath: The Transformation and Designification of Palestine’s Cultural Landscape’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 86:2, 256–85. Harley, J.B. (1992), ‘Deconstructing the map’, in T.J. Barnes and J.S. Duncan (eds), Writing Worlds: Discourse, Text and Metaphor in the Representation of Landscape (London: Routledge). Kemp, A., Ram U., Newman, D. and Yiftachel, O. (eds) (2004), Israelis in Conflict: Hegemonies, Identities and Challenges (Sussex: Sussex Academic Press). Kliot, N. and Medzini, N. (1985), ‘Bedouin Settlement Policy in Israel, 1964–84: Another Perspective’, Geoforum 16:4, 428–39. Morris, B. (1988), The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem, 1947–1949 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Morris, B. (1993), Israel’s Border Wars, 1949–56 (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Newman, D. (1991), ‘On Writing “Involved” Political Geography’, Political Geography Quarterly 10:3, 195–9.


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Newman, D. (1998), ‘Metaphysical and Concrete Landscapes: The Geopiety of Homeland Socialization in the “Land of Israel”’, in H. Brodsky (ed.), Land and Community: Geography in Jewish Studies (Bethesda, MD: University Press of Maryland). Newman, D. (2002), ‘Territorial Identities in a Deterritorialized World: From National to Post-national Territorial Identities in Israel/Palestine’, Geojournal 53, 235–46. Newman, D. (2004), ‘A Live Research Laboratory: The Israel–Palestine Conflict through the Writings of Israeli Political Geographers’, Horizons in Geography 60–61 (special issue for the IGU Congress, Glasgow). Newman, D. (2005), ‘From “Hitnachalut” to “Hitnatkut”: The Impact of Gush Emunim and the Settlement Movement on Israeli Society’, Israel Studies 10:3, 192–224. Newman, D. (2008), ‘Geographic Discourses: The Changing Spatial and Territorial Dimensions of Israeli Politics and Society’, Israel Studies 13:1, 1–19. Pappe, I. (1988), Britain and the Arab-Israeli Conflict, 1948–51 (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan). Pappe, I. (2006), A History of Modern Palestine: One Land, Two Peoples, 2nd edition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Ram, U. (1995), The Changing Agenda of Israeli Sociology: Theory, Ideology and Identity (New York: State University of New York Press). Ram, U. (2005), ‘Post-Zionist studies of Israel: The First Decade’, Israel Studies Forum 20:2, 22–45. Ram, U. (2006), The Time of the ‘Post’: Nationalism and the Politics of Knowledge in Israel (Tel Aviv: Resling) (in Hebrew). Shlaim, A. (1998), The Politics of Partition, 1929–51 (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Silberstein, L. (1999), The Postzionism Debates: Knowledge and Power in Israeli Culture. (London: Routledge). Soffer, A. and Bar-Gal, Y. (1985), ‘Planned Sedentarization of Bedouins in Israel’, Geoforum 16:4, 425–8. Wolfensohn, A. (2007), ‘Scholarship as Propaganda: Archeology and Historiography in the Struggle against Zionism’, Israel Journal of Foreign Affairs 4, 55–63. Wood, D. (1993), The Power of Maps (London: Routledge). Yiftachel, O. and Rumley, D. (1991), ‘On the Impact of Israel’s Judaisation of Galilee policy’, Political Geography Quarterly 10:3, 286–96. Yiftachel, O. (1992), Planning a Mixed Region in Israel: The Political Geography of ArabJewish Relations in the Galilee (Aldershot: Gower). Zerubavel, Y. (1995), Recovered Roots: Collective Memory and the Making of Israeli National Tradition (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press).


Chapter 5

Borders of/on the Mind, Borders in the Jungle: Islamic Insurgency and Ethno-Religious Irredentism in Southern Thailand David Camroux and Don Pathan

It was in the jungle, it’s now in our hearts.1

Introduction Leaving aside aspects of the appalling situation brought about by an oppressive and kleptocratic military dictatorship in Burma/Myanmar, the conflicts in Southern Thailand and in the Mindanao remain the last two cases of unresolved separatist ethno-national insurrections in Southeast Asia. The independence of East Timor and the peace agreement and reconciliation process in Aceh represent two forms of conflict resolution in Southeast Asia and, above all, indicate that these problems are perhaps not intractable. Yet in southern Thailand, the violence not only continues, but is worsening as the spectre of forms of ethnic cleansing and civil war hangs over the three southern provinces. Indeed, after a period of relative calm in the 1980s and 1990s in Pattani, Yala and Nathariwat, the violence in this area near the border with Malaysia has attained new heights and has encompassed new forms. Underlying this violence, it will be argued, are competing identity narratives of the peoples in this region, identities which are progressively being reduced to those pertaining to the insurrection and insurgency. In most of the press reports on the conflict, this labelling of those said to be responsible for the violence reduces these identities to the three generic terms of ‘Malay’, ‘Muslim’ and ‘insurgents’. It is such outside narratives on the insurgency in the south, issued from the media, academic observers and the Thai authorities, that increasingly colour both external perceptions of the people of the south and their self-identification.

1 The phrase is that of an ustaz (religious teacher) of a pondok (private Islamic boarding school) in Pattani.


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The approach that has been chosen in this chapter is of a different nature. We have chosen to examine, in broader historical terms, how the status of the Malay people living in southern Thailand, as citizens and subjects of the king of ‘the land of the Thais’, is in conflict with their self-identity. In particular, they see themselves as members of another community, namely a larger Malay world and the broader Islamic community, the ummah.2 It shall be argued that, for the peoples of the south, these externally imposed identities collide with their self-identification. The notion of ‘minority’ presents one example. For the Thai state, and seen from outside the country, the Malay Muslims of the south are a minority group in Thailand, on the same level as other minority groups within the kingdom, such as the Khmers or Laotians. The Malay Muslim population in the south, however, considers itself as the majority within the southern territory. In their opinion, the Thai Buddhists, characterized by some as a force of occupation, constitute the minority in this territory. In this case study on identity and conflict in southern Thailand, the importance of both identities – those imposed from the outside and those developed within – is stressed. Three interrelated questions are addressed in the course of the chapter. In the first section we examine how identities have been constructed and are articulated and vectored in the southern provinces of Thailand, a region that sees itself ‘elsewhere’, that is, as part of the Malay world. The analysis continues with a juxtaposition of these psychological borders and the physical borders between southern Thailand and northern Malaysia. Following from the examination of these identity construction processes, in the final section we suggest that the nature of identity constructions in southern Thailand leaves little room for a peaceful resolution to the conflict within the existing confines of current state and national arrangements in Southeast Asia. Our approach in this chapter draws on a comprehensive overview of the relevant academic literature and on extensive interviews with people in the troubled region. We emphasize the deleterious effects of framing the conflict in terms of a global jihad, evidenced in the copious academic literature on southern Thailand and other texts by external actors. In contrast, interviews with the participants shed light on their framing of the conflict in ethnic terms and, illuminate factors of individual motivation. Within the participants’ framework, religious difference seems to be an element used to legitimize the establishment of self-imposed borders of separation between communities, rather than being a significant causal factor. The actors interviewed range from representatives of the older and new generation of insurgents to members of the Thai security forces and other Thai authorities. The final section draws upon insights from international relations theory to suggest that addressing the region as a case of international conflict, instead of as a domestic, Thai conflict, may reveal possibilities to tease out ways in which the politics of exclusionist identities can be superseded.

2

The ummah is the community of all Muslim believers.

Islamic Insurgency and Ethno-Religious Irredentism in Southern Thailand

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External narratives on southern Thailand The literature on southern Thailand in general, and on the insurgency in particular, is coloured by the disciplinary perspective of the numerous contemporary observers. To generalize, security specialists, such as Zachary Abuza (2003, 2005, 2007, 2008), Peter Chalk (2001, 2002), Aurel Croissant (2005), Rohan Gunaratna et al. (2005), Seshagirirao Harish (2006), Joseph Liow (2004, 2006), Bahukutumbi Raman (2007) and Ian Storey (2007), are concerned to tease out the international aspects, or lack thereof, and their political and regional implications. On the contrary, the more nuanced work of a number of anthropologists, such as Marc Askew (2007), Chaiwat Satha-Anand (2005, 2007), Andrew Cornish (1997), Alexander Horstmann (2004 and 2006), Michael Jerryson (2007), Patrick Jory (2007), Pierre Le Roux (1998), Suthiwong Pongpaiboon (2004a and 2004b) and Thanet Aphornsuvan (2004, 2007), focus on the local dynamics of the unrest with a particular emphasis on communal relations. Anthropologists focusing on religion, such as Michel Gilquin (2005), Syed Serajul Islam (1998 and 2000), Carool Kersten (2005), Nidhi Aeusrivongse (2005) and Omar Farouk Bajunid (2005), attempt to explore how communal dynamics are encrusted within local contests over forms of Islam itself. Finally, political scientists, such as Desmond Ball and David Mathieson (2007, ch. 6), Chayan Vaddhanaphuti (2005), Duncan McCargo (2005a, 2007b and 2007c), Linda True (2004), Giles Ji Ungpakorn (2007) and Moshe Yegar (2002), seek to contextualize the unrest both historically and within the broader contemporary Thai context. In particular, they seek to examine the role of state and quasi-state actors in the present unrest. This is notably the case in the subtle analysis of Duncan McCargo, who inscribes the situation in the south within broader political struggles for power and control within the Thai state. All of these studies, whether by Thai or by Western scholars, have one point in common: narratives on southern Thailand are presented essentially as subnarratives of those on Thailand. By consciously or unconsciously positing the analysis of southern Thailand as a problem of contested loyalties and identities within the Thai nation, the voluminous literature on southern Thailand imposes limits on explanatory factors. In a sense, writers have not adequately looked at – and across – the border, into the greater Malay world. This chapter is an attempt to meet that deficiency by juxtaposing the psychological borders that preclude – and auto-exclude – Muslims in southern Thailand from membership in a Thai nation, the physical borders of which result from the colonial period in Southeast Asia. In this regard, the framework of analysis proposed in this edited volume provides a helpful approach by conceptualizing borders, and thus bounded territories, not only in physical terms, namely in relation to the touchstone of the Westphalian nation-state, but also as the expression of both individual and collective imaginings. ‘Nations’ may well be ‘imagined communities’ to use Benedict Anderson’s (2006) oft-quoted categorization, but one of the attributes assumed is the existence of physical borders. However, what can be said of other imagined communities, especially those of ‘nations’ without physical boundaries? The case of southern Thailand demonstrates the problems that arise when a

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community, defined in its own terms on ethno-religious grounds, is ensconced within a territorial space which is not of its own making, and whose ownership and even eponym (the land of the Thais) it rejects.

Creating Psychological Borders and Ethno-Religious Cleavages As suggested, southern Thailand, and more particularly Patani, is a mere footnote in conventional English language narratives on Thai history. Indeed, in studies whose underlying theme is the transformation of a pre-colonial Siamese kingdom into a centralized modern Thai nation-state, southern Thailand narratives take up between nothing (Wright 1991) and, at the most, four paragraphs (Baker and Pasuk 2005: 58, 173–4; Keyes 1989: 40, 131–2; Wyatt 2003: 81, 97, 135, 143, 155–6, 199). Even within two highly innovative studies from a constructive perspective, the given of the vicissitudes of a burgeoning Thai nation-state reduces the atypical and ‘un-Thai’ world of southern Thailand to a passing mention (Thongchai 1994: 85–6) in which the south is simply Siam’s burden (Thongchai 1994: 94). Although – or perhaps because – its concern is with the consolidation of the sense of Thai nationhood within a homogeneous nation-state, Peleggi’s (2007: 43) latest review of Thai history, like Thongchai’s study, reduces the inconvenient ‘thorn in the side’ of Malay rejection in the south to a problem of dealing with minority groups. This occurs in spite of the rejection of integration in the Thai nation demonstrated in recent developments in southern Thailand. An alternative narrative of southern Thailand is proposed in this chapter. It inscribes its contemporary history in a similar context to that of its past history, namely that of the Malay world. To make a simple point, southern Thailand does not only exist in some form of core-peripheral relationship with Bangkok. While that relationship is primordial, southern Thailand or, more specifically some of its inhabitants, simultaneously exist within other temporal and spatial localities. The temporal parameter, as will be explored below, is the reference to a glorious past, a golden age in which Patani was for a brief period the ‘Rome’ of the Islamic Malay world. The spatial (and partly temporal) parameter is evident in narratives about being an integral part of a Malay world and, less discernibly, a global ummah. To be put more prosaically, our putative separatist/ freedom fighter/terrorist turns on his television in Tak Bai to watch Malaysian TV programmes emanating from a neighboring country which is two or three times wealthier than his rejected home nation and in which Islam is the official religion. Moreover, scenes of the repression of Palestinians in the occupied territories, or of the fiasco in Iraq, provide identification possibilities for people who see themselves as fighting a just war against those portrayed as Siamese Buddhist occupiers at the local level, within a global jihad against the infidel. The problem in situating Patani in a Malay ‘nation’ is that such a ‘nation’ has never been recognized formally within the international arena, and the concept of a Malay world remains problematical (Barnard 2003). Nevertheless, the people of the south generally do not make a distinction between the concepts of ‘Islam’ and ‘Malay ethnicity’. For them ‘Malay’ and


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‘Islam’ are two sides of the same coin: an attack on one is an attack on the other. Visitors to the southern provinces are often asked, ‘do you speak bahasa Islam (literally the Islamic language)?’ rather than being asked ‘do you speak bahasa Melayu (the Malay language)?’ or ‘are you khon (a person of …) Islam?’ A ‘yes’ to both of these questions would mean one is a Muslim who speaks Malay. In Islamic terms, the south is perceived as Dar al-Islam (a land of Islam; part of the global ummah), while the rest of Thailand is Dar al-Harb (a land of unbelievers). The linkage between ethnic identity and religious identification is complete. The term in Malay for conversion to Islam is ‘masok melayu’, that is ‘an entering into the religious and cultural world of the Malays’. For Bangkok, the unrest in the south represents a problem of minority assimilation (as on Thailand’s northern borders), whereas in the Malay Muslim south, it springs from a rejection of the premises of such an assimilation, namely citizenship, within the geopolitical entity of modern Thailand. Both geopolitical borders and other distinctions are not a given, but rather represent a social structuring within the contemporary order. The borderland nature of the deep south is a largely underrated dimension. Marc Askew (2006, 2007a) and, to some extent, Alexander Horstmann (2006) draw our attention to the physical border with Malaysia as a space of various kinds of (illegal) trafficking (people, goods and drugs), as found in many other borderlands in Southeast Asia. Askew (2007a) suggests that southern Thailand and its conflicts are characterized by this particular terrain. The borderlands encompass both sides of the frontier, even if some activities may be only on one side. With approximately 10,000 people crossing the border each day at many unofficial points, significant numbers of dual nationals, and the estimated 250,000 Malays from southern Thailand working in northern Malaysia, the border has another essential role: Malaysia provides an alternative focus of identity for the people of the south. Multiple cross-border vectors for this alternative identity exist, ranging from the Malaysian media (newspapers, television and videos) to admission for some into Malaysian schools or employment in Kelantan. Fund transfers from workers in Northern Malaysia are an expression of solidarity from close neighbors and co-religionists. Northern Malaysia is attractive not only due to its greater affluence, but above all because it is a place where Malay cultural and religious practices dominate. When juxtaposed with the sense of being a besieged community in the south of Thailand, adherence to a Malayan dream, as realized in Malaysia, is a potent force. When combined with narratives of Siamese occupation, enforced exile and the arbitrary colonial division of Patani into provinces subsumed into two separate nations, the physical border becomes a scar and a symbol of enforced partition. This symbolism, which knows no borders, is a more potent form of sustenance for the insurgents; unlike the flow of money, arms or even expertise in terrorism, it cannot physically be impeded.

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Borders and the Irredentist Dimension3 By emphasizing the impact of borders, both real and in the imagination of the Malay community in southern Thailand, we wish to position irredentism as central in understanding the southern Thai situation. Contrary to assertions in the mid 1970s (Suhrke 1975: 187), irredentism has not been contained. Rather, we suggest that it has taken on new ideological clothing, motivated new actors and engendered new mechanisms of violence. While the irredentism of southern Thailand is a result of divisions established during the colonial period (Cribb and Li 2004), as is often the case, it is of a different nature to irredentism found elsewhere. The Malay people see themselves as internally colonized. They aim to overthrow the ‘forces of occupation’ and rejoin – at least morally and spiritually, if not politically – their co-religionists in Kelantan and the other northern states of Malaysia. Once the nature of the relationship with the Siamese monarchy changed at the turn of the twentieth century from owing tribute to accepting Siamese administrative control (Vickery 1970), there were periodic attempts to seek British support for associating the region with the Malayan federation. Although it proved unfounded, there was a sentiment that support for Britain against the Japanese and their Thai allies during World War II would be rewarded in this way. In the latter half of the 1940s, traditional Malay leaders in the southern provinces urged the British authorities and the United Nations to promote the integration of their region into the Federation of Malaya (Yegar 2002: 108).4 Seen in a longer term perspective, it could be argued that an independent Patani was a second best option, given the unwillingness of the Thai state to countenance losing further territories and the unwillingness of external powers (particularly Britain and then the United States, from the 1940s) to agree to a transfer of territory to the Malay federation. With the need for Thai support in suppressing the Communist insurgency in Malaya – and later with the creation of ASEAN (Association of South East Asian Nations) – the question of the inviolate nature 3 Irredentism, which has its origin in the phrase Italia irredenta (unredeemed or unrecovered Italy), is any position advocating annexation of territories administered by another state on the grounds of common ethnicity and/or prior historical possession, real or alleged. For a theoretical discussion on its importance in the post-Cold War world, see Chazan (1991). 4 To be fanciful, it could be argued that one of the root historic causes of the unrest in the south of contemporary Thailand was the then failure of the British imperial powers … to be imperialist enough! If the Colonial Office in London had responded, and it is a very big ‘if’, to the suggestions of its governor in Malaya, Sir Frank Swettenham, as well as of other imperial lobbyists, to include Greater Patani in the territories annexed by the British in 1909 (Kelatuan, Perak and Kedah), then Patani might well find itself today as a rather bland entity within the contemporary Malaysian Federation. Undoubtedly, such a hypothetical configuration would not have been without consequences to present internal political balances between the opposition Islamic party (PAS) and the more secular Malay governing party UMNO. Yet it is highly doubtful whether a Greater Patani as the theoretical fourteenth state of modern Malaysia would be the scene of violence and unrest of an ethno-religious nature today.


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of existing borders became paramount. Independence at best, and autonomy at worst, then became the only option. At the turn of the twenty-first century, a number of scholars had already noted the end of serious armed resistance in southern Thailand (Abuza 2003; Cornish 1997; Islam 1998, 2000). The quietude of the 1990s can be read in various ways. On the one hand, it can be read as a genuine toning down of separatist demands and sentiments, due to the twin impacts of some degree of economic development and a more compromising Democrat political leadership in Bangkok. From this perspective, the actions of the Thaksin government ended this period of co-existence and led to separatist backlash. A second reading, favoured by some elements of the Thai military (Kitti 2004) as well as a number of declarations of insurgents, suggests that the period of seeming calm was merely a period of quiet preparation for the ultimate combat – ‘the lull before the storm’. Historically, resistance against the Thai, or rather, as seen by Malays in the south, the Siamese policy of assimilation of the Malay-speaking south, has taken on a number of shapes. From clinging on to the cultural identity through stricter observances of religious and cultural practices to armed rebellion, Malays in Thailand’s southernmost provinces have time and again expressed their rejection of attempts by the (Siamese) state to impose its version of socio-political values that define the country’s nation-state. As Michael Connor (2007: 145) has argued, ‘the history of the South may well be written as a history of differentiated cyclical patterns of Malay resistance and rebellion and state accommodation and pacification’. The narrative we suggest differs from these two versions. The insights from James Scott’s (1986) seminal study on the ‘weapons of the weak’ would suggest another, more profound and ultimately more subversive, interpretation. In his study of a Malay peasant community in the northern Malaysian state of Kedah, Scott suggests that ‘everyday forms of peasant resistance … stop well short of outright collective defiance … (rather involving) the ordinary weapons of relatively powerless groups: foot dragging, dissimulation, desertion, false compliance, pilfering, feigned ignorance, slander, arson, sabotage and so on’ (Scott 1985: xvi). While Scott’s study essentially focuses on the class struggle between the peasantry and their exploiters, it has particular relevance for understanding the interiorized revolt of a peasantry, this time not against a class enemy (although there are elements thereof), but rather against what is portrayed as the occupying forces of a colonial power. Anthropological studies undertaken before the present insurrection indicate the resentment of Malay Muslims, both rubber planters (Cornish 1997) and fishermen (Fraser 1966), towards the Thai authorities and the negotiation of minimal contact, while attempting to carve out a space of autonomy. This is not to suggest that opposition to the Thai authorities did not take on organized forms. In the last forty years, a succession of organizations has emerged, some interlinked, others the succussors of previous bodies. The Patani United Liberation Organization (PULO), the Barisan Revolusi Nasional (BRN), BIPP, as well as a number of other separatist organizations, surfaced in the 1970s, but their military wings were shattered in the early 1990s, following the Thai government’s granting of blanket amnesty for the Malay insurgents and the Communist rebels.

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The move forced the organizations’ leaders into exile in Southeast Asia, the Middle East and Europe. While Thai officials see a new generation of militants as having emerged organically, they are uncertain regarding what kind of links exist between the separatists of previous generations and the current groups of insurgents.

Narratives of the Resistance Movement: Inculcating Borders of the Mind News reports and interviews with suspected insurgents also suggested that these cells operate independently and are made up of young men who are mainly in their twenties and thirties. Thai military intelligence believe the ustaz, or Islamic teachers, have played a significant role in shaping the mindset of this generation of militants because they grew up with these teachers, nurturing their thoughts about the historical homeland of Patani and the need to regain it from those who are portrayed as Siamese infidels. The historicity of insurgent propaganda needs to be underlined for two reasons. On the one hand, it has the power to inscribe present action into what is presented as a glorious tradition of resistance. On the other hand, and perhaps more importantly, reference to Patani’s previous golden age is not only historically accurate, but above all, it is championed in narratives such as the 16th century Hykayat Patani (translated by Teeuw and Wyatt 1970) and the Sejarah Kerajaan Melayu Patani (Syukri 1958{2005}), both of which provide for a Greater Patani with legitimizing tropes on the need to re-conquer a lost world. Moreover, Malaysian writing on Patani, such as that by Al Fatani (2002), Hasan (2002) and Nik Mahmud (2006) – often published in both Malay and Jawi (Malay written in Arabic script), also provides substance to the idea of a glorious past and a promising future. While basic historical understanding of the lost age may be slight, this does not hinder resentment against the ‘Siamese who enslaved our forefathers to build the canals of Bangkok’, to use one common assertion. Indeed the use and abuse of historical memory has meant that both the sense of an independent past and, concomitantly, a sense of ‘Siamese denial’ of that past – and future – have been maintained. In contesting ‘Siamese annexation’, the borders of identification with the Thai nation are also contested. Since 2001, when insurgent violence resurfaced in Thailand’s deep south, leaflets are sometimes left by the side of victims.5 While the generic phrases of responsible parties may vary, these anonymous flyers emphasize the same theme: The historic homeland of the Malay people, known as Patani, is an occupied territory, so Malay Muslims have an obligation to rise up and take the land from the invading/occupying Siamese infidels. They also call on the Malay population 5 Not one group has taken credit for any of the attacks. When leaflets are left by the side of victims, they are signed using generic terms, rather than formal organizational names. Of those examined, none so far has any distinctive logo or letterhead, and the generic phrases used to describe the authors are not always consistent. These phrases, written at bottom of these anonymous leaflets, include Berjihad di Patani (Waging the Jihad in Patani), but in most cases, not even the generic name of the group is mentioned.


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not to cooperate with the state authorities or spy for them, as this would be considered a crime against the people of Patani, punishable by death. While, as will be argued later, the language of the new actors may be expressed in newer, at times vaguely jihadist terms, a continuity remains in the language of the struggle against the Thai state throughout the twentieth century, namely that of a struggle against internal colonization.6 This language portrays the Thai state as lacking any legitimate rights of presence. Worse, its compradors, including the minority Thai Buddhist population, are portrayed as enemies to be expelled. The recruitment practice of militants involves a lengthy process. It can take from several months to years before a cell is established. Generally, a successful recruitment effort requires a recruiter with great persuasive skills. Ismail Yusof Rayalong, the leader of the Hikmatallah Abadan7 took up to five years to put together his entire network of militants, which he commanded directly before launching its 28 April 2004 attack on eleven police positions. Ismail, known as Ustaz Soh, was described by one of his recruits, Abdullah Akoh, a former ustaz, as a very friendly person who treated recruits on almost equal terms and made everyone around him feel at ease. Abdullah said they played football together, went out for meals in public places and shared sweets. Once Soh was certain that Abdullah shared the same views about the predicament of the Malay community in southern Thailand, and that he could be trusted to keep a secret, he revealed his secret life and his goal of forming a network of militants ‘to liberate Patani from the invading Siamese’. According to Abdullah, Soh told his men that this brand of Islam could provide believers with supernatural power that would make them invincible. He taught his men to recite prayers until they went into trance. With recitation of the Koran and a candle, Soh served up holy water for militants to drink so that their bodies would be impervious to bullets and knives.8 Thus, on 28 April 2004, well over hundred young men believing in Soh’s, and their own, invincibility carried out his instructions to charge into a wall of machine gun bullets. In an interview from his hospital bed, to which he was chained, Abdullah said that Soh had spent the past five years building up the Hikmatallah Abadan. He conducted secret training sessions in various remote pockets of the restive region, bringing a handful of cells from disparate districts to ensure their independence. The training sessions involved ideological indoctrination and spiritual preparation, as well as physical fitness and rudimentary weapons training. The recruits were required to take vows of silence (supoh) on the Quran, swearing not to reveal anything about the group’s membership, activities or plans. The employed mixture of folk Islam and magical practices suggest that these groups are more akin to millenarian anarchists of

6 For a discussion of the notion of internal colonization, drawing from the case of Celtic minorities in Britain, see Hechter (1998). 7 This is variously translated by the ICG as ‘Brotherhood of the Eternal Judgement of God’ or in the Thai English language press as the ‘Invincible Path Towards God’. 8 Interview with Abdullah Akoh in an army hospital in Patani. Akoh was recovering from the bullet wounds from a gunfight in which he killed a soldier.


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the European Middle Ages, as one Thai anthropologist (Nidhi 2005) has hinted, than to contemporary ostensibly politicized jihadist groups. While Ustaz Soh cast his recruitment net widely and succeeded in establishing a secret network of militants embracing folk Islam into their fight against the Thai state, the remote village of Ban Pari in Narathiwat province saw an entirely different form of recruitment. Village chief, Usman Tahey, and former militants ‘rescued’ by him talked about how insurgents showed little regard for the security forces that occasionally passed by this remote area in armoured vehicles. Over the preceding year, about thirty young men from his community alone had decided to take up arms against the state. Usman, a former PULO member who had left about a decade earlier, and the young militants who switched to his side, said their former comrades were quite confident at times. They spoke openly to local residents about the need to take up arms against the state, citing historical claims to the territory, discrimination and abuses at the hands of officials. A turning point came when they killed the janitor of a local school for disrespecting their order to leave his government job. Usman and the twenty young men he brought with him were designated as the village defence volunteers and were given arms to police their community.9 Ustaz Soh’s recruits also studied from an organizational manual, Berjihad di Patani (Waging the Jihad in Patani) that spoke of separatism and martyrdom in religious terms. Although the Berjihad di Patani religious references are dubious, the manual nevertheless hits on the same resentful note that is repeated among militants. Nevertheless, the basis for their resentment and the tone of their language varies from one militant to the next. Most said they resented what they deemed to be abusive and unjust state power that had ‘occupied’ Malay territory, but they differed on proposed solutions. Some, like Akoh, think a liberated Patani should employ Islamic law to govern the territory, while others in Ban Pari sound more like Malay nationalists and talk of a Patani government by ethnic Malays. While most, if not all, insisted that their actions were justified on religious grounds – pointing to the fact that Islam permits an uprising against unjust rule – none would go as far as to equate their struggle in southern Thailand to the global jihadi movement. From the Berjihad di Patani and the statements from the arrested militants, it was clear that the continuation of the historic struggle against the infidel occupier was the main reason why the local Malay Muslims population rose up against the Thai state. While the resentment was obvious, none of the militants could explain how a liberated Patani should be governed or shed light as to what their economic manifesto or a political blueprint would be. Instead, many talked about the character and piety of the leader who had recruited them, rather than his ability to lead them in a liberated Patani. Glimpses of the militants’ thinking are provided in the anonymous letters and leaflets left besides victims or targets. There were times when these letters were mailed to a specific person or household. In one instance, a letter was sent to the wife of a Muslim defence volunteer, or Or So, Arsa Sama, in Srisakorn district of Narathiwat province, explaining why it was necessary to kill her husband. The 9

The Nation, ‘Quiet Warrior Opposes New Insurgency’, 13 September 2005.


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letter stated that the ‘crime’ the victim had committed was unforgivable: He was accused of spying for the state. In another incident in May 2007, in Patani’s Yarang district, leaflets scattered around the village of Ban Kasod called on the local community to refrain from helping to rebuild an elementary school, half of which was burnt down a week earlier. The leaflets surfaced on the day that the local community was to start building temporary roofs for half of the schools’ pupils. Initially in Ban Kasod, an overwhelmingly Malay Muslim village, the villagers responded positively, donating money and construction materials. In spite of their anonymity, the leaflets had the desired effect on the village population, effectively bringing an end to the reconstruction effort. A similar incident in Pattani’s Ban Pakareusong Elementary School occurred when the local community refused to send their children to the school until the Ranger unit, who had set up a make shift outpost in the school compound, left their community.10 To summarize, four patterns in the insurgent strategy – and thus in the practice of erecting the borders of separation between militants and others – can be discerned. First, and most important, is the strategy to target representative elements of the Thai state, broadly defined. While, in the previous cycle of violence, targets were limited to the forces of physical coercion, the army, paramilitaries and the police, the definition of ‘occupying forces’ seems to have been extended to include schoolteachers, monks and village headmen. The burning of schools and damaging of hospitals appears to be an extension of this physical elimination of the Thai state’s presence. Concomitant to this, as Jerryson (2007) suggests, is the occupation of previously neutral or shared space by the coercive forces of the state. For example, the fortified guard posts for police and the military set up in wats (monasteries) and temples have physically integrated previously neutral and shared spaces into the state apparatus. The second strategy involves provoking the departure of Buddhist families and communities, particularly from the rural areas. While the very loaded term ‘ethnic cleansing’ needs to be avoided, one objective of the violence has been to strengthen the Malay Muslim majorities in these areas through the forced departure of some of those Thai Buddhists with the means to restart their lives elsewhere in Thailand. With the Queen and senior monks calling for the defence of Thai Buddhists, and the increasing flow of arms for paramilitary groups and self-defence organizations, the spectre – or at least the language – of civil war, unheard since the anti-communist violence of the 1970s, is resurfacing. A third strategy is the presentation of an acceptable public face for the insurrection through demonstrations involving large numbers of women and children. Evidence of payments to and organized transport for participants from distant villages suggests extensive coordination and planning, rather than the outbreak of spontaneous acts of outrage at perceived abuses. Finally, a fourth strategy consists of attempts to provoke a violent reaction from the Thai security forces in order to generate sympathy for the insurgents and legitimize their use of 10 The paramilitary Rangers have been implicated in extra-judicial killings and other acts of violence in the South (Ball 2004: 105–12).

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violence. Caution is required in dealing with this question, as we are analyzing at the level of intentions and extrapolating from a previous violent overreaction on the part of the Thai security forces, to suggest that this calculation has entered into their thinking. Clearly, the conflict has entered into a phase of ‘tit for tat violence’ in which mosques are sprayed with bullets and the brutal killing of Thai Buddhist villagers is followed by retaliation killings. The latent civil war in southern Thailand is the clearest expression of the irredentist agenda. By causing a rift between Muslim and Buddhist villagers who had previously co-existed in some degree of harmony, and by intimidating the vast bulk of the Muslim population into acquiescence, or at least into silence, the insurgents are creating a favourable climate for their operations. Moreover, by pushing the civilian Buddhist population into postures of self-defence and into need for protection by the Thai state, previously neutral space has been eliminated. By engendering a climate of widespread distrust and suspicion between communities and in relation to the authorities, both the militants and the representatives of the Thai state have created a propitious environment for the irredentist struggle.

Narratives of Global Jihad Having attempted to find some coherence in acts in the south, an important caveat needs to be made. Our description is not meant to suggest that these acts are expressions of a conscious, deliberate and articulated strategy, because this is presently impossible to demonstrate, given the difficulty in identifying the ‘leadership’, let alone in interviewing ‘him, ‘her’ or ‘them’. We are, indeed, in the same predicament as an historian – but without the benefit of hindsight – of inscribing patterns and the conscious intention of actors into, and between, discreet events. To solve this dilemma, a number of writers have inscribed the narrative of southern Thailand into a larger narrative on global terrorism. Security and terrorism experts have consistently warned that southern Thailand could attract intervention from foreign radical Islamic groups if the government continued on its current course of action. The ICG’s (International Crisis Group) Sydney Jones expressed concern that if the situation in southern Thailand becomes one in which Muslims are pitted against Buddhists, the possibility of attracting foreign radical groups would be greater. Rohan Gunaratna (2005) warned that southern Thailand could become a breeding ground for terrorists like the southern Philippines. He sees the insurgents shifting from a nationalist to a more jihadist orientation.11 Yet despite evidence of JI and al-Qaeda members entering and leaving Thailand, there is no evidence to suggest that international jihadist groups have succeeded in penetrating the insurgency in the deep south. The former deputy police commissioner overseeing the seven southernmost provinces of Thailand, 11 ‘Southern Thailand May be Next Breeding Ground for Terrorists’, The Associated Press, 22 April 2006. Conference on counter-terrorism in Cebu, Philippines.


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Major General Thani Thawidsri, who spent most of his career in the region, admitted that attempts had been made to recruit ethnic Malay militants in southern Thailand. However, these attempts failed because the latter did not share the same view of the struggle. In evidence of this, the most prominent terrorism case that had any semblance of foreign involvement was the arrest in 2002 of four Thai-Malay Muslims, who were accused of being JI members. But in June 2005, a Thai court ruled that there was insufficient evidence to convict the suspects.

Alternative Narratives While the entry of part of the language of ‘global jihad ’ and the importing of techniques such as beheadings, previously associated only with the Middle East or Afghanistan, could indicate linkages with other jihadist groups internationally, it is important not to confuse copycat action with organic cooperation, or more prosaically, not to confuse emulation with a global conspiracy. A number of additional indicators lead us to conclude that the groups are independent. First, insurgent violence has been contained in the three Southern provinces and hardly spread to the neighboring province of Satun, with its sizeable Muslim population (Parks 2005). One needs to query why Bangkok, or an important tourist area such as Phuket or Pattaya, has not been targeted. As the Bali bombings of October 2002 demonstrated, an attack on an important tourist site would be catastrophic for the Thai economy. Is this then not a struggle against the ‘occupier’ in what is depicted as a ‘colonized’ land? Second, the relative lack of sophistication of the weapons of the insurrection – homemade bombs, captured rifles and other light weapons obtained legally or on the black market – would suggest that it does not require major overseas financing. Finally, one needs to query as to why individual suicide bombings have not been part of the tactics of militants in southern Thailand. Two explanations, which are not necessarily mutually exclusive, can be posited. On the one hand, from a tactical point of view and given the limited number of active armed militants, it would be uneconomical to waste their lives in this way. On the other hand, the search for martyrdom appears to be part neither of the militants’ motivations, nor of their religious training. Rather than suggesting that the conflict in southern Thailand is part of some global jihad, for which there is little evidence, a more helpful approach would seek to draw from studies of insurrectionary activity elsewhere, both of a religious and non-religious kind, to underline the uniqueness and local embeddedness of the southern Thai insurrection. Danilyn Rutherford’s study of a community on an island of Irian Jaya (Indonesian West New Guinea), named Biak, provides a rather subtle analysis on the way at least the elite amongst local peoples ‘raid the foreign’. He analyzes how the people of Biak integrate behavioral forms and discourses from the core of Indonesia (Java/Jakarta), in order to better arm themselves to undertake a distancing from the Indonesian nation. Rutherford’s study of this location, at the periphery of a ‘Malay world’, offers another explanatory variable to the southern Thai case. The ‘foreign’ that is raided by the subjects of her study

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in Biak, is not only Indonesian (that is national) but also foreign (Rutherford 2003: 23, 237). For example, the attention given, and legitimacy provided, from outside Indonesia to the musical forms of this (in Indonesian terms) peripheral province provides comfort at least to the affirmation of local difference, and at most to demands for independence from a subaltern community. In the case of southern Thailand, we have witnessed a copying from both practices (beheadings) and discourse, a vaguely jihadist one, that did not exist amongst the older generation of insurgents. Yet, rather than demonstrating the entry into some kind of global struggle, this suggests a localization of the global, such as the wearing of Palestinian type headscarves by some young militants. Turning to the religious and territorial dimensions in identity formation, the influential and provocative work of Olivier Roy (2004) on Islamic militancy provides a number of important insights to comprehend the violent conflict in southern Thailand. Roy argues that fundamentalism is both a product and an agent of globalization ‘because it acknowledges without nostalgia the loss of pristine cultures, and sees as positive the opportunity to build a universal religious identity’ (Roy 2004: 25). By this definition, the militants in southern Thailand are hardly fundamentalists. Indeed, it is known that the strict Wahhabite form of Islam, despite encouragement from the Thai authorities, has made very few inroads into southern Thailand. In his work on Muslims in Europe, Roy places a great deal of emphasis on the acculturation of Islam and its practice and, in regard to the Muslim Brotherhood in particular, what he calls the ‘deterritorialization’ of identity. In the context of rejection of living in the bordered world of an alien nation, religious identification and affirmation offer the prospect of global community membership. As he argues, ‘at a time when the territorial borders between the great civilizations are fading away, mental borders are being reinvented to give a second life to the ghosts of lost civilizations’ (Roy 2004: 20). As intimated, this description is partly applicable to the southern Thai situation. Yet, far from being deterritorialized, the insurgents of southern Thailand vindicate their attachment to a physical space, even if their putative Patani nation may be a figment of their imagination. Roy’s work, and other research into martyrs or potential martyrs, also bears relevance to the southern Thai situation in pointing to the individual motivation of the actors, and in downplaying the religious and ostensibly political motivations. According to Roy, for example, the genesis of the violence of al-Qaeda, ‘has more to do with a Western tradition of individual and pessimistic revolt for an ideal world than with the Qoranic conception of martyrdom’ (Roy 2004: 43). Martyrdom has not been a major element in the violence of southern Thailand. Nevertheless, by attributing political and ideological rationalities to its actors, we risk neglecting the individual macho affirmations of alienated young men.12 Between being an unemployed rubber tapper, at the bottom of the social ladder, and a M16-toting village tough, capable of striking fear into the hearts of the

12 This point has been made in the portrait of one of those involved in the bombings in London (Malik 2007).


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Thai armed forces, it is clear that the latter provides a much greater level of selfesteem and social recognition in the local community. The question of self-esteem of the young insurgents in the south joins with a rational appreciation of the cost-effective usefulness of violence in achieving the objective of driving the ‘forces of occupation’ from the southern provinces. Islam enters in the actions of militants in southern Thailand by providing proof of their ‘purity of intent’ in defending a Muslim community under attack (Blum et al. 2007: 7). It thus provides a bulwark for the individual self-esteem sought by recruits in the separatist struggle. Rather than being the actions of ‘Muslim fanatics’ involved in a global jihadist vendetta, the violence of the south, as other forms of guerrilla warfare, involves a deliberate choice of methods which are designed to turn the weapons of the weak, compared to the firepower of the Thai armed forces and their paramilitaries, into potent forms of defence and attack. By allowing young militants to engage in acts of bravado with limited risks for their life, it also caters to their own self-esteem, while preserving scarce human resources.

Bordered Identities and the Search for Conflict Resolution The end of the Patani sultanate, and the forceful assimilation of the southern regions of today’s Thailand into the modern Siamese/Thai nation, did not mean the end of a virtual nation, or a nation without a state. While the Malay Muslim nation – and the borders that inscribe it – was, and is, more virtual than real, its power to mobilize some parts of the Muslim population of the south did not disappear. In this regard, the existence of a Malay world on the other side of the border did not diminish in importance. On the contrary, it could be argued that its existence as foci of attention as well as a source of sustenance, both moral and material, has increased in importance. A Patani nation-state does not exist, but a virtual Malay nation (one sharing the same language, religion and way of life) encompasses people on both sides of the border, in contrast to the Thai nation of which Patani is officially part. This Malay nation is not defined by its physical borders but by a sense of cultural space. In this sense, the unrest in southern Thailand is not merely an internal domestic Thai problem; it is, in its roots, an inter‘national’ one. Islam feeds into this problematic situation insofar as it is the strongest of all signifiers of difference. Yet, an Islamic affirmation alone is not sufficient to explain the separatist movement, for the non-Malay Muslims of Thailand in other parts of the kingdom seem to readily accept their membership within the Thai nation. In the case of southern Thailand, Islam simply provides a further ideological underpinning for the rejection of the rule by an ‘infidel occupier’ of the territory of a Malay Muslim majority. This absolutist rejection of the Thai state would in itself make compromise scarcely possible in the pursuit of the irredentist dream. However, the nature of the present insurgency makes this even more difficult. Unlike the previous generation of insurgents, the new generation lacks a coherent organizational structure and, above all, a coherent political programme. On the contrary, the violent struggle –

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with its millenarian anarchist overtones – appears to be an end in itself. The result of little import is insofar as the return to an imagined golden age, or at least to Muslim piety, would create the basis of a new order. Yet even this conclusion on ends and rationalities is perhaps excessive. The underlying problem for the Thai authorities, as they clumsily try to deal with the unrest in the south, is that they are bereft of credible interlocutors with a negotiating mandate. As the latent civil war dimension of the conflict is brought deliberately, or unwittingly, to the fore, and individuals and communities are forced to take sides or are cowered into silence, the space for compromise or accommodation diminishes daily. With the new generation of insurgents, the borders of ethnic separation are being reinforced. The amount of physical space that was once shared by ethnic Thais and ethnic Malays is being reduced daily. Previous neutral areas, for example the grounds of temples and monasteries, are no longer neutral. Their occupation by soldiers or paramilitary forces to protect the monks against aggression, has meant that they are recuperated in the domain of the Thai state. In a similar fashion, public schools and their teachers are considered legitimate targets for attack. While both Malay Muslim and ethnic Thai Buddhist children may attend, they are often branded as symbols of Siamese occupation. Moreover, as many Muslim parents choose to have their children educated in traditional Islamic schools (pondoks), the ethnic divide is reinforced. While previously, these parents’ main motivation might have been the desire to have their children educated in the Islamic religion and values, due to increasing violence, fear has entered into parental considerations. This educational apartheid engenders a cycle of further exclusion and separation, for pondok educated children are less well-equipped to find a place in the modern economy. But that is indeed the point, for the irredentist dream implies a rejection of the modern and a return to a golden age. Islam, we have suggested, is one element of identity differentiation in the south. This has led us to debunk the global jihadist/terrorist narrative on the insurrection in southern Thailand and, instead, to consider the conflict in terms of ethnocentric irredentism. It could be hypothesized that a triple identification may preclude, obviate, or make meaningless membership in an intermediate, or at least fourth community: that of the Thai nation. The first form of identification is with a global community of believers, the ummah. Membership within the Malay world constitutes a second form of identification, with a trans-, or rather, extra-national community. Finally, at the local level, there is identification with a local Malay Muslim Patani community. This conundrum is inherent to the field of identity bargaining that is the common lot of many peoples in the contemporary world. In many other parts of Thailand, minority groups continually negotiate their membership within the Thai nation.13 The real challenge is to understand how, in most cases, the process of addressing identity challenges, if not necessarily resolving them, is handled by peaceful means, whereas in other (marginal) 13 See the studies of other minority groups by Chayan (2005), McCargo and Krisadawan (2004), Parks (2005), Vail (2007). Of course, the definition and, above all, self-definition of membership in a minority is problematic in itself.


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contexts, such as southern Thailand, the challenges were addressed with violent conflict. Future research on Thailand needs to look at the means in which these other, ostensible minority, groups negotiate their place on a daily basis within the Thai state. Part of the answer lies in the acceptance by these groups, including non-Malay Muslims, of their imposed status as a minority. The conundrum behind the violence in southern Thailand is the non-acceptance of the minority status as the people in the south consider themselves the majority. The construction of the Thai nation, and the making of a national culture, has enabled all ‘minority’ groups (the Mon, Khmer, Lao, Chinese, and so on) except the Malays of the south, to see themselves as Thai, and concomitantly to be regarded by the Thai authorities as loyal subjects within the kingdom. This sense of ‘Thai-ness’ involves the acceptance of the three pillars of Thai society: nation, religion and monarchy. For members of these above-mentioned communities, there is no contradiction between being a Thai and being, say a Hindu, a Christian or a Muslim. Why do not the Malay Muslims of Patani have a similar sense of dual identities (and loyalties)? One reason is that, unlike most of the other groups mentioned, they are territorially bounded in the kingdom. A second related factor in the restive region is the sense that Patani has always existed, an existence with its glorious past that shapes ethno-religious consciousness. The Thai Buddhists enter into this world as ‘invaders’. With religion and ethnicity being the Janus face of difference/separation and rejection, it appears that only a return to Darul Islam of Malay Patani would satisfy the most hard-line militants of the new generation.

Conclusions The preceding discussion leads to rather pessimistic prognoses regarding a resolution of the conflict. Such a resolution, if it is to occur, would require thinking and proposals outside the framework of the present structure of nation-states within Southeast Asia. In order to have some hope of dealing with the violence, it must be acknowledged that the geopolitical place of southern Thailand, within narratives of the Thai nation and within the contexts of international law and regional arrangements in ASEAN, is at odds with the sense of self-identification of the ‘Thai’, ‘Muslim’, ‘Malay’ inhabitants of the south. Recognition that this is not a domestic conflict, but rather an inter-‘national’ one, albeit where one of the ‘nations’, Patani, exists as a metaphor for a cultural space, may open possibilities to seek a resolution to the conflict within an international or regional context, notably that of ASEAN. By enlarging the macro-community in which the identity politics of micro-communities are played out, the minority/majority dichotomy of imposed identity, rather than self-identity, could at least be addressed. The participation of co-religionists and ethnic brothers from Malaysia and Indonesia would provide a kind of reassurance to the people of the south. At the same time, the Thai authorities might feel comfortable that Buddhists of continental Southeast Asia would also be involved. In other words, any resolution of the conflict requires a new equation between the borders in/on the mind and those in the jungle.

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Rutherford, D. (2003), Raiding the Land of the Foreigners: The Limits of the Nation on an Indonesian Frontier (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Scott, J. (1985), Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance (New Haven, CN: Yale University Press). Scupin, R. (1998), ‘Muslim Accommodation in Thai Society’, Journal of Islamic Studies 9:2, 229–58. Suhrke, A. (1975), ‘Irredentism Contained: The Thai Muslim Case’, Comparative Politics 7:2, 187–203. Supalak G. and Pathan, D. (2004), Sandthiphap nai plaew phleung (Peace in Flames) (Bangkok: Nation Books). Suthiwong, P. (2004a), Southern Thai Cultural Structures vis-à-vis Development, translated into English by B. Tinpang-nga) (Bangkok: Thailand Research Fund). Suthiwong, P. (2004b), ‘Ties of Brotherhood: Cultural Roots of Southern Thailand and Northern Malaysia’, Kyoto Review of Southeast Asia 5, . Syukri, I. (2005), History of the Malay Kingdom of Patani (translation of Sejarah Kerajaan Melayu Patani by C. Bailey and J. Miksic) (Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books). Teeuw, A. and Wyatt, D. (eds) (1970), Hykayat Patani, the Story of Patani (Bibliotheca Indonesia 5) (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff). Thanet, A. (2004), ‘Origins of Malay Muslim “Separatism” in Southern Thailand’, Asia Research Institute Working Paper Series, ARI, National University of Singapore, 32, . Thanet, A. (2007), ‘Rebellion in Southern Thailand: Contending Histories’, Policy Studies Southeast Asia 35 (Washington: East-West Center). Thongchai, W. (1994), Siam Mapped: A History of the Geo-Body of a Nation (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press). True Trutasnawint, L. (2004), ‘Balancing Minorities: A Study of Southern Thailand’, SAIS Working Paper Series WP/02/04, . Ungpakorn, G.J. (2007), A Coup for the Rich: Thailand’s Political Crisis (Bangkok: Workers Democracy Publishing), ch. 4. Vail, P. (2007), ‘Thailand’s Khmer as “Invisible Minority”: Language, Ethnicity and Cultural Politics in North-Eastern Thailand’, Asian Ethnicity 8:2, 111–30. Vickery, M. (1970), ‘Thai Regional Elites and the Reforms of King Chulalongkorn’, Journal of Asian Studies 29:4, 863–81. Wright, J. (1991), The Balancing Act: A History of Modern Thailand (Bangkok: Asia Books). Wyatt, D. (2003), Thailand: A Short History (New Haven, CN: Yale University Press). Yegar, M. (2002), Between Integration and Secession: the Muslim Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma, Myanmar (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books).


Chapter 6

The Positioning Diamond: Conceptualizing Identity Constructions at the US–Mexico Border Nikki Slocum-Bradley

Introduction While the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) has enabled the free flow of goods within the North American continent, the mobility of persons across the border between the United States of America and Mexico has become an issue of increasing tension. This border has the highest number of both legal and illegal crossings of any land border in the world. Three hundred and fifty million people cross the border legally every year, in addition to an estimated one million annual illegal crossings, approximately 80 per cent of which are Mexican.1 An estimated 6.72 million Mexicans are currently living illegally in the US (Lochhead 2006). Thousands of people have been murdered or died as a result of exposure while attempting to cross these national borders. US citizens and immigrants alike claim to be the victims of US migration policy and popular attitudes. This chapter examines identity constructions, and how they promote peace or conflict, in discourse on migration at the US–Mexico border. Within the context of a discursive approach to meaning-making, Positioning Theory is introduced as a conceptual model and analytical method, based upon a discursive ontology. After introducing the Theory, an expanded and revised version is proposed as a more analytically precise and useful method for examining identity construction and the discursive expression of conflict. Insights gleaned on identity, conflict and peace from previous Positioning Theory literature are also reviewed. The proposed expanded analytical model, called the Positioning Diamond, is then employed to examine discourse on migration at the US–Mexico border, by people endorsing various mobility policies. The purpose of the chapter is not to endorse any particular mobility policy. Rather, the analysis will focus on the implications of attributed identities for peace or conflict. Based upon these results,

1

Estimates given in Wikipedia.org.

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recommendations for discursive policy will be made, which hold independently of the mobility policy endorsed.

A Discursive Approach The present chapter draws upon a discursive approach that understands ‘identity’ construction as a component of the process of meaning-making. This identity component constitutes, and is constituted by three other components: narrative (or storylines), moral commitments (or positions), and discursive acts. One type of act is engaging in (patterns of) conflict, such as accusing, blaming, denigrating, and the like. Other acts promote peace, such as forgiving, emphasizing commonality, expressing support, and so forth. Therefore within the presently advocated approach, the process of identity construction and acts of peace or conflict are mutually constitutive elements in the construction of social reality. Various elements within this approach have been discussed by other authors. For example, Benhabib (1999: 344) has discussed identity construction as the process of interweaving narratives: We become who we are by learning to be a conversation partner in these narratives … our agency consists in our capacity to weave out of those narratives and fragments of narratives a life story that makes sense for us, as unique individual selves.

Accordingly, the weaver draws upon narratives available in his or her cultural repertoire to generate new (or newly applied) narratives to make sense out of his or her personal experience. Taylor (1989: 27; see also Harré, 1979: 3) has underscored the relationship between identity construction and moral commitments: My identity is defined by the commitments and identifications which provide the frame or horizon within which I can try to determine from case to case what is good, or valuable, or what ought to be done, or what I endorse or oppose.

The interwoven and mutually influential nature of these components of meaning can be well captured in Positioning Theory.

A Conceptual and Analytical Model: Positioning Theory A scientific explanation of phenomena requires the hypothesis of some ordering principle. In the physical sciences, explanations often – but not always – hypothesize cause-effect relationships. More appropriate for the human sciences are normative ordering principles, such as semantic rules, storylines, and other narrative conventions (see Harré and Gillett 1994). Based upon such normative principles, Positioning Theory (see, for example, Harré and Van Langenhove 1999; Harré and Moghaddam 2003; Moghaddam et al. 2008a) is a conceptual and analytical model that illuminates the discursive construction of meaning. More specifically,

Conceptualizing Identity Constructions at the US–Mexico Border

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it has been described as ‘the study of the nature, formation, influence and ways of change of local systems of rights and duties as shared assumptions about them influence small scale interactions’ (Harré 2004). Van Langenhove and Harré (1999: 17) describe the act of positioning as ‘the assignment of fluid ‘parts’ or ‘roles’ to speakers in the discursive construction of personal stories that make a person’s actions intelligible and relatively determinate as social acts’. While originally applied to individuals, various authors have shown that Positioning Theory can be usefully applied to understand group and institutional interactions (Tan and Moghaddam 1999; Slocum 2001; Harré and Slocum 2003a, 2003b; Slocum and Van Langenhove 2003, 2004). In such cases, a group of people (‘South Africans’) or an institution (‘the European Union’) is characterized as an actor with agentive properties and moral commitments. However, it is always individual persons who evoke identities and storylines and commit acts of positioning. Accordingly, the Positioning Triangle or Triad, is an analytical framework that proposes three mutually influential elements in this dynamic: positions, the social forces of speech acts, and storylines, each of which is discussed below in more detail. Each of these elements plays a role in determining the meaning attributed to discrete actions. Thus, each must be taken into consideration in order to understand the unfolding of social episodes. The elements are mutually determinate in that a change in one component can influence interpretation of the other components, as illustrated below. Positions According to Van Langenhove and Harré (1999: 17), ‘A position in a conversation … is a metaphorical concept through reference to which a person’s ‘moral’ and personal attributes as a speaker are compendiously collected’. Two types of positions have been distinguished: Type A, a set of right and duties allocated to an actor, and Type B, moral, social, or psychological attributes used to characterize an actor. Van Langenhove and Harré (1999: 21–2) have referred to the attribution of these types of positions as ‘moral positioning’ and ‘personal positioning’, respectively. Previous research has illustrated that Type A and Type B positions are intricately inter-related. Some Type B (personal) positions are the result of judgments made about two considerations: 1) the adequacy with which an actor has (or has not) acted in accordance with his/her rights and/or fulfilled his/her duties, or Type A (moral) positions (Slocum-Bradley 2008); and 2) the motivations or intentions attributed to an actor (Slocum 2001: 177). For example, in the context of a ‘Hate crimes’ storyline, a person identified as a ‘human being’ is allocated basic ‘human rights’, to be treated with basic respect, and the duty to treat others likewise (Type A/moral positions). When it is esteemed that he has failed to fulfill this duty, and that his actions were intentional, the person may be considered a ‘criminal’ (Type B/personal position). The length of an episode, which is determined by the participants, can be very fleeting, so the concept of a position is more dynamic and fluid than Goffman’s ‘roles’ (Van Langenhove and Harré 1999). From moment to moment, an actor

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can position himself or another actor, and be positioned by others, as an idealist or a realpolitiker, as acting on behalf of Europe or for nationalistic interests, as powerful or impotent, authoritative or deferential, honest or deceptive, innocent or guilty, and so on. Positionings, as well as the significance of (speech) acts and the contextual storyline, can also be challenged and changed, as they are continuously (re)negotiated in the process of discourse. Speech Acts Wittgenstein (1953) pointed out that the expression of sympathy and giving a reprimand are social tasks, or discursive acts, that people accomplish through the exchange of words and other symbols in a discourse. John Austin (1961) referred to such functions served in discourse as the illocutionary forces of words. For example, with the phrase, ‘Thank you’, I can express gratitude; with the phrase, ‘Well done!’, I can compliment and congratulate someone. Often the same phrase or symbol can be used to accomplish different tasks, and the effective illocutionary force will depend upon the narrative context, or storyline, in which the interlocutors see themselves to be embedded. In a gambling storyline, a handshake will be used to close a bet; at an academic conference (storyline), the same action will accomplish a greeting. There is an important distinction being made here between acts, which are imbued with meaning for a discursive community, and actions, which are the ‘vehicles’ by which acts are accomplished. Shaking a hand is an action, while the act accomplished is a bet. Articulation of the words, ‘Would you mind opening the door?’ is an action, while the act accomplished is requesting (and not querying, despite the formulation of the utterance as a question). Through speech acts, one can accomplish acts of positioning and invoke storylines. Storylines: The Narrative Structure of Meaningful Experience Social episodes can be understood as the carrying out of storylines: or the livingout of narrative conventions (Bruner 1990). A sequence of discursive acts has meaning to people because the events are understood as the unfolding of a kind of story. Stories are about how protagonists interpret things, what things mean to them. In order to make sense of an utterance, people draw upon various features of the context in which it is used, such as what has previously been said, what is perceived as likely to happen next, the characteristics of the speaker, and so on (Potter and Wetherell 1987). Thus, important aspects of storylines are their epistemic, temporal and normative nature. Storylines implicitly or explicitly link the past with the present and future. Furthermore, they constitute the ‘rationale’ that makes some acts seem appropriate in a given episode and others not. Every cultural community has a repertoire of storylines with which its members are familiar, and these represent the ‘natural’ way of doing things to them. Which of these storylines is being carried out is negotiated by the actors in their discourse, and can be very fleeting.


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The Positioning Triad Together, these three concepts – positions, storylines and the social force of speech acts – constitute the positioning triad, which is an analytical model that captures the interdependent nature of its components. Different storylines make different positions readily available; the position of an actor will influence the illocutionary force of an utterance; and speech acts index positions and storylines. An actor’s position in a given storyline will even influence the rights of that actor to position others: An actor who is positioned as authoritative will have greater positioning rights than one who is not. Through discourse, the participants of an event thus (usually implicitly) ‘define’ what kind of episode they are engaged in, and their actions and acts can be largely understood accordingly.

Positioning and Identity Various authors have proposed that the ‘position’ concept is useful for studying the discursive production of selves (Davies and Harré 1990) and identities (Slocum and Van Langenhove 2004). Davies and Harré (1999: 36–7) assert that the acquisition of the perspective of who we take ourselves to be, and how the world is to be interpreted from that perspective, involves the following processes: 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Learning the categories which partition the universe of human beings into male/ female, father/daughter; grandparent/child; player/referee/spectator and so on, that is, relate to dichotomous, trichotomous and other patterns of subgroups. Participating in the various discursive practices through which meanings are allocated to those categories. These include the storylines through which different subject positions are elaborated. Positioning of oneself, as a person, in terms of these categories and storylines. This involves imaginatively positioning oneself as if one belongs in one category and not in the other (for example, as girl and not boy, or good girl and not bad girl). Recognition of oneself as having the characteristics that locate oneself as a member of various subclasses of dichotomous, trichotomous and other category formations and not of others, that is the development of a sense of oneself as belonging in the world in certain ways and thus seeing the world from the perspective of one so positioned. This recognition may entail an emotional commitment to the category membership but certainly involves the development of a moral system organized around the belonging. All four processes arise in relation to a theory of the person as a certain kind of self embodied in a pronoun grammar in which a person understands themselves [sic] as historically continuous and unitary. The experiencing of contradictory positions as problematic, as something to be reconciled or remedied, stems from this general feature of the way being a person is done in our society.

From this discursive prospective, to develop and maintain identities is to apply certain discursive categories and to adopt a moral system organized around those categories.


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In previous studies that employ the framework of the Positioning Triangle, the identities attributed to actors have been dealt with – often inexplicitly – in various unwieldy manners. One approach has been to treat the identities of actors as an inherent aspect of the storyline at hand. For example, the ‘University Lecture’ storyline is performed by a ‘professor’ (identity) and one ore more ‘students’ (identity). The ‘position’ concept of the triangle illuminates the rights and duties associated with the identities evoked in the particular storyline, and the social force of each actor’s (speech) acts depends upon the distribution of these rights and duties within the context of the storyline. This manner of dealing with identities is problematic because, within a storyline, different types of actors can be seen as the relevant role-players. For example, within the context of a ‘Hate crimes’ storyline, the targets may be labeled as ‘Mexicans’, ‘mestizos’,2 ‘immigrants’, ‘Catholics’ or ‘human beings’, whereas the perpetrators (of the hate crimes) may be ‘Americans’, ‘whites’, ‘Protestants’, ‘racists’ or ‘lunatics’. Each of these different identities evoked in explaining, or constructing the meaning of, the episode has very different implications for the rights and duties attributed to each actor and for the social force of the actors’ (speech) acts. Thus, the identities of the actors should not simply be considered part and parcel of the storyline. Another manner in which ‘identities’ have been dealt with is to consider them equivalent with the ‘position’ concept. Thus, the ‘position’ concept is used to refer to rights and duties (‘moral’ or type A positions), as well as other characteristics (‘personal’ or type B positions) attributed to actors. However, such amalgamation of ‘identity’ with (a set of) positions fails to capture the ways in which evoked identities have a mutually influential relationship with allocated rights and duties and the other elements of the positioning triangle. If a person subjugated to violence is identified as a member of a ‘minority group’, then the context of a ‘Hate crimes’ storyline is readily evoked. Consequently, one concludes that the (human) rights of the person were violated, and he is further identified as a ‘victim’. In contrast, now identified as an ‘illegal immigrant’ in the context of a ‘National security’ storyline, the person is judged as having violated the rights of others and is thus further identified as a ‘criminal’. In this case, the person is allocated no rights, and the violence to which he was subjugated can be deemed an appropriate measure. In this way, the identities evoked have important consequences for the rights and duties attributed to actors. An analytical distinction between ‘identities’ and (moral) ‘positions’ (as the rights and duties attributed to an actor) is essential to capturing this relationship. Such a distinction is proposed by the presently advocated expansion and revision of Positioning Theory. In further examining the relationship between identities and positions, the question of primacy might be raised. Are rights and duties assigned according to evoked identities, or is the assignment of rights and duties primary to the evocation of identities? Either can be the case. Often, the perceptual and cognitive processes that underlie attributions of identity, rights and duties are not conscious. They are the result of the process of forming what Moscovici has termed ‘social 2

Mixed-race.


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representations’. Moscovici (2000: 19) describes this process as the formation of ‘a pre-established fragmentation of reality, a classification of the people and things which comprise it’, which renders some aspects of reality ‘visible and the rest invisible’. The nature of this process has been illuminated in various studies by Bruner and colleagues (see, for example, Bruner and Postman 1949; Bruner and Goodman 1947). These studies brilliantly illustrate the active role of judgment and expectation in perception. For example, Bruner and Postman showed people a series of playing cards for a brief interval of maximum one second. Some of the cards’ color was altered, thus creating black hearts and diamonds, and red clubs and spades, contrary to people’s expectations. When first shown the cards, most people’s reports of what they saw altered the physical reality to conform to their expectations. So, for example, a red ten of spades was reported to be a ten of hearts. The essence of the relevant insights gleaned from the studies is this: What people consciously perceive is influenced – prior to their conscious awareness – by a judgment or evaluation they make of the stimuli at hand. A kind of unconscious categorization takes place that is part and parcel of a person’s attempt to make sense of the world. Furthermore, the categorization forms the ‘knowledge’ basis upon which a person draws to guide further action. To draw a parallel between the experiment with the doctored playing cards and Positioning Theory, it can be said that the context provided by the ‘deck of playing cards’ is the storyline, or the context within which each perceptual stimulus was to be interpreted. The suit and value of the card are the relevant ‘identities’ evoked. Judgments are made about what attributes are at hand, and which are relevant within the context. In other words, assumptions are made about the identities that are relevant within an (implicit) social context. In social reality, rights and duties are assigned in accordance with these identities. However, all of these cognitive steps may be below the threshold of awareness. Returning to our previous example of the immigrant, it may be that the only conscious element to a person’s thinking about immigration is his opinion that, ‘immigrants should be deported back to Mexico’. Only when pressed does the speaker become aware of the rationale to his own conclusion, underlying which are the attributed identities, rights and duties. Here, the rationale precedes the conclusion, but the person is unaware of the rationale and the cognitive choices upon which it and the conclusion depend. Alternatively, the evocation of identities can be an entirely conscious effort to justify a predetermined conclusion or course of action. When asked why an immigrant should be deported to Mexico, the speaker may answer, ‘Because the mass influx of Hispanics don’t speak proper English, are abusing the social security system and are making traffic horrendous’. His interlocutor might next point out that these accusations can be applied to many citizens in America and do not justify deportation. At this point the speaker might evoke ‘undocumented Mexican’ or ‘illegal alien’ identities, in order to justify his conclusion that immigrants should be deported. The justification relies on the rights and duties associated with these identities. Note that a shift in storylines accompanies the change in identities evoked: a story about ‘Hispanics reducing the quality of life’

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shifts to a ‘national sovereignty’ storyline, according to which rights and duties are assigned on the basis of national citizenship. Given this set of rights and duties, and judged as having violated the duty to stay out of the US, an ‘illegal alien’ is consequently identified as a ‘criminal’, and the ‘victims’ are American citizens. The evocation of these identities, in turn, influences the distribution of rights and duties, as well as the other components of the positioning diamond. In this way, identities can be, and often are, invoked in order to imply a particular distribution of rights and duties that justifies a specific course of action. To illustrate the relationship between ascribed identities and social forces, consider the person of our example, Person X, who says, ‘I am the victim of hate crimes’. Evoking the identity of the speaker as an ‘illegal immigrant’ can undermine the legitimacy of his claim, perhaps lending the statement the social force of an excuse or justification for what is deemed illegitimate (illegal) behavior. In contrast, evoking Person X’s ‘mestizo or brown-skinned Mexican’ identity lends credibility to the statement, which in this case may have the social force of a legitimate claim or accusation. On the other hand, social forces can evoke identities: an expression of approval can evoke the identity of ‘an obedient little girl’. Given this reflexive relationship between identities, positions, storylines and social forces, the question of primacy becomes moot. Analytically, it is important to note the following points that have been argued above. Assigned duties and rights cannot necessarily be directly deduced from the identity categories assumed, nor can the identity categories evoked be determined by the ascription of duties and rights. These are separate, albeit intricately related processes. Important to make explicit is the cognitive work required to achieve the task, and this is precisely what the proposed expanded version of Positioning Theory aims to accomplish. A Revised Discursive Ontology Positioning Theory is based upon a discursive ontology, which specifies the locative system and the entities and relations worthy of study therein, in order to explain social and psychological phenomena. Harré and Gillett (1994) propose such a discursive ontology, contrasting it with a Newtonian ontology (see Table 6.1). While the space-time continuum is the relevant locative system for the physical realm, they propose that arrays of people are the appropriate locative system in the social realm. Harré (2002) cogently argues that, in the social realm, only people are efficacious causal agents, so persons must be at the root of explanations of social phenomena. Pointing out that the physical location of a person, for example, is generally irrelevant to understanding what a person has said, Harré and Gillett (1994: 31) specify that, ‘people are things specified something like spatial points, defined in terms of interpersonal, social and political frameworks’. Van Langenhove and Harré (1999: 16) propose a ‘persons/conversations referential grid’ (1999: 15) as an alternative to the Newtonian space/time grid, whereby a ‘position’ is described as a ‘conversational location’. Thus, positions are deemed the relevant aspect of the locative system, ‘arrays of people’. Within this discursive


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locative system, the illocutionary forces of speech acts are proposed as the relevant entities – the equivalent of Newtonian ‘things and events’ that occur at the ‘people points’ (Harré and Gillett 1994: 31–2). The same authors explain that the type of relationship between speech acts is not causal but normative: ‘There are a great variety of normative or regulating constraints on what can be meaningfully or properly said at any point in a conversation among persons of a certain type in contexts of specific character’ (1994: 32–3). Thus, it is ‘norms and rules emerging in historical and cultural circumstances [that] operate to structure the things people do’ (1994: 33). In accordance with the currently proposed expanded version of Positioning Theory, it is necessary to make some adjustments, or at least clarifications, to the discursive ontology, as discussed in different texts. First, the relevant aspect of ‘arrays of people’, in other words the relevant entities to be studied, are the ‘identities’, rather than ‘positions’, allocated to such people. ‘Positions’, instead, must be understood as a type of normative relationship that enables us to explain patterns of discursive acts, like rules and storylines. This, along with the current proposal to restrict the definition of a ‘position’ and add the ‘identities’ element to Positioning Theory, coheres with Harré and Gillett’s (1994: 35) more exclusive definition of a position as ‘a set of rights, duties, and obligations as a speaker, particularly with respect to what we have called the illocutionary or social force of what one may say’. Table 6.1 depicts the contrast between Newtonian and discursive ontologies originally proposed by Harré and Gillett (1994: 29) and compares it with the currently proposed discursive ontology. Based upon this new discursive ontology, the following section proposes that identities be conceived as a fourth vertex to the positioning triangle and introduces the resulting expanded analytical framework as the Positioning Diamond. Table 6.1

Ontologies

Ontology

Locative systems

Entities

Relations

Newtonian

Space and time

Things and events

Causality

Old Discursive

Arrays of people (Positions)

Speech acts

Rules and storylines

(Speech) acts

Normative: rules, storylines and positions

New Discursive Arrays of people (identities)

Introducing the Positioning Diamond The nature, formation and dynamics of local systems of rights and duties, and how shared assumptions about them influence interactions, can better be studied by expanding the positioning triangle to include ‘identities’ as a fourth component. Within this expanded analytical framework, the ‘identity’ component encompasses what have been formerly called Type B, or personal, positions. The resulting

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expanded framework, the Positioning Diamond (see Figure 6.1), highlights the mutually influential relationship between identities, positions, a storyline, and the social force of (speech) acts. Identities are the mechanisms by which duties and rights are allocated. Judgments about the fulfillment of duties and rights, in turn, have consequences for how actors are identified. While a storyline determines the relevance of identities that can be evoked, the identities evoked influence the storyline’s plausibility. The social force of a (speech) act evokes identities, and identities evoked influence how the social force is made determinate.

Figure 6.1 The Positioning Diamond The term ‘Positioning Diamond’ refers to a two-dimensional diamond shape, as found on a set of playing cards. Furthermore, in contrast to ‘quad or square’, the metaphor ‘diamond’ alludes to the notion that there may be additional facets to discover, in which case, the term ‘positioning diamond’ could be maintained. It should be emphasized briefly here that the Positioning Diamond is an analytical model that represents one possible way of highlighting social structure. There are certainly many other ways to reveal structure in social interactions, and it does not necessarily follow that the components of the Positioning Diamond are the same ones that would be invoked in every explanatory model, though they might be.


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Peace and Conflict in Positioning Research Previous research employing Positioning Theory (Tan and Moghaddam 1999; Slocum 2001; Harré and Slocum 2003a and 2003b; Slocum and Van Langenhove 2005; Slocum-Bradley 2008; Moghaddam et al. 2007) has illuminated how various discursive tools served to foment conflict. Researchers have proposed that ‘group conflicts may arise when storylines adopted by different groups are incompatible or in direct opposition with each other’ (Tan and Moghaddam 1999: 187) and that ‘oppositional positionings and incompatible storylines contribute to the maintenance of conflicts’ (Slocum 2001: 187; Harré and Slocum 2003a). However, these observations require further refinement. Subsequent research (Slocum 2001; Slocum-Bradley 2008) has attempted to refine these concepts and identify patterns in the discursive expression of conflicts. The emerging pattern, translated into the expanded and revised Positioning Theory terminology, can be summarized as follows. Storylines, which have both epistemic and canonical aspects,3 provide the context and rationale for a chain of interpretations that engender identities and positions. This chain consists of: i) the evocation of certain identities in reference to the actors; ii) the allocation of rights and duties, or positions; iii) the interpretation of an action as a transgression of one’s duties; iv) the attribution of malign intent, sometimes through the use of ‘motivational storylines’ (Slocum 2001); and v) the assignment of (additional) identity characteristics. In step (iii), an action is interpreted as an act and thereby assigned a social (or illocutionary) force. Steps (iii) through (v) of the pattern effectively de-legitimize the actor and/or his/her actions. The conclusion, as reflected in step (v), makes appropriate certain further speech acts. In conflicts, these generally take the form of (further) accusations, defenses, rebukes, belittlement, lambasting, and condemnation. This pattern is (at least) one manifestation of the structure of the discursive expression of the conflicts. This pattern was exemplified in the Rwandan genocide when radio journalists said that the ‘Tutsi’ were attacking the ‘Hutus’ (relevant identities) and attempting to steal their land. Having positioned Hutus with the duty to ‘defend’ their land, the journalists consequently charged Hutus who fled with having transgressed this duty and thus identified them as ‘cowards’. The role of purported ‘intentions’ or ‘motivations’ is exemplified by RTLM radio journalists’ interpretations of the international community’s bombing of the Kigali airport. They employed the motivational storyline that ‘Whites are seeking to destroy Rwanda’ (as they did in the colonial past). While an attack from the international community could serve to cast doubt upon the righteousness of the Rwandan government’s actions, 3 As an accepted standard, or norm, the storyline also provides a criterion or standard of judgment.

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the storyline put forth by the journalists undermines the legitimacy of the action. It does so by purporting malign intentions and by identifying the actor(s) as ‘Whites’ rather than as ‘the international community’. In this context, ‘Whites’ are not afforded the same rights and duties as the ‘international community’, and their actions are judged accordingly. The ‘international community’ is generally identified as a just and objective arbiter with the right to intervene in events that it deems appropriate. In contrast, ‘Whites’, further identified as former colonists, are ascribed the duty to respect African governments and refrain from interference. These acts of positioning, evoked identities and storylines make certain acts appropriate, such as self-defense, and pursuant actions are interpreted accordingly. Finally, ongoing research is mounting evidence that at the heart of most conflicts lies a discrepancy over which rights and duties should be accorded to which actors (Slocum-Bradley 2008; Harré and Slocum 2003a and 2003b; Slocum 2001; Moghaddam et al. 2007b). For example, Slocum (2001; also reported in Harré and Slocum 2003a) found that, in the context of a ‘town-gown’ conflict, amongst persons living in Georgetown, those labeled ‘students’ were attributed a different set of rights than those labeled ‘residents’; however, both were expected to abide by the same set of duties. Research (Slocum 2001; Tan and Moghaddam 1999) has also revealed that discursive tools are used in very different ways to engender social harmony. One technique is to position persons or groups with equal duties and rights. Sometimes this is accomplished by using a super-ordinate category. For example, in a towngown conflict, rather than categorizing people as ‘students’ or ‘residents’ and allocating different rights to these groups, all people were referred to as ‘citizens’ or ‘adults’ and were assigned the concomitant duties and rights. Another technique entails interpreting perceived indiscretions as unintentional. The latter is described by Slocum (2001: 193): A final discursive technique involved the use of a motivational storyline that suggested that controversial acts were unintentional. (The attribution entails that there was no ‘motivation.’) For example, participants said that students acted ‘without thinking,’ rather than out of malice. This technique aims to prevent an action from being interpreted as an act – for example, of disrespect or aggression – and thereby intercept the social forces (illocutionary and perlocutionary) that such an act would bear. This technique does not necessarily mitigate all consequences of the actions, nor all responsibility for such consequences. For example, in many legal systems, people are still held accountable, although less so, for the (‘foreseeable’) consequences of actions that were unintended. An example of this is found in the interpretation of an offense as manslaughter, rather than murder, and the associated reduced punishment.

The following study aims to contribute to this body of research by employing the Positioning Diamond to further understand the role of identities in promoting peace or conflict.


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Case Study: Positioning on the US–Mexico Border The present study applies the Positioning Diamond to analyze discourse on migration at the US–Mexico border. Data for this study was gathered over an eight-year period, from 2000 to 2007, and includes public documents, such as newspaper articles, articles and other discourse on websites, as well as private letters to senators. The Positoning Diamond is applied as an analytical framework for the analysis of the data. The analyses highlight identity constructions, positions and storylines evoked through discursive acts in the context of advocating various border policies. Results of the positioning analyses are presented below, organized by storyline. An analysis of how the discourse promotes conflict or peace follows. The results are summarized in Table 6.2. Examples are presented of discourse that evokes each storyline, yet it should be underscored that multiple storylines are evident in most discourse samples. Furthermore, in naming the storylines, the goal is to make explicit the narrative conventions that guide the acts and attitudes expressed by the actors. Other names could have been chosen without implication for the ‘validity’ of the current results. To assume otherwise would be to reify a conceptual category. There is no ‘real’ storyline; the conventions and norms represented by the storyline are immanent in the (speech) acts of the participants. Finally, the analysis is intended neither to be exhaustive nor ‘representative’ of a population. Rather, the examples presented here are illustrative, as well as indicative of a vast body of discourse analyzed.

Positioning Analyses Storyline 1: Reconquista4 According to the ‘Reconquista’ storyline, ‘Hispanics’ are ‘invading’ and ‘colonizing’ the United States. Their current overwhelming ‘occupation’ of certain parts of US territory is part of a larger plan to ‘re-conquer’ the American Southwest, known as Aztlan, and annex it to Mexico. This storyline is evident in an article entitled ‘Mexican Reconquista: Leader Says California Will Be First “Hispanic” State’, wherein Archer (2000) writes: ‘I have proudly affirmed that the Mexican nation extends beyond the territory enclosed by its borders and that Mexican migrants are an important – a very important – part of this.’ This statement wasn’t made in secrecy behind closed doors. It wasn’t said outside the jurisdiction of the United States of America. None other than Mexican President Ernesto Zedillo spoke it in Chicago on 23 July 1997. Speaking before the National Council of La Raza, Zedillo went on to say, ‘For this reason, my government proposed a constitutional amendment to allow any Mexican with the right and the desire to

4

Translation from Spanish: ‘re-conquering’.

Table 6.2

Positioning analyses and consequences for peace or conflict

Storyline

Identities

Positions

Social force, consequences for peace/conflict

1 Reconquista

English-speaking/Americans: Victims of invasion and colonization

English-speaking Whites: Right to live and work in US; Right to cultural sovereignty and immutability Right to have only English used in US Right and duty to restrict or eliminate Hispanic presence in the US.

Rights and duties allocated according to language/culture and state citizenship.

Hispanics/Mexicans: Duty to remain outside US border; Duty to speak English; No rights.

→ Promotes conflict along linguistic/cultural border and geopolitical border.

Americans/Non-immigrants: Right to high standard of public goods and freedom from social ‘ills’; Right and duty to keep (illegal) immigrants out of US

Rights allocated according to (purported) non-immigrant/ immigrant status – historic presence in US, ancestry (defined variably).

Hispanics are colonizing the US, bringing undesired cultural change. Mexico intends to annex the American Southwest to create Aztlan.

2 Immigrants abuse taxpayers Immigrants leech off of the US social security system and cause a host of ills.

Hispanics/Mexicans: Invaders; criminals, aliens, vulgar, gang-bangers, lawless.

Non-immigrants: Victims of host of ills (due to immigrants’ presence) Immigrants: Social vermin, criminals, diseased.

Immigrants: Duty to stay outside of US No rights 3 National security (Would-be) illegal immigrants pose a security threat to the US.

4a Elite push for open borders

Hispanics are accused of violating their duty to stay out of US and Americans’ right to cultural sovereignty/ immutability.

Immigrants are accused of violating their duty to stay out of US and Americans’ right to a certain standard of living. → Promotes conflict between ‘immigrants’ and ‘Americans’. Rights allocated according to state citizenship.

Pro-immigration activists: traitors, terrorists, lawless

Americans: Right to security; Right to reside in US; Right and duty to prevent illegal immigrants from crossing border.

Illegal immigrants: Illegal aliens, invaders, Terrorists, Drug-smugglers

Illegal aliens: No rights. Duty to stay outside of US.

→ Promotes conflict between US citizens and illegal immigrants.

Elites

All Americans: Right and duty to prevent (illegal) migration to US.

Rights and duties allocated according to geopolitical border.

Non-elite Americans: Right and duty to prevent (illegal) migration to US.

North American elites are accused of violating non-elite Americans’ right to prevent (illegal) migration to US Mexicans are accused of violating their duty to stay out of US.

US Citizens: Anti-immigration activists: heroes, righteous, honest, protectors of US and children.

Elites across North America are Non-elite Americans: permitting Mexican migration to Victims. the US for their monetary profit. Mexicans: pawns.

Mexicans: No rights. Duty to stay outside of US.

Illegal immigrants and politicians are accused of violating Americans’ right to security. Illegal immigrants are accused of violating their duty to stay out of US.

→ Promotes conflict between elites and non-elites and between Mexicans and Americans.

Table 6.2 cont’d Storyline

Identities

Positions


4b Elite push for open borders

White-skinned elite in Mexico

White Mexican elites: Right and duty to prevent (illegal) migration to US.

Rights and duties allocated according to geopolitical border.

‘Browns’/Mestizos/Indians: No rights. Duty to stay outside of US.

White elites in Mexico are accused of violating non-elite Americans’ right to prevent (illegal) migration to US Brown-skinned Mexicans are accused of violating their duty to stay out of US

White elites in Mexico are Brown-skinned Mexicans/Mestizos /Indians (non-elite) encouraging the emigration of Poor, angry, pawns of elites. brown-skinned mestizos to US to evade civil war in Mexico. Non-elite Americans: Victims.

American non-elites: Right and duty to prevent (illegal) migration to US.

→ Promotes conflict between elites and non-elites, between white-skinned and brown-skinned, and between Americans and Mexicans. All people: US government: violent, brutal, exploiter Right to move freely across borders; The US border is a tool to keep Workers: (Undocumented) immigrants; Mexican migrants; Duty to contribute to social system; Right to benefit from the vast majority of workers in a Third World workers and farmers; hard-working; victims. social system. situation of brutal exploitation. 5 Immigrant exploitation

Rights and duties allocated according to willingness/ability to work. US government is accused of violating workers’ rights to move freely across borders and to benefit from a social system to which they’ve contributed. → Promotes conflict between US government and (undocumented) workers.

(Brown-skinned) Mexicans: victims. All people: Normal human beings: decent. Duty to respect human rights and right to be treated with A lunatic fringe group in the US Lunatic fringe: Racist, xenophobic, hate-mongers, White respect. is committing hate crimes against supremacists, Neo-Nazis, skinheads, Messed-up kids, Mexicans. juvenile delinquents, mentally sick, bigots, vigilantes, cruel, vicious, offspring of Border Patrol agents. Minutemen. 6a Hate crimes

6b Hate crimes

Brown-skinned Mexicans: victims

Anglos are committing hate crimes against brown-skinned Mexicans.

Anglos: vicious, bigots, hate-mongers.

All people: Duty to respect human rights and right to be treated with respect.

Rights and duties allocated equally to all human beings. Lunatic fringe is accused of violating (brown-skinned) Mexicans’ right to respectful treatment. → Promotes conflict between a ‘lunatic fringe’ and ‘decent human beings’. Rights and duties allocated equally to all human beings. Anglos are accused of violating (brown-skinned) Mexicans’ right to respectful treatment.

Anglos accused of violating duty. → Promotes conflict between ‘people of color/Browns/ Mexicans’ and ‘Anglos’.

Table 6.2 cont’d Storyline

Identities

Positions

7 Survival pilgrimage and strength in diversity

Immigrants: hard-working immigrants looking for opportunities make the country dynamic. Victims of prejudice.

All human beings: Rights and duties allocated equally to all human beings. Right to travel globe, work, make living for families; Duty to respect human rights, supererogatory duty to help → Promotes peace between diverse groups of people. new immigrants.

All human beings are free to travel the globe in search of shelter and food for themselves and their families. Acceptance of diversity strengthens the US. 8 Hemisphere of freedom and prosperity The US–Mexico border is being opened to build a hemisphere of freedom and prosperity.


US: a multi-ethnic, multicultural and multiracial country; tolerant of diversity; innovative. Minutemen and other vigilantes: evil, hateful. Mexico and the United States are next-door neighbors with common needs and intertwined fates; united; sisters; partners; common aspirations, values and culture; one giant market Immigrants: heros. Xenophobes (border fence advocates).

Mexicans and Americans: Right to move across border freely; Duty to cooperate and help each other.

Rights and duties allocated equally to Mexicans and Americans. → Promotes peace between Mexicans and Americans.


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acquire another nationality to do so without being forced to first give up his or her Mexican nationality.’ … Glenn Spencer, president of Voice of Citizens Together and radio talk show host of American Patrol Report, … thinks there’s something more sinister to the Mexican president’s decree than one might think. ‘This is an invasion of the United States in a very classic way with all of the classic objectives of an invasion without using bullets,’ Spencer said. Spencer added he believed Mexico is allowing this so that those people with dual citizenship may vote in the interest of Mexico in the United States. The ultimate goal of this invasion, Spencer contends, is to reclaim the American Southwest – an area including California, Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico and parts of Colorado and Texas. Known as Aztlan by Hispanic activists, these states make up what used to be Mexican territory before treaties and wars gave the land to the United States.

The ‘Reconquista’ storyline is also evident in an article entitled, ‘Report From Occupied America: The Fall of Salinas’, wherein author Joe Guzzardi (2004) writes: Salinas is lost. Located in California’s Central Coastal Valley and known as the Salad Bowl to the World, Salinas is the state’s first casualty of the financial and cultural consequences of illegal immigration. Salinas – on a smaller scale but even more dramatically than Los Angeles, San Diego or San Francisco – has been overwhelmed. The poor and (occasional) farm workers from Central America and Mexico came to Salinas in huge numbers in recent decades. But this time, they never went home. Salinas … has been transformed into a place I, a native-born Californian, no longer recognize.

Guzzardi presents evidence of the ‘colonization’ by citing various statistics on the dominance of Hispanic, or Spanish-speaking residents in Salinas, including: • • •

•

according to Census 2000, 70 per cent of Salinas’ 150,000 residents are Hispanic; Salinas’ residents older than 25 who are without a high-school diploma rose to 44 per cent in 2000; approximately 65 per cent of students in the Salinas K-12 system are Hispanic ‘English Language Learners’ – Edspeak for kids who can’t speak our national language; more than 60 per cent of Salinas’ residents do not speak English at home.

Another author projects the ‘Reconquista’ storyline into the year 2100. In an article entitled ‘Hispanic influx threatens to change face of America’, Campbell (2000) writes: The year is 2100. America is in ferment. The second civil war has ended in defeat for English-speaking whites, encircled in their heartland in the Midwest. The southwestern states of California, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas have broken away from the union to form provinces in the new, Hispanic country of Aztlan.

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Promoting Conflict or Peace through Identity Unlikely as this vision of the future may seem, the break-up of the United States within the next hundred years is regarded by some people as an entirely plausible consequence of a new wave of immigration. … Ethnic groups are encouraged to pursue ‘ethnic studies’ to fortify their sense of cultural identity. While blacks are encouraged to delve into the tragic history of ancestors sold into slavery and to press for reparations from white government leaders, Mexican Americans can sign up for ‘Chicano studies’. The course is credited with instilling a militant belief in young Mexican Americans that California and other southwestern states – once known collectively as ‘Aztlan’ – were stolen from Mexico and will one day be reconquered. The emphasis on ethnic identity risks encouraging what has been called the ‘Balkanisation’ of America – a reference to the rivalries that plunged the former Yugoslavia into bloody ethnic wars in the 1990s. … ‘We’re being colonised, essentially’ says Glenn Spencer, a white activist lobbying for tougher immigration controls. He points to inflammatory statements made by Mexican American politicians to support his thesis. Mario Obledo, president of the California Coalition of Hispanic Organisations, is cited as an example. ‘California is going to be a Hispanic state and anyone who doesn’t like it should leave,’ he said. Even Gray Davis, the non-Hispanic Democrat governor, has raised eyebrows with some of his rhetoric. ‘People will look at California and Mexico as one magnificent region,’ he has proclaimed. A blurring of political borders between California and Mexico seemed to have occurred last week when a Los Angeles resident became the first living abroad to be elected to the Mexican Congress.

The main identities evoked within the context of this ‘Reconquista’ storyline are Hispanic and English-speaking, as well as Mexican and American. The allocation of rights and duties is based upon the premise that a country ‘has’ one culture and that this culture can remain static. This notion shall be referred to as ‘cultural sovereignty and immutability’. Accordingly, American culture is, and should be, characterized by the exclusive use of the English language – revealing both descriptive and normative aspects of the storyline. Consequently, Englishspeaking Americans are positioned with the rights to cultural sovereignty and immutability, to the exclusive use of the English language in the US, as well as the rights to live and work in the US. They are further positioned with the right and duty to restrict or eliminate the presence (and thus influence) of Hispanics (including Hispanic Americans) in the US. Thus, within the context of this storyline, Davis’ expressions of support for regional integration, as cited by Campbell above, are interpreted as evidence of support for the creation of Aztlan and thus as a violation of the attributed duty. Hispanics, while not positioned with any rights, are positioned with duties to speak English, to conform to ‘Englishspeaking American’ culture, and to stay outside of the US. In the examples of discourse provided above, cultural and demographic changes evident in the US are portrayed as products of ‘colonization’, implying that Hispanics are violating these duties. Accused of violating Americans’ right to cultural sovereignty and immutability, Hispanics are further identified as ‘invaders’, ‘criminals’ and ‘aliens’, while English-speaking Americans are further identified as the victims of invasion and colonization.


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Storyline 2: Immigrants Abuse US Taxpayers According to the ‘Immigrants abuse US taxpayers’ storyline, immigrants come to the United States to reap the social benefits that are paid for by US citizens’ tax money, but they do not contribute (much) to the system. This generates not only a great financial burden on taxpayers, but also overloads the public infrastructure, thus causing many ills. Ills for which immigrants are blamed include: not speaking English, carrying disease, smuggling drugs, crime, traffic jams, increasing oil prices, long queues, substandard public education institutions, taking jobs from US citizens, reduced farm land, low wages, using filthy language, and making cultural demands. Elements of this storyline and the ‘Reconquista’ and ‘National security’ (described below) storylines are often interwoven throughout a particular discursive episode. The ‘Immigrants abuse US taxpayers’ storyline is pervasive in a California resident’s (Barnard 2001) letter to Senator Barbara Boxer, in which immigrants are blamed (social force) for a host of social ills: The new numbers are out and the California population explosion has now exceeded 33 million. At the same time the population growth excluding immigrants is at zero. California continues to receive 30 per cent of all immigrants, with 25 per cent of the state being foreign born, while the rest of the nation remains at 10 per cent. The 25 per cent in California is responsible for 45 per cent of the child births. … Some of the things caused by immigration that are terribly frustrating … 1. Sitting in our chilly homes while we pay $150-$200 per month for heat. 2. Sitting in our cars on grid locked streets and freeways, wasting more fuel than we actually use for a trip. 3. Standing in line for everything that we do. 4. Watching our farm land disappear for subsidized housing for immigrants. 5. Watching our neighbourhood homes going to immigrants when they are vacated. 6. Paying more taxes than most states and still suffering with sub standard schools and so on 7. Being unable to use a park or campground without a reservation a year in advance. 8. Paying double or triple for every piece of paper generated, because people will not try to learn English. 9. Drugs and crime are eating everything good about California. 10. Plus several more pages of bad news that would disappear if immigration was brought under control. We realize that you have usually supported unlimited immigration, and in particular, see no harm in an open border for Mexico, however we feel that this position is in direct conflict with the interests of the people that you were elected to represent.

While the passage above does not distinguish between legal and illegal immigrants, other discourse that invokes this storyline specifically focuses on illegal immigrants.

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A billboard sponsored by the California Coalition for Immigration Reform warns (social force) that one of the ills for which immigrants are responsible is taking jobs away from US Citizens (see Figure 6.2).

Figure 6.2 CCIR billboard A press release accompanying the erecting of this billboard includes the following explanation: ‘This sign sends a message to all who support the takeover of our state and nation by illegal aliens, said Barbara Coe, chairwoman of CCIR, ‘We will not stand idly by while pro-alien terrorist[s] attempt to abridge our First Amendment right of freedom of speech. We will work tirelessly to ensure that any elected official who holds our laws in contempt are [sic] removed from office. We will unite to protect our people from the immigration invasion which is destroying the future America for our children which so many worked so hard and fought so hard to create and to maintain,’ Coe added (California Coalition for Immigration Reform 1999).

Reflecting the ‘Immigrants abuse US taxpayers’ storyline, the billboard accuses immigrants – identified as ‘illegal aliens’ – of taking jobs away from Americans, and in the press release, Coe accuses immigrants of ‘destroying the future America for our children’. Another example of discourse that evokes this storyline is reflected in a contributor’s comment in an online discussion forum (New York Times forum


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2001a), which blames (social force) illegal immigrants not only for various crimes, but also spreading disease, overcrowding, inflation, and low labor wages: It is imperative that the US stop illegal immigration. Over 70 per cent of those who violate immigration laws violate other laws as well – many are recruited specifically to commit crimes like insurance fraud, smuggling, and so on. Illegals escape the most rudimentary health checks, bringing in contagious diseases, contribute to overcrowding, social costs, demand-based inflation (housing, for example) while keeping wages low. Anyone who violates immigration laws should be deported and permanently banned from reentry.

Within the context of the ‘Immigrants abuse US taxpayers’ storyline, the main identities evoked are ‘immigrants’ ‘illegal immigrants and ‘aliens’. Nonimmigrants, the definition of which is at least as ambiguous as the category of ‘immigrants’, are specified sometimes as ‘Americans’, or by state affiliation, such as ‘a native of California’. For purposes of the positioning analysis, non-immigrants will be referred to as ‘Americans’. Accordingly, Americans are positioned with the rights to live and work in the US, to have children and send their children to public schools, to use the roads, parks and other public services, to claim social security benefits when in need, and to benefit from fast, efficient and inexpensive services and goods. Other rights claimed for Americans include freedom from exposure to certain manners of speaking, types of music and other cultural influences. Immigrants are not afforded any such rights. Rather, they are afforded the duty to remain outside of the US. Many social ills are attributed to their presence in the US, so they are blamed (social force) for these ills, and consequently accused of violating Americans’ right to a certain standard of living. Americans are therefore identified as victims of immigrants, and immigrants are further identified as social vermin. Americans are also positioned with the right and duty to ‘protect’ the American (non-immigrant) people from these vermin by keeping immigrants out of the US. Those who support immigration are accused of violating this duty and, thus, of betraying the American people. Storyline 3: National Security According to the ‘National security’ storyline, (would-be) illegal immigrants pose a threat to the security of the United States. One proposal to protect US citizens from this putative danger was to construct a double fence or wall, supplemented with other protective measures, along the entire border between the United States and Mexico, a proposal that was approved by Congress. The ‘National security’ storyline is evident in the declaration of the US Department of Homeland Security that such a fence is necessary to protect national security, thus overriding litigation processes instigated by environmental groups, as reported in the Washington Post: [In San Diego] For a decade, litigation has delayed construction of 3.5 miles of the [fence] structure because environmental groups have opposed a federal plan to lop the tops off two mesas and pour 5.5 million cubic feet of dirt into a valley, called

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Promoting Conflict or Peace through Identity ‘Smuggler’s Gulch,’ to flatten the terrain. Environmental groups lost the case when the Department of Homeland Security invoked a law exempting it from federal and state regulations in the interest of national security. (Pomfret 2006)

This ‘National security’ storyline is elaborated in a letter sent to Senator Barbara Boxer and ‘all federal elected officials’ by a California resident (Tryon 2001), who further identifies illegal immigrants as ‘invaders’ and ‘aliens’: Our country is being invaded by millions of illegal aliens who hold our federal immigration laws in contempt. Loyal, law-abiding US citizens are the victims, forced to ‘reward’ them with our hard-earned tax dollars for benefits (most of which are denied citizens and even our war veterans), submit to their cultural demands and suffer the disease, drugs and crime many bring into our communities. The United States Constitution mandates the duty of Congress to protect our citizens from invasions. Article 4, Section 4: ‘The United States shall guarantee to every State in this Union a Republican Form of Government, and shall protect each of them against Invasion’ DEFINITIONS: Per Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary ILLEGAL: Not according to or authorized by law; unlawful; not sanctioned by official rules ALIEN: Relating, belonging or owing allegiance to another country or government; foreign INVADE: To enter for conquest or plunder; to encroach upon, infringe; to affect injuriously and progressively INVASION: An act of invading; the coming or spread of something hurtful; trespass (US case law defines invasion as ‘forceful, intentional and unauthorized’ entry into the United States) INVADER: Those who make an unwarranted or uninvited incursion; to enter unlawfully upon the land of another (US case law has held that any person who enters the United States ‘intentionally, forcibly and unauthorized’ is an invader) FACTS: #1. Millions of illegal aliens enter the United States ‘intentionally’, some ‘forcibly’ and all ‘unauthorized’ #2. These invaders (as defined), have affected US citizens ‘injuriously and progressively’ (as defined), financially, socially and culturally #3. All elected representatives take an Oath of Office to uphold the Constitution of the United States of America and defend our country from all enemies, both foreign and domestic. DON’T BE A TRAITOR The definitions and facts are undisputable. Illegal aliens are invaders. Many of our federal government elected officials have betrayed their Oath of Office. Their refusal to uphold their Constitutional obligations has resulted in US citizens being denied protection from invaders and is a violation of our rights … No amnesty or ‘work permits’ for illegal/criminal aliens. They have broken our laws, why reward them? (Sic; all emphases in original)

The same storyline is evoked on the website ‘BorderFenceProject.com’, which proposes ‘to patch and extend US–Mexico border fence along all 1,952 miles of southern border using high-tech TV cameras, microphones, lighting, motion and


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other electronic sensors, with voluntary civilian labor, donations, and maintenance teams’. Here, the declared purpose in building the fence is ‘to help stop the ever escalating tide of illegal immigration, terrorism, and drug smuggling’. The website claims that the project is sponsored by ‘NoInvaders.org’ and displays phrases and logos, such as ‘American Citizens Securing the Borders Themselves’ and ‘Minutemen Civil Defense Corps’ (emphases added). In this storyline, US citizens are positioned with the right to dwell on US territory and the right to security. Americans, and especially US officials, are positioned with the right and duty to prevent unauthorized crossings, given the purported threat they pose, and to thereby ‘defend’ the US. Those who fail to do so, such as supporters of ‘unlimited immigration’ are thus identified as ‘traitors’, while those preventing illegal crossings are positioned as heroes – as righteous, honest defenders of American laws and interests. In contrast, (would-be) ‘illegal aliens’ are not accorded any rights in this context, but they are attributed the duties to abide by US law and remain outside the US border. Within the context of the ‘National security’ storyline, they are accused of transgressing these duties and violating US citizens’ right to security. Illegal immigrants are thus further identified as ‘terrorists’, ‘criminals’, ‘aliens’ and ‘invaders’. Common to all three of the above storylines – ‘Reconquista’, ‘Immigrants abuse US taxpayers’ and ‘National security’ – is the positioning of non-immigrants with the right and duty to keep immigrants out of the US. This positioning, the storylines, and the identities evoked are made explicit in a so-called ‘Border Patrol’ video game’. The ‘game’, accessible at , features stereotypical pictures with labels that identify the border-crossers as ‘Mexican nationalists’, ‘drug smugglers’ or ‘breeders’. The instructions declare that, ‘There is one simple objective to this game, keep them out … at any cost!’ As the ‘game’ commences, the player controls a shotgun eyepiece that can be aimed at each of these figures as they run across a river and desert and past signs that read, ‘Welcome to the United States’ and ‘Welfare Office’ with an arrow pointing straight ahead. A click of the computer mouse produces the sound of gunfire and, if clicked on one of the running figures, a splash of red blood appears over the figure and points are credited to the player. An accurate ‘hit’ of the ‘drug smuggler’, who carries marijuana on his back, or the ‘Mexican nationalist’, who brandishes the Mexican flag, produces one point each. Four points are accrued for shooting a pregnant woman, who runs with two children in trail. At the end of the game, the player’s score is announced with the phrase, ‘You hit (number entered) of 88 wetbacks’, followed by the query, ‘Alright Paco, got a greencard?’ In this ‘game’, elements of all three of the above storylines are evident, as immigrants, identified as ‘drug smugglers’, ‘nationalists’ and ‘breeders’, are accused (social force) of breeding, smuggling drugs, nationalism and abusing the US social welfare system. To protect Americans from these ills and abuses, players are positioned with the duty to kill the potential crossers. This is the conclusion drawn in accordance with the identities evoked and positions allocated within the context of these storylines.

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Storyline 4: Elite Push for Open Borders All of the above three storylines position Americans with the right and duty to keep (illegal) immigrants outside of the US, and describe only disadvantages that they bring to the country. So why are immigrants being permitted into the US, and why are some people supportive of immigration? These questions are answered by a storyline which claims that North American power elites are pushing for an open border. Two versions of this storyline can be identified (summarized in Table 6.2 as Storylines 4a and 4b). According to the first version (Storyline 4a), regional integration in North America is an attempt by elites from the US, Mexico and Canada to open borders and encourage mass migration for their own economic benefit. For example, a book by Daniel Sheehy, entitled ‘Fighting Immigration Anarchy: American Patriots Battle to Save the Nation’, is advertised on the website <www.fightingimmigrationanarchy.com> as including ‘the shocking twenty-page chapter, ‘Bush and Other Elites Merging US, Mexico, and Canada’. The same website cites Roy Beck, President of Numbers USA, as saying, ‘The book salutes and colourfully describes citizens who are battling the elites’ push for mass immigration and open borders’. According to another version of the ‘Elite push for open borders’ storyline (Storyline 4b), ‘Mexican white elites’ are encouraging the emigration of ‘brown’ Mexicans in order to avoid race wars. This version of the storyline is evident in discourse from an online discussion forum on ‘The Fox Era in Mexico’ (New York Times forum 2001b): What we can understand with some confidence is that Fox is highly unlikely to change Mexico’s racial structure. His attitude toward emigration to America resembles that of his predecessors. Like the rest of Mexico’s white power elite, Fox wants to funnel as many hungry mestizos and Indians into the US as possible. By getting us to take Mexico’s angriest young brown men, Mexico’s white ruling class has been able to forestall the kind of brown vs. white race wars that were a recurrent feature in the 19th and early 20th century Mexico. Further, both Fox and the defeated PRI want Mexican immigrants in the US simultaneously both to retain their Mexican citizenship, including the vote, and also to become voting American citizens. From the white Mexican’s perspective, brown emigration to America creates a virtuous cycle. The more peasants who head north and become dual citizens of America and Mexico, the more votes in America for letting in even more Mexicans, thus further easing the threat to white Mexicans.

In this version of the storyline, a conflict between races is drawn: elite ‘whites’ against non-elite ‘browns’. In the context of this storyline, rights and duties are allocated as in the three previous storylines, and ‘elites’ are accused of not upholding their duty to protect the interests of non-elite citizens. The storyline explains that their motivation for this transgression is to benefit personally from open borders through financial gain (version 4a) of by avoiding race wars (version 4b). ‘Brown’ Mexicans are positioned as pawns of the elites, while non-elite Americans are positioned as victims.


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Storyline 5: Immigrant Exploitation In direct contrast to the ‘Immigrants abuse US taxpayers’ storyline, some discourse claims that, rather than being the abusers, ‘undocumented workers’ are the victims of abuse: Another great contribution that the immigrants make to the economy is the underutilization of medical services and social services. There is no easy access to these services. We speak with people who are ill or wounded each day and have two free medical clinics where volunteer doctors give their time and expertise. We meet people each day who have gone without medical care for long periods for lack of resources. When an undocumented carpenter who has worked for years in the economy building the thousands of town houses and condominiums that surround us falls from a third story scaffolding and breaks his back in three places, the tax payers do not give one penny to this person for his care. Imagine the taxpayer savings that come from this law that says undocumented injured workers cannot receive any compensation as do citizens in disability payments (Zwick and Zwick 2006).

Within the context of this storyline, the US border is portrayed as a tool to exploit workers, as evident in the following article published by the Maoist Internationalist Movement (2001). … The border is a tool to keep the vast majority of workers in a situation of most brutal exploitation – outside of US borders, under American-supported death-squad governments. Even those undocumented immigrants who do manage to get into the United States face brutal exploitation in sweatshops; their undocumented status is used to keep their wages low. MIM is not alone in its belief that workers and their families should not have to risk their lives to look for work here in the United States. That is why we launched a petition campaign to stop ‘Operation Gatekeeper’ and open the US border. … Here is the text of MIM’s petition: Open the US border! The US Immigration and Naturalization Service’s militarystyle ‘Operation Gatekeeper’ has killed over 600 Mexican migrants. This is part of the systematic violence the US government uses to restrict people’s free movement. The US Border separates families, communities, and nations. It also keeps Third World workers and farmers under regimes where wage rates are drastically depressed through violent repression – this allows the United States to make huge profits off of its investments abroad. We the undersigned call for an end to ‘Operation Gatekeeper’ and an end to policies restricting people’s free movement across the border.

Within the context of this storyline, all people are positioned with the right to move freely across borders. They are also positioned with the duty to contribute to the social system and the right to benefit from it. In the above passage, the US government is accused of violating these rights of ‘workers’ from whom it withholds legal documentation. It is thus identified as a ‘violent’, ‘brutal’ exploiter, and undocumented workers are identified as its victims.

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Storyline 6: Hate Crimes In some discourse on migration at the US–Mexico border, a ‘Hate crimes’ storyline is evoked, often clearly in response to some of the discourse analysed above. Two different position-configurations can be identified in this context. The first (ref. Storyline 6a in Table 6.2) states that a ‘lunatic fringe’ in the US is advocating and perpetrating ‘hate crimes’ against (brown-skinned) people of Mexican descent. This version of the storyline is evoked in an article published by La Voz de Aztlan (2000): Hate crimes against US citizens of Mexican descent and against Mexican migrant workers in San Diego County and throughout the US–Mexico border region are becoming more common as hate groups like Glenn Spencer’s ‘American Patrol’, Barbara Coe’s ‘California Coalition for Immigration Reform’ and vigilante Roger Barnett’s ‘Arizona Ranchers Alliance’ increase their hate rhetoric against Mexicans on the radio, the Internet and various other propaganda mediums. The constant message they are broadcasting is for the purpose of, they say, ‘waking up America’ to the ‘invasion of Mexican migrants’ into the United States and the ‘conspiracy to take over the US southwest on behalf of the Mexican government.’ As was feared by Mexican-American civil and human rights organizations, the racist white supremacist ‘lunatic fringe’ in San Diego, California has now violently acted out on the hate propaganda being disseminated by the leadership of the anti-Mexican groups, increasing the number of vicious attacks of Mexican migrant workers along the 2000 [mile] US/Mexico border region. In the afternoon and evening of Wednesday 5 July 2000 in the Carmel Valley of the City of San Diego, five Mexican migrant workers came under a vicious attack by eight or more neo-Nazi skinheads.

This version of the ‘Hate crimes’ storyline is also evoked in an editorial about the creators of the ‘Border Patrol Video Game’, which is described earlier in this chapter: The violent, vicious and mentally sick ‘Border Patrol Video Game’ has been traced to Temecula, California … The video game that has shocked decent human beings around the globe is shown at Border Patrol Video Game [in the original, a link is provided to http://www.aztlan.net/racist_anti-mexican_game.htm]. The origin of the video game is no surprise to Mexican-Americans in Southern California who consider Temecula and the surrounding area to be one of the most racist regions in the state. The town began earning its ugly reputation about two years ago when Border Patrol agents of the Temecula Station started making indiscriminate roundups of the area’s Mexicans. Many US citizens of Mexican descent where being routinely stopped along Interstate Highway 15 simply because of their brown skin and asked for their ‘papers’. A large portion of the Border Patrol agents live in Temecula and they and their families have organized as ‘Friends of the Border Patrol’ and the ‘National Border Patrol Council Local 1613.’ The town also has the reputation of producing some of the most violent ‘skinhead gangs’ in North San Diego County. Many of these wayward juvenile delinquents are the offspring of Border Patrol agents that live in Temecula. There are now many documented ‘hate crimes’ against people of color perpetrated by these messed up kids.


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There is a very high probability that the Border Patrol Video Game is their creation (La Voz de Aztlan News Bulletin 2006b).

In general, within the context of the ‘Hate crimes’ storyline, ‘all people’ are positioned with the right to be treated with respect and the duty to be respectful of others. The alleged perpetrators of ‘hate crimes’ are accused (social force) of ‘racism’, ‘social injustice’ and issuing ‘hate speech’, thereby violating this duty. ‘Mexicans’ ‘Mexican migrants’, Mexican Americans’ and ‘citizens of Mexican descent’ are positioned as the victims, as their attributed rights have allegedly been violated. In the version of the storyline exemplified above, the hate crime perpetrators are identified as a ‘lunatic fringe’.5 Other identity labels include ‘mentally sick’, ‘racist’, ‘white supremacist’, ‘Neo-Nazis’, ‘skinheads’, ‘vigilantes’, ‘hate-mongers’, ‘violent’, ‘vicious’, ‘juvenile delinquents’, ‘messed-up kids’ and ‘offspring of Border Patrol agents’. In contrast, those who do not constitute this group (that is, the majority of the population) are identified as ‘normal’, ‘decent human beings’, while those who actively speak out against the acts of the ‘lunatic fringe’ are even ‘righteous’, ‘morally courageous’ and ‘honourable’. This implies that they have fulfilled what may be considered a supererogatory duty (see Moghaddam et al. 2000). In another version of the ‘Hate crimes’ storyline (see storyline 6b in Table 6.2), the constellation of positions is the same, but different identities are evoked. In this discourse, the victims of the ‘hate crimes’ are still (brown-skinned) ‘Mexicans’ or ‘Mexican Americans’, and the perpetrators are still ‘bigots’, ‘racist’, ‘vicious’ and so on. However, the perpetrators are also identified as ‘Anglos’ or ‘Whites’, rather than as a ‘fringe’ or radical minority. The following passage exemplifies discourse that evokes these identities within the ‘Hate crimes’ storyline: The lives of Mexican-Americans and Mexican immigrants are being increasingly placed in jeopardy by anti-Mexican propaganda in the printed media and by the constant alarmist rhetoric heard on national radio networks. … The constant hate talk against Mexicans by radio jockeys … has already resulted in a series of vicious hate crimes against Mexicans. The latest occurred on Sunday when a Mexican flower girl, Pasquala Hernandez, was kidnapped by three Anglos from a corner in Wheaton, Maryland. … The state of Maryland also saw the decapitation of three Mexican children in the month of May 2004. In Fremont, California in the month of February 2004, a Mexican mother and daughter were bludgeon[ed] to death on the street by what witnesses described as an Anglo. Yet another recent case occurred last September in Columbus, Ohio when ten Mexican immigrants from Leon, Guanajuato were burned to death when arsonists set their rented apartment building on fire in the early morning hours. (Cienfuegos 2005; emphases added)

Whereas in the previous positioning configuration, the front line was drawn between a ‘lunatic fringe’ and ‘normal, decent human beings’ (a category which

5 Intrinsic to the ‘fringe’ identity is the notion that these individuals constitute a very small minority.

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encompasses Mexicans), in this discourse, it is moved to ‘brown-skinned Mexicans’ versus ‘Anglos’. In the editorial partially cited above, Cienfuegos (2005) interprets a cartoon published in the Oregon City High School student newspaper6 as an example of ‘hate rhetoric’. The cartoonist depicts a Minutemen volunteer as saying ‘Let’s go git us some Mexicans’ [sic] and another as replying, ‘Remember, women and children are only worth two points’ within the context: ‘Citizen patrol looks out for illegal immigrants at the Arizona border’. Cienfuegos interprets the publishing of the cartoon as an expression of support (social force) for the Minutemen’s activities, thus positioning the publishers (and implicitly the cartoonist) as bigots, racists, and so forth. It should also be carefully noted that, in contrast to Cienfuegos’ interpretation, the act of publishing the cartoon could be read alternatively as a critique or condemnation (social force) of the Minutemen and their activities. Interpreted with this social force, the cartoon’s publication evokes the ‘Hate crimes’ storyline with the positionings entailed in the ‘lunatic fringe’ (a category under which The Minutemen are subsumed within this context) versus ‘normal, decent human beings’ version. This example highlights the negotiated nature of the building blocks of meaning: Even if the publishers’ intended social force was critique or condemnation of the Minutemen’s activities, to at least one audience it accomplished an expression of support for them. Storyline 7: Survival Pilgrimage and Strength in Diversity Although the ‘Survival pilgrimage’ and ‘Strength in diversity’ storylines could be considered separate storylines, they are here presented together as two parts of the same storyline, because they are often combined, and the positioning configurations that accompany them are identical in the discourse analyzed. Within the context of this storyline, ‘all human beings’, like the pilgrims that migrated from England to the United States, are positioned with the right to travel the globe at will to provide food and shelter for themselves and their families. All people are also positioned with the duty to respect these human rights and to assist newly arrived ‘pilgrims’ in their endeavours. The resulting population diversity is portrayed as a strength and asset. The ‘survival pilgrimage’ part of the storyline is evident in an editorial published in La Voz de Aztlan (2006a): The second lesson that the Minutemen vigilantes learned is that no human being is an ‘illegal’ alien. All human beings are endowed by God with certain rights and are free to travel the globe in search of shelter and food for themselves and their families. The pilgrims had that right when they ventured from England and landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620. The Native Americans did not act as vigilantes against the newly arrived pilgrims but instead helped them survive their first winter. Today we have the hateful Minutemen vigilantes patrolling the US–Mexico border hunting for Mexican migrant

6 The cartoon is reproduced at .


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workers as if they were ‘aliens’ from outer space. Many bodies of Mexican migrants have been found in the desert along the border with bullet holes through their heads. There is no question that many of the dead were victims of border vigilantes.

As reflected in this passage, the norms implicit in this storyline are contrary to those of the ‘illegal alien’ metaphor, which restricts rights to only certain persons identified as belonging within a specific geopolitical space. In this passage, the Minutemen and other ‘vigilantes’ are accused (social force) of murdering (act) these innocent human beings and thereby of violating their duty to respect and even assist newcomers. They are thus further identified as ‘evil’ and ‘hateful’. Both the ‘Survival pilgrimage’ and Strength in diversity’ aspects of the storyline are evident in the following contribution to an online forum: Anybody who has a desire to work, can find a job, and is not involved in criminal activity, should be allowed to come to this country and work. Hard working immigrants looking for opportunities is what has [sic] made this country much more dynamic than other countries. Nobody has ever liked new immigrants, starting with the Irish in the 1800s, going through the Italians and others at the beginning of the last century, and continuing now with the Mexicans and Asians. With time everybody will integrate; the US will be a stronger more diverse country; this problem will be gone; and we will have different, maybe more important, problems to talk about. (New York Times online forum 2001c)

Similarly, America’s ‘strength in diversity’ is emphasized by Ávalos (2006): The US is a multi-ethnic, multicultural and multiracial country. And herein lies its strength. The identity of this nation is not tied to English, to its ethnic origin or to the color of its majority, but to its more traditional values: its historical acceptance of immigrants; it’s tolerance of diversity and its innovations. It is a unique nation in this sense. (Ávalos 2006; author’s translation from Spanish)

Storyline 8: Hemisphere of Freedom and Prosperity Some discourse portrays the opening of the US–Mexico border as an attempt to build a ‘Hemisphere of freedom and prosperity’. This storyline is evident in the following discourse, reported by Thompson (2001): President Bush, in an address today at the State Department, reiterated his pledge to work with America’s neighbors to build a hemisphere of ‘freedom and prosperity.’ ‘Some look at the south and see problems,’ Mr Bush said, referring to Mexico. ‘Not me. I look south and see opportunities and potential.’ … The Mexican president has pressed the United States to begin opening the border to more Mexican workers in the same way that it has been opened to goods and services under the North American Free Trade Agreement. He has walked along border crossings from Ciudad Juárez to Nueve Laredo, to shake the hands of immigrants and hail them as Mexican heroes. And he has expressed outrage at the violence that Mexican immigrants have endured from United States Border Patrol agents and ranchers in Arizona.

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In this discourse, ‘Mexico’ and ‘the United Sates’ are ‘next door neighbors’, ‘sisters’, ‘united partners’, and ‘one giant market’ with common needs, aspirations, values and culture and intertwined fates. Immigrants are identified as ‘heroes’. Mexicans and Americans alike are positioned with the right to move freely across the border and with the duty to cooperate and help each other. Therefore, violent measures aimed at preventing Mexicans from crossing the border are seen as a violation of the rights of these ‘heroes’. These positionings are further evident in the following passage: Americans have long seen Mexico as a river of illegal drugs and immigrants flowing north. But if the nations’ two new leaders have their way, it may soon be seen as a fountain of energy, labor and trade. … ‘Our common border is no longer a line that divides us, but a region that unites our nations, reflecting our common aspirations, values and culture,’ the secretary of state, Colin L. Powell, said … Seeing the border as a symbol of unity, calling Mexico and the United States next-door neighbors with common needs and intertwined fates, has long been Mr Fox’s political refrain. It is a fairly new tune for American foreign policy, but the changes, symbolic and substantial, are already happening. Mr Bush wants to greatly expand trade across the border, calling commerce ‘the longterm solution’ for illegal immigration. … Mr Bush and Vice President Dick Cheney have been talking for months about the need for a hemispheric energy policy – ‘an approach that looks at all of North America as one giant market,’ as Mr Cheney put it. … In time, [Mr. Fox] says, the two nations can be so integrated, economically and politically, that the border would be more like the common wall of adjoining homes and less like a militarized frontier. It may not be that wild an idea. Mexico is ‘the house next door,’ Mr. Greenspan argued … ‘The house catches on fire, and cinders going in our direction threaten to burn our house down,’ he said … ‘Can we say we are not going to help them put out the fire?’ (Weiner 2001)

Given the positions evoked within the framework of this storyline, the decision of the US Congress to construct a wall or fence along the US–Mexico border was interpreted as an insult and affront (social force) to the people of Mexico. The unilateral reinforcement of the border is seen as a violation of Mexicans’ right to free movement and a failure of the US to fulfill its duty to assist its neighbor. Resulting expressions of dismay are exemplified in the following passage: ‘To us, this wall is an embarrassment; it seems to us that a wall of this magnitude should not exist in the relationship between Mexico and the United States’, said the President [Vicente Fox Quesada] … ‘Walls belong in the last century; walls are knocked down by their own citizens, they are knocked down by the search for liberty and democracy’, added the President …. ‘It is not possible that in the 21st century we are constructing walls between two nations that are neighbors, between two nations that are sisters, between two nations that are partners’, he reiterated. ‘We do not understand this step to construct additional walls at the border, to send more police and more soldiers to the borders; to be tolerant with these xenophobic groups that want to impose their own wishes upon the law, even contrary to the exercise of the law’, he declared. (Álvarez 2005; author’s translation from Spanish)


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Within this normative context, those who support the erection of a border fence are identified as ‘xenophobes’.

Summary of Analysis and Implications for Peace or Conflict The above analyses highlighted the identities, positions and social forces of (speech) acts attributed within the context of various storylines evoked in discourse on migration at the US–Mexico border. In so doing, the analyses illuminated various patterns in the discursive production of conflict. First, it can be said that the nexus of conflicts is constituted by accusations of transgressed rights and duties, whereby these often remain implicit. In all of the discourse examined, discursive expressions of conflict were shown to manifest in explicit or implicit claims that someone’s rights had been violated and/or that an actor failed to fulfil certain duties. Due to the reciprocal nature of many rights and duties, in most cases such perceived transgressions can be expressed either as a transgression of rights or duties (or both), and how this is done may be a matter of strategy (see Moghaddam et al. 2000). Discursive expressions of conflict, as illustrated above, often unfold as competing, or what was described in previous research as ‘incompatible’ storylines. It can now be said that the nature of this ‘incompatibility’, lies partially in the different distributions of rights and duties entailed in the storylines. Similarly, the findings of previous research that conflicts are marked by ‘oppositional positionings’ can now be made more precise by specifying that such ‘opposition’ is, at least in part, characterized by accusations of transgressions of rights or duties. From these insights, it can be said that the ‘object’ – that is, the core content – of conflicts can be expressed in terms of contestations over rights and duties. Another insight gleaned from the above analyses is that the ‘subjects’ of conflicts – that is, whose rights are being transgressed, and who is the transgressor – are constituted by evoking identities. The identities evoked are mechanisms for the assignment of rights and duties: An ‘illegal alien’ has different rights and obligations from a ‘worker’ or a ‘pilgrim’. Identities attributed as a consequence of a perceived transgression of rights or duties, such as ‘perpetrator’ and ‘victim’, also generate an ‘us’ versus ‘them’, or ‘I’ versus ‘you’, dynamic. This insight also further clarifies previous research conclusions that conflicts are characterized by ‘oppositional positionings’ – whereby the ‘position’ concept formerly encompassed what is here specified as ‘identities’. The Positioning Diamond’s analytical distinction between the ‘identity’ and ‘position’ concepts has enabled clarification and a more nuanced understanding of these dynamics. The identities evoked have further consequences for the unfolding of the conflict. In the above case study, some discourse embedded in a ‘Hate crimes’ storyline identified ‘Anglos’ as the transgressors and ‘brown-skinned Mexicans’ as the victims, while at other times the accused constituted ‘a lunatic fringe’ or members of the Minutemen. The former evocations transform the conflict into a ‘race war’. Importantly, ‘Anglo’, like ‘brown-skinned’, ‘Mexican’ or ‘indigene’ (see Alubo, Chapter 3 in this volume), is a category to which membership is generally

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involuntary. Consequently, there is a good chance that many people will feel unjustly accused. Accusations so directed are likely to incite defences, rebukes, and retributions, thus perpetuating the conflict. In evoking these identities, the focus of the conflict is quickly diverted to identity relations, rather than a debate over rights and duties. While the latter can be addressed, because it is within people’s power to change, the former leads to impasse. Directing accusations at specific actions (while evoking a ‘person’ or ‘human being’ identity) can prevent this perpetuating dynamic. Identity metaphors and storylines evoked also bear important consequences for the actions deemed appropriate in addressing perceived transgressions. For example, describing actions as ‘ethnic cleansing’ implies that there are ‘impurities’ at hand. Identifying minorities instead as ‘enrichments’ suggests that they be nurtured within a society, rather than eradicated. It is often at this point that violence is judged (and justified) to be an appropriate measure – though it need not be. Let us examine this analytical step in some detail, drawing upon examples from discourse analyzed above. Within the context of various storylines, such as ‘Reconquista’, ‘National security’, ‘Immigrants abuse taxpayers’, and ‘Elite push for open borders’, (undocumented or illegal) Mexican immigrants are allocated the duty to remain outside of the US. However, even amongst those who concur on this duty allocation, different views are expressed over how transgressions of this duty should be handled. One measure advocated was that all illegal immigrants should be ‘deported and forbidden re-entry into the US’. Another proposed that they should go to the end of the queue of people waiting for legal documentation. In the online ‘video game’, players are positioned with the duty to kill in order to ‘keep them out’. Others have proposed so-called ‘amnesty’ for immigrants who have lived and worked in the US for a certain number of years, whereby they would be granted legal status (under various conditions). Within the context of the ‘Hate crimes’ storyline, Cienfuegos (2005) draws the conclusion that Mexicans should react by boycotting products advertised in media that also disseminates ‘hate talk’. An alternative conclusion made in the same context is that the solution is for more people to speak out against such attitudes and behavior: The only hope for the USA will be if more young people like those at Columbia rise up and say, ‘We had enough’, ‘Ya basta’. (La Voz de Aztlan 2006a)

These examples illustrate the following important points. Conclusions regarding appropriate actions to redress perceived transgressions require a distinct analytical step, as reflected by the different actions proposed within the storylines, exemplified above. However, this analytical step is disguised and largely constrained by the storylines, identities, and positions evoked in discourse, because the norms entailed in these are suggestive of appropriate action. Neither of the proposals made within the context of the ‘Hate crimes’ storyline – to boycott certain products or to speak out against actions that denigrate immigrants – is (nor could be) proposed within the context of the ‘National security’ storyline, because they do not make sense within the logic or rationale provided by the normative


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conventions entailed therein. This insight leads us to the conclusion that peace, or non-violence, is promoted when storylines evoked ‘suggest’ acts and actions that are non-violent. A further insight that can be extracted from the above analyses, and from previous research, is that inequality in the distribution of rights, without a concomitant distribution of duties and/or an identity status that is perceived as justifying the difference in rights, is fertile ground for conflict. Multifarious permutations of this dynamic abound. If two ‘workers’ are obliged to pay into a social security system, but only one is granted the right to benefit from it when in need, this will be perceived as an injustice, thus inviting conflict. This can be contrasted with a voluntary insurance program, whereby it is deemed fair that only those who assume the duty to pay in have the right to benefit. ‘Affirmative action’ programs provide another example, whereby members of certain groups are allocated different privileges or rights from other members of the society. The contentiousness of such programs turns largely around whether the status of the benefactors (for example, as ‘underprivileged’) justifies differential treatment. The above findings cohere with the suggestion of previous work (Sen 2006; see also Golob 2002) that social harmony, or peace, can be promoted through an expansion of the ‘we’. In evoking the first person plural, one simultaneously advocates an equal distribution of rights and duties regarding the matter at hand. Furthermore, invoking inclusive identity categories invariably moves identitytalk from ‘us’ versus ‘them’ discourse to a focus upon common activities and superordinate goals.

Conclusion This chapter has illuminated – in allusion to John Austin (1961) – how people do conflict with words. A critic might counter with the challenge that it is not useful to discuss meaning systems or worldviews when guns are shooting, bombs are exploding and tanks are firing. Indeed, violence is prohibitive of discussion. Yet here it is perhaps useful to emphasize that even these violent actions are seen as meaningful acts by the perpetrators, and these acts appear to be a rational, and even obligatory, course of action within the normative frameworks that they invoke. The scale between violent conflict and peace has two hinges. The first hinge turns on the normative framework entailed within evoked meaning systems. The second hinge turns on the question of how to address perceived transgressions. Creating identities for oneself and others is the art of creating discursive space. While identity constructions are dependent upon historical interpretations (as is well illustrated by Dubois, Chapter 2 in this volume) and the discursive resources available within a culture, the fact that humans have the ability to envision possible identities means that we can co-create new ways of being (Bruner 1990; Shotter and Gergen 1989). Bruner (1990: 109–10) beautifully highlights this ability while underscoring the balance between human agency and the constraints of historical narratives, in citing two human universals in people’s manner of orienting toward culture and the past:


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The first is human reflexivity, our capacity to turn around on the past and alter the present in its light, or to alter the past in the light of the present. Neither the past nor the present stays fixed in the face of this reflexivity. The ‘immense repository’ of our past encounters may be rendered salient in different ways as we view them reflexively, or may be changed by reconceptualization. The second universal is our ‘dazzling’ intellectual capacity to envision alternatives – to conceive of other ways of being, of acting, of striving. So while it may be the case that in some sense we are ‘creatures of history’, in another sense we are autonomous agents as well. (Emphases in original)

Intrinsic to envisioning alternative ways of being and acting is the construction of new identities, and a new distribution of rights and duties (or new positions), within the context of a new storyline. New storylines incorporate an alternative interpretation of past events and open possibilities for new forms of life, especially new ways of relating. To promote peace, the challenge is to generate and evoke storylines and identities that entail a ‘fair’ distribution of rights and duties and that suggest non-violent and constructive solutions to perceived transgressions. As meaning-makers, human beings will always encounter situations in which transgressions are perceived. This is due to the fact that we will always have multiple interpretations of any given situation. ‘Conflict’ will inevitably emerge over which meaning system is most appropriate to guide action. However, such ‘conflict’ can be fruitful, as it can serve to inspire discussion, creativity and insight into wise solutions. The key to promoting peace is to appreciate this type of ‘conflict’ as an opportunity. In so doing, it is vital to respect, and even cherish, each other as artists of meaning-construction – an identity common to us all. In mutual respect of each other’s identities and artistic meaning-making process, we can collaborate in creating a masterpiece that enables all to flourish.

References Alford, V. (2004), ‘Border Fence Runs into Barrier’, USA Today, 19 April. Álvarez, X. (2005), ‘Fox reprocha a EU aval a muro en la frontera’, El Universal, 19 December. Archer, S. (2000), ‘Mexican Reconquista: Leader Says California Will Be First “Hispanic’” State’, Newsmax.Com, 7 June. Austin, J.L. (1961), How To Do Things With Words (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Ávalos, J. (2006), ‘La invasion’, Frontera info, . Barnard, A. (2001), Letter to Senator Barbara Boxer, 11 January 2001. Benhabib, S. (1999), ‘Sexual Difference and Collective Identities: The New Global Constellation’, Signs, 24:2, 335–61. BorderFenceProject.com, see online at . Bruner, J. (1990), Acts of Meaning (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press). Bruner, J. and Goodman, C. (1947), ‘Value and Need as Organizing Factors in Perception’, Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 42, 33–44. Bruner, J. and Postman, L. (1949), ‘On the Perception of Incongruity: A Paradigm’, Journal of Personality 18, 206–23.


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California Coalition for Immigration Reform (1999), see online at . Campbell, M. (2000), ‘Hispanic Influx Threatens to Change Face of America’, The Times, 7 September. Cienfuegos, E. (2005), ‘Let’s Git us Some Mexicans!’, La Voz de Aztlan, 20 April. Davies, B. and Harré, R. (1990), ‘Positioning: The discursive production of selves’, Journal for the Theory of Social Behavior 20:1, 43–63. Davies, B. and Harré, R. (1999), ‘Positioning and Personhood’, in R. Harré and L. Van Langenhove (eds), Positioning Theory (Oxford: Blackwell), 32–52. Golob, S. (2002), ‘North America Beyond NAFTA? Sovereignty, Identity, and Security in Canada–US Relations’, Canadian–American Public Policy 52, 1–50. Guzzardi, J. (2004), ‘Report from Occupied America: The Fall of Salinas’, , 3 December 2004, . Harré, R. (1979), Social Being (Oxford: Blackwell). Harré, R. (2004), ‘Positioning Theory’, unpublished paper. Harré, R. and Gillett, G. (1994), The Discursive Mind (London: Sage). Harré, R. and Slocum, N. (2003a), ‘Disputes as Complex Social Events: On the Uses of Positioning Theory’, Common Knowledge 9:3, 100–18. Harré, R. and Slocum, N. (2003b), ‘Disputes as Complex Social Events: On the Uses of Positioning Theory’, in R. Harré and F. Moghaddam (eds), The Self and Others: Positioning Individuals and Groups in Personal, Political, and Cultural Contexts (Westport, CT and London: Praeger), 123–36. Harré, R. and Moghaddam, F. (eds) (2003), The Self and Others: Positioning Individuals and Groups in Personal, Political, and Cultural Contexts (Westport, CT and London: Praeger). Harré, R. and Van Langenhove, L. (eds) (1999), Positioning Theory (Oxford: Blackwell). La Voz de Aztlan (2000), ‘Mexican Migrant Workers Savagely Attacked by Racists in San Diego, California’, La Voz de Aztlan, 14 July. La Voz de Aztlan (2006a), ‘Minutemen Vigilantes Learn Some Lessons at Columbia University Editorial’, La Voz de Aztlan, 10 October. La Voz de Aztlan (2006b), ‘Vicious “Border Patrol Video Game” Traced to Temecula, California’, News Bulletin, La Voz de Aztlan, 17 August. Lochhead, C. (2006), ‘Given and Take Across the Border: 1 in 7 Mexican Workers Migrates – Most Send Money Home’, San Francisco Chronicle, 21 May. Maoist Internationalist Movement (2001), ‘Fourteen Die Crossing Us–Mexico Border’, . Moghaddam, F., Harré, R. and Lee, N. (eds) (2008a), Global Conflict Resolution Through Positioning Analysis (New York: Springer). Moghaddam, F., Harré, R. and Lee, N. (2008b), ‘Positioning and Conflict: An Introduction’, in F. Moghaddam, R. Harré and N. Lee (eds), Global Conflict Resolution through Positioning Analysis (New York: Springer), 3–20. Moghaddam, F.M., Slocum, N.R, Finkel, N., Mor, T., and Harré, R. (2000), ‘Toward a Cultural Theory of Duties’ Culture and Psychology 6:3, 275–302. Moscovici, S. (2000) Social Representations (Oxford: Polity). New York Times forum (2001a), in online discussion forum on ‘Immigration in the US’, . New York Times forum (2001b), in online discussion forum on ‘The Fox Era in Mexico’, .

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New York Times forum (2001c), in online discussion forum on ‘Immigration in the US’, . Pomfret, J. (2006), ‘Two Sides to the Border Fence’, The Washington Post National Weekly Edition, 23–29 October, 30. Potter, J. and Wetherell, M. (1987) Discourse and Social Psychology (London: Sage). Sen, A. (2006) Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny (New York: W.W. Norton and Company). Shotter, J. and Gergen, K. (1989) Preface and Introduction in J. Shotter and K. Gergen (eds), Texts of Identity (London: Sage), ix–xi. Slocum, N. (2001), ‘Positioning Analyses of Discursive Expressions of Conflicts’, Graduate School of Arts and Sciences of Georgetown University, Thesis 7926, UMI Number: 3037791 (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI). Slocum, N., and Van Langenhove, L. (2003), ‘Integration Speak: Introducing positioning theory in regional integration studies’, in R. Harré and F. Moghaddam (eds), The Self and Others: Positioning Individuals and Groups in Personal, Political, and Cultural Contexts (Westport, CT: Praeger/Greenwood), 219–34. Slocum, N. and Van Langenhove, L. (2004), ‘The Meaning of Regional Integration: Introducing Positioning Theory in Regional Integration Studies’, Journal of European Integration 26:3, 227–52. Slocum, N. and Van Langenhove, L. (2005), ‘Identity and Regional Integration’, in H. Van Ginkel, L. Van Langenhove and M. Farrell (eds), Global Politics of Regionalism (London: Pluto Press), 137–51. Slocum-Bradley (2008), ‘Discursive Production of Conflict in Rwanda’, in F. Moghaddam, R. Harré and N. Lee (eds), Global Conflict Resolution Through Positioning Analysis (New York: Springer), 207–26. Tan, S. and Moghaddam, F. (1999), ‘Positioning in Intergroup Relations’, in R. Harré and L. Van Langenhove (eds), Positioning Theory (Oxford: Blackwell), 178–94. Taylor, C. (1989), Sources of the Self: The Making of Modern Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Thompson, G. (2001), ‘US and Mexico to Open Talks On Freer Migration for Workers’, The New York Times, 16 February. Tryon, P. (2001), ‘Letter to All Federal Elected Officials – Attn: Senator Barbara Boxer’, 6 February. Van Langenhove, L. and Harré. R. (1999), ‘Introducing Positioning Theory’, in R. Harré and L. Van Langenhove (eds), Positioning Theory (Oxford: Blackwell), 14–31. Weiner, T. (2001), ‘Bush and Fox Hope Nations Will Become Better Amigos’, The New York Times, 31 January. Wittgenstein, L. (1953), Philosophical Investigations (Oxford: Blackwell). Zwick, M. and Zwick, L. (2006), ‘Immigration and Economics’, Houston Catholic Worker, XXVI:4, July–August 2006, .

Chapter 7

Identity Construction in the EU, NAFTA and Mercosur: Opportunities for Peace and Conflict Francesco Duina

Introduction Almost every country on earth belongs to a regional trade area (RTA). After World War II, RTAs numbered in the single digits. Between 1990 and 2006, partly in response to the World Trade Organization (WTO)’s faltering efforts to create a global economic system, RTAs went from around thirty to almost 200 (International Monetary Fund 1994; Frankel 1997; Urata 2002). The most prominent examples include the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), the Free Trade Area of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, the South African Development Community Protocol on Trade, South America’s Mercosur (Southern Common Market), and the European Union (EU). On the face of it, RTAs are primarily economic projects: they integrate economies across countries by removing barriers to the trade of goods and, in some cases, capital, services, and labor. Yet, as any good sociologist would stress, RTAs are also social projects – efforts that rely on and produce cultural, legal, and political material. In this chapter, I argue that RTAs have encouraged the formation of regional identities. By ‘regional identity’ I mean a sense among the citizens (or a portion of the citizens) of the member states of a given RTA that they share fundamental viewpoints and beliefs about the world.1 This chapter explores in detail how RTAs are contributing to the formation of regional identities. Other chapters in this volume pay much more attention to the manipulation, refinement, or redefinition over time of older and more established identities. This chapter also proposes that RTAs, in the process of helping regional identities form, promote both peace and conflict in their respective geographical spaces. By ‘peace’ I mean stability within and across countries: the absence of cross-national wars, internal coups, and other destabilizing events. By ‘conflict’ I mean political and military tensions within and across countries, such as those 1 Definitions of identity of course abound, as can readily be seen in this volume. The definition adopted here is in line with recent work by scholars of identity, such as Cerutti, who writes that the ‘nucleus of identity’ has to do with the ‘sharing’ of ‘certain cultural values’ (2001: 12).

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made possible by the rise of secessionist movements as they threaten to disintegrate nation states and by splits among cultural and ethnic groups in a given region. The empirical evidence comes from the EU, NAFTA, and Mercosur – the three most important RTAs in existence. The first section of this chapter examines how RTAs are contributing to the rise of regional identities. Attention turns to four primary venues: regional law, cross-national institutional building, public discourse and mobilization, and symbols and images. The second and third sections link those venues to specific instances of peace and conflict promotion. The peaceful instances include two avoided coups in Paraguay, the stabilization of Poland and other potentially volatile countries, and the crippling of Jörge Haider’s Freedom Party in Austria. Instances of conflict include the rise of the Zapatistas in Mexico and the Parti Québécois in Canada, and the cultural demarcation of the EU as a humanist and Christian space. The final section summarizes the findings and considers their implications for policymaking. I employed a variety of methodological approaches to conduct my research. The four venues driving identity formation are above all institutional; in this sense, I adopt in this chapter an institutional approach to identity formation and questions of peace and conflict. To obtain the actual data on those venues, I relied on a range of research techniques, including primary coding of laws, interviews, and analyses of primary texts (such as the proposed EU constitution, for instance), newspaper releases, and secondary sources.

The Making of Regional Identities If identity is about beliefs and viewpoints, how do RTAs contribute to the rise of regional identities? RTAs target economic life. Their objective is to promote free trade, attained by removing tariff (taxes) and non-tariff barriers (quotas, subsidies, fiscal incentives, differentials in regulatory systems, and more) to the movement of goods and, in some cases, capital, services, and labor. The official documents of RTAs do not mention identity. RTA officials – even in the closely integrated EU – do not speak of forging a common identity among the citizens of their member states. Often, in fact, they stress the importance of protecting national values and traditions.2 Yet, it would be a mistake to think of RTAs as purely economic projects which have nothing to do with identity. Economic life never happens in a vacuum (Granovetter 1985; Fligstein 2001). In the case of RTAs, integration requires a variety of supporting mechanisms and generates a number of organized activities and outputs. All of these contribute to the formation of shared beliefs and viewpoints about the world – in the language of this chapter, of regional identities. We should explore these mechanisms and activities and outputs in detail so as to be in a position, later in this chapter, to explore how they promote peace or conflict. 2 Thus, Article 151 of the Treaty of the European Union states that the EU’s main mission in the area of culture is to ensure the ‘flowering of the cultures of the Member States’.

Identity Construction in the EU, NAFTA and Mercosur

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Supporting Mechanisms Trade liberalization is a complex process that requires a number of supporting mechanisms. Two of these mechanisms – standardization through law and formal cross-national institution-building, involving regional and national authorities but also private sectors and elements of civil society – contribute to the formation of shared viewpoints and beliefs about the world. Let us examine each mechanism in turn. Standardization through Law NAFTA is a free trade area: a space where goods, capital, and some services flow freely across the three member states – Canada, Mexico, and the United States. The heart of the EU is the common market: a space where all elements of the economy (goods, services, capital, and labor) are expected to flow freely across the borders of the twenty-seven member states (which stretch from Finland to Greece and from Ireland to Poland). The erection of a common external tariff – a tax imposed by all the member states on goods from outside of the EU – further encourages internal trade. Mercosur, an agreement among Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, Uruguay, and most recently Venezuela, is also a common market. How do RTA officials ensure that things flow freely across the member states? Most obviously, they eliminate internal tariffs. Crucially, however, they also seek to remove regulatory differences across the member states. Consider, for instance, what happens when two countries have different environmental regulations for producing refrigerators. Consumers from the two countries are simply not allowed to purchase refrigerators from across the border. RTA officials can address this problem by either asking the member states to recognize each other’s regulatory frameworks or by standardizing those frameworks. In Mercosur and the EU, officials have aggressively opted for the latter option. In NAFTA, they have opted for the former to a large extent but have also pursued some standardization. The resulting standardization, despite its technical appearance, has amounted to the articulation of basic approaches to life, which, when shared across countries, function as building blocks of a regional identity. As an illustration, let us consider the laws of the EU and Mercosur in three major and rather different, topical areas central to the creation of a common market: economic life, the environment, and public health. Let us note, in particular, the number of passages in those laws (directives and regulations for the EU, decisions and resolutions for Mercosur) that provide definitions for objects (for example apple, honey, muffler), activities (for example marketing, hunting, polluting), or agents (for example nurse, pilot, employer), and that provide normative standpoints (for example all food labels must specify fat content, discrimination on the basis of race is illegal) about the world. These laws are mandatory in the member states. Table 7.1 identifies the stunning number of laws and passages:

Table 7.1

Number of standardizing passages in the EU (1959–2000) and Mercosur (1991–2000) in three areas Economics

EU

Directives Regulations

Environment Passages (est.)


Public health Notions


Total laws

Total notions (est.)

Passages

# with definitional content

228

256

2,137

31

4

283

13

3

84

535

2,504

# with normative content

517

863

13,217

48

13

687

18

11

561

1,470

14,465

MERCOSUR

Decisions

Resolutions

Notions (est.)

Decisions

Resolutions

Notions

Decisions

Resolutions

Notions (est.)

# with definitional content

37

313

6,638

2

5

56

2

114

1,550

473

8,244

# with normative content

79

314

11,813

4

10

140

4

174

8,793

585

20,746

Note When a law has both definitional and normative content, it is counted twice on the table (once as a law with definitional content, once as a law with normative content). To determine which laws belong to a given issue area, I used the following criteria. Laws related to economic life were those concerned with the production and exchange of goods, labor, capital, and services. For the environment, they were those related to the preservation of natural habitats, animal life, eco-systems, and natural resources. For public health, they were laws related to the wellbeing of human populations. The EU’s own classification schemes of its laws into subject areas (such as taxation, free movement of goods, and services) helped me identify which laws to examine. For Mercosur, I manually identified the relevant laws from the entire legal output. When the number of laws in a given RTA and topical area exceeded 100, I took a statistically representative sample (based on a margin of error of ± 10 per cent, a confidence level of 95 per cent, and a p value of .5) of those laws and then measured the average number of passages with definitional or normative content. I then applied that average to the entire set of laws in that RTA and topical area. Source: Duina (2006).


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As Table 7.1 indicates, officials in both the EU and Mercosur have been incredibly busy standardizing much of the world they live in. It is of course impossible to discuss here in detail what all of those laws state. But consider two representative examples: three EU directives (93/104, 92/85, 96/34) surrounding working conditions and women, and three Mercosur resolutions (44/98, 1/97, 42/96) related to dairy products. From a definitional perspective, the EU directives specify, among other things, the meaning of ‘maternity leave’ (a minimum of fourteen weeks continuous leave offered to pregnant workers, including a mandatory two-week leave period near the time of birth), ‘parental leave’ (a minimum leave of three months spent taking care of a newborn or adopted child, until the age of eight), ‘night time’ (a period of at least seven hours that must include the hours between midnight and 5 am) and ‘daily rest’ (a period of at least eleven consecutive hours every twenty-four hours). From a normative standpoint, they then require employers to guarantee those leaves and adequate rest periods. In the case of Mercosur, officials have painstakingly targeted several cheeses (Minas Frescal, Parmesan, Reggiano, Reggianito, Sbrinz, and Tybo) for standardization. Article 5 of Resolution 42/96, for instance, specifies in detail what Tybo cheese is: its ingredients, appeal to the senses (texture, color, flavor, smell), shape and weight, physical and chemical composition, and production process. On the normative side, the law spells out handling, hygienic, and other types of requirements. If we look beyond these three resolutions, we see that officials have done the same for at least another five types of cheeses, a variety of creams and fats, milk, milk derivatives, and desserts. Though certainly technical, these laws amount to complex webs of meanings that can fundamentally shape people’s beliefs and viewpoints about the world. Pregnancy and work are no small matters. Nor, in fact, are dairy products (as the French, Italians, and other Europeans have made clear). Nor are most of the several thousand objects, activities, and agents targeted by RTA law. What constitutes chocolate? This question was at the center of a major feud among EU countries in 1995. What do we mean by ‘disabled’ people? What safety requirements should toys have? How much sulfur dioxide should be in the atmosphere? What hygienic requirements should nurses comply with when drawing blood from patients? Ample evidence shows that RTA citizens, certainly in the EU but also increasingly in Mercosur, are aware of the impact that such extensive standardization efforts are having on their everyday perceptions of the world and of themselves. In his recent groundbreaking book on national attitudes towards integration, for instance, Díez Medrano reported that the British often and quite forcefully criticize the ‘European Union’s tendency to set standards for everything’. To his many interviewees, ‘the perceived excess of regulation on the part of the European Union not only seemed ridiculous … but it was also sometimes perceived as an infringement of the country’s right to self-governance or a threat to the country’s identity’ (2003: 50). As one respondent told Díez Medrano, ‘I dislike it [the EU] on the grounds that at times it goes against national identity to a certain degree. You know, ‘you have to do this, you have to do that’ (2003:

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50, 49). Other studies have shown that citizens of other member states feel quite like the British. EU rules have profoundly shaped some professional fields, for instance. For lawyers in Germany, this has meant embracing ‘new aims, attitudes, and styles of working’ and thus facing challenges to their traditional ‘sense of identity’ as lawyers (Shaw 2005: 224). This has caused significant adjustments and, in some cases, turmoil. At the same time, it is important to stress that there are important differences among RTAs. What, exactly, is subject to standardization, varies. The number of passages in Table 7.1 suggest as much for the EU and Mercosur: rather surprisingly given its younger age, Mercosur has several thousand more passages with standardizing content. The contrast with NAFTA is even more striking: there, officials have so far produced fewer than 1,000 passages in the entire legal code. There are also differences in the actual content of the passages, even when these target the same topics. For example, NAFTA understands labor rights to include the right to strike and form labor unions (articles one and three of the North American Agreement on Labor Cooperation, or NAALC). The same applies for Mercosur (Declaración Sociolaboral of 10 December 1998), but not for the EU. In the EU alone, however, do migrant workers from the member states have access to unemployment benefits (Regulation 1408/71). This suggests that the building blocks of identities differ across RTAs both in their numbers as well as in their content. Formal Cross-National Institution-Building RTAs depend for their daily functioning on national government representatives working in transnational associations and forums with established rules of procedures and objectives. The interactions are intense: representatives meet frequently, know each other by first name, and hear from each other (via telephone or email) very regularly. They are often joined by representatives from trade unions, industry, and other interest groups. The result is the rise of transnational communities of administrators and organized societal interests sharing increasingly similar beliefs and viewpoints about what is desirable, who they are as professionals, and what should and should not happen in their regions. As an illustration, let us first consider Mercosur’s Comisión Sociolaboral. Mercosur’s 1998 Declaración Sociolaboral includes nineteen labor principles – including the right to strike and form unions – that the member states are expected to study and apply. For the practical implementation of the declaration, the member states created the Comisión Sociolaboral del Mercosur (with resolutions 15/1999 and 12/2000). The commission is made up of permanent representatives from the member states’ labor departments, national employer associations, and labor unions. It holds meetings multiple times a year to discuss progress and national experiences with the Mercosur principles. Participants share much information, insights, recommendations, and perspectives – all with two overarching aims. First, representatives are expected to learn from each other about national traditions and approaches to labor issues. To that end, the member states are asked to produce ‘memorias’: reports detailing existing legal,


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administrative, and societal practices. This helps forge a shared awareness of current and past realities on the ground. In 2006, according to Maricela Viera, Coordinator for the Secretaría del Area Mercosur in Uruguay’s Ministerio de Trabajo y Seguridad Social, the focus was on articles 9 (right to form unions) and 13 (governments are expected to facilitate social dialogue between employers and labor by means of formal institutions and mechanisms).3 Second, officials are asked to formulate initiatives to ensure that the nineteen labor principles of the declaration are applied in practice. This means participating in a collective effort at policymaking: setting practical objectives, testing ideas, delineating programs, and so on. There is, in turn, an increasing feeling of kinship among the commission’s participants – a belief that they belong to a broader community of professionals. In an interview with the author, Gerardo Corres, an Argentine representative to the commission, described the intensity of the work taking place at the regional level. ‘There is now a regional thematic to which we must all pay attention’, he noted; ‘there is a lot of mobilization, a lot of work that is done in the commission’.4 Ruben Cortina, a colleague of Corres, then proceeded to elaborate: We are [as a result of the commission] in permanent and regular contact with our counterparts in Brazil, Uruguay, and Paraguay … we have no choice on that; our thinking about labor issues, including the right to strike – let alone form unions – has become more regional: we do not think of problems in Argentina but of problems in the Mercosur area … by now, I know my counterparts very well … we are friends, we go out to dinner, we speak often … this was not so years ago, before Mercosur … I must tell you that a person like myself and my colleagues do not per se belong fully to a regional bureaucracy, but our heads certainly operate more at the regional level than the national. We are subject to national pressures, but we have a regional vision.5

The commission, we should note, is but one example of Mercosur structures which draw heavily from the administrations of the member states. Fifteen transnational working groups (on topics ranging from energy to agriculture), over ten committees, and several specialized groups are permanently in place to aid senior representatives draft and oversee legislation, issue administrative requirements, and more. They are joined by at least eight ad-hoc groups. Compared to the EU, Mercosur has only a basic infrastructure for transnational administrative cooperation. In the area of labor cooperation, one of many examples from the EU is the Administrative Commission on Social 3 Electronic Correspondence, August 2006. 4 Argentina’s Representative to the Comisión Sociolaboral and also a member of Argentina’s Ministerio de Trabajo, Empleo y Seguridad Social. Interview with the author in Buenos Aires, August 2003. 5 Coordinator of International Affairs at Argentina’s Ministerio de Trabajo, Empleo y Seguridad Social and member of Mercosur’s Subgrupo No. 10 (Work, Employment and Social Security) and of the Comisión Nacional (National Commission) for the implementation of Mercosur’s Declaración Sociolaboral in Argentina. Interview with the author in Buenos Aires, August 2003.

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Security for Migrant Workers (ACSSMW). The commission is composed of representatives of national labor, work and health departments. Attached to the European Commission (the supranational executive arm of the EU), the ACSSMW is charged with overseeing all administrative, technical, and financial questions associated with the implementation of labor principles stipulated at the EU level. It meets several times a year, has a multi-million Euro budget, and issues recommendations and binding decisions for national administrations. Thus in 1996 for instance, the ACSSMW, recognizing the need to inform migrant workers of their rights, published a practical guide with a special section on unemployment benefits (1996: Section 5.8). In that same year, it also produced one important binding decision (Decision 96/172/EC), in which it streamlined the unemployment benefit procedures for workers in professions, such as international transport or diplomacy, whose country of residence varies often over short periods of time or is unclear. Aiding the ACSSMW is a second transnational administrative body: the Advisory Committee on Social Security for Migrant Workers. Also attached to the European Commission, it serves as a forum for representatives from national labor and employment departments to meet with representatives of trade unions and employer organizations from every member state of the EU. The main function of the committee is to supply the ACSSMW with opinions on all aspects of social security rights for migrant workers, including unemployment rights. A significant body of research shows that national representatives working in organizations such as the ACSSMW are indeed developing a sense that they have much in common. In a recent study, Egeberg conducted extensive interviews with almost fifty officials from five member states working in expert committees at the EU level. ‘Being embedded in EU level structures and separated in time and space from their primary institutional affiliations back home’, he noted, ‘officials tend to develop a sense of allegiance to the supranational level’ (1999: 470–71) – a belief, in the language of this chapter, that they belong to something that extends across countries and national confines. Around 75 per cent of those working in committees or groups affiliated with the European Commission ‘feel an allegiance to, or identify’ with the EU to a significant extent. Around 66 per cent of those working under the aegis of the Council of Ministers (an intergovernmental institution) feel the same way. In a series of separate studies on Scandinavian countries, Trondal discovered similar patterns. In the case of Swedish officials working in EU committees, 48 per cent of those surveyed reported feeling a sense of allegiance towards those committees and 42 per cent stated that a certain esprit de corps was emerging from working together. The numbers for Danish officials were 36 per cent and 45 per cent respectively (2002: 477). In the words of one Swedish official, ‘we have frequent contacts between meetings, rather informal personal contacts. These result in a certain allegiance to the committee and to the individuals who attend’ (ibid.: 481). In another study, Trondal found that national officials working in committees and groups under the European Commission adopt ‘Euro-speak’: a particular grammar, semantic expressions, and vocabulary, all of which help ‘bind actors together and assist in the construction of a distinct European elite’. ‘As a consequence of interacting frequently with fellow colleagues within the


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Commission’, he then adds, ‘civil servants are likely to take on supranational identifications’ (2001). There are reasons to believe, then, that regional integration promotes the formation of transnational administrative building that is gradually giving rise to teams of professionals from various member states who share with increasing awareness similar perspectives about the work they do, who they are as professionals, and what they should strive for in their regions. In the language of this chapter, transnational administrative building is giving rise to cadres of professionals who share similar viewpoints and beliefs about the world. Though certainly involving a minority of the population of any given RTA, these dynamics are significant and likely to prove important for issues related to peace and conflict. Organized Activities and Outputs Let us now turn away from what RTAs need to function and consider the activities and outputs that they generate once they begin to operate. Again, two types are especially important: public discourse and mobilization, and shared symbols and images. Public Discourse and Mobilization Identities depend on language: we use language to tell others and ourselves how we view the world and what we believe. An essential prerequisite for the formation of regional identities is, therefore, a common vocabulary. As it turns out, regional integration stimulates citizens and societal organizations from the member states to establish formal and informal cross-national forums of cooperation. This happens most often in response to initiatives from RTA officials, such as new policies and initiatives, or their failure to take sufficient action in certain policy issues. Such cooperation is fundamental for the development of a transnational public discourse over certain issues and topics. The NAFTA texts, for example, include the NAALC – a document that identifies eleven basic principles for workers in the region. The NAALC has made possible the filing of labor violation claims across national borders: indeed, it stipulates that labor from one member state can report infractions in a second member state. Because of what it says and does not say, it has also stirred significant debate and anger among workers in the three member states. As can be easily imagined, this has generated all sorts of exchanges between unions across borders, creating, in the words of an expert observer, ‘new movement frames, transnational identities, and coalitions for subsequent action’ (Stillerman 2003: 578, italics added). Thus, for several years from 1991 on, Canadian activists organized – with the help of the think tank Common Frontiers – a series of trinational meetings among labor representatives and others. Formal transnational organizations were set up. The most prominent, The Coalition for Justice in the Maquiladoras, united around 500 labor and other groups from across the three member states (Stillerman 2003: 578–9). High-profile visits by labor leaders also

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took place. 1998 was for instance the first year that a labor leader from the United States (AFL-CIO President John Sweeney) met and worked with representatives from a Mexican union that was independent from the government (the Union Nacional de Trabajadores, or the National Workers’ Union) (Donnelly 1998). Mexican unions have reciprocated in kind. The NAALC, noted one observer, ‘has helped Mexican unions forge stronger ties with their North American counterparts’ (Donnelly 1998); these ‘alliances’, reflected a Mexican labor activist, are ‘something new, something interesting’ (Donnelly 1998). Something similar has happened in the South American space, where the absence of strong Mercosur labor regulation has sparked the unprecedented cooperation of trade unions across the four member states. In October of 1996, those unions formed the Coordinadora de Centrales Sindicales del Cono Sur (or Association of National Trade Unions from the Southern Cone). This was described as an organization ‘without precedents in the history of the region’ which has brought together in a formal setting union leaders from all four of Mercosur’s founding member states to demand the recognition of additional labor issues in the direction of Mercosur policies (Calloni 1996; Agence Presse 2003). Others called it a ‘unified movement of power’ fighting against the ‘neoliberal’ mission of Mercosur (Calloni 1996). In one of the first shows of strength in December 1996, thousands of union members from all four member states clashed with Brazilian police officers in a major demonstration against Mercosur and urged their respective leaders to take labor issues into consideration. Those protests were paralleled by those of transportation workers from the four member states in a town on the Brazilian-Argentinean border, by a paralyzing four-hour strike for workers’ rights in Uruguay, and by other protesters in Paraguay demonstrating in front of the embassies of the member states (La Jornada 1996). Whether in South or North America, these activities have provided unions and their representatives with a common language about notions of justice, fairness, agency, the positive or negative nature of integration, the mission of labor, and much more. As scholars of social movements and framing strategies teach us, such shared vocabulary can be considered as ‘glue’ that ties otherwise disparate people together – as material that can ‘activate larger collective identities’ (Gamson 1990: 150). Labor has certainly mobilized in the EU as well. But perhaps some of the most interesting transnational mobilization has concerned women. Before the arrival of the EU, there were no major regional-level organizations articulating and representing women’s interests. Following the push for the completion of the international market in the 1980s and the adoption of new EU directives and regulations on work and women, a number of high-profile, explicitly EUfocused, groups were established. These are European groups: their members come from most, if not all, of the member states and their aim is the advancement of European women by articulating shared definitions of problems, key concepts, and solutions. Table 7.2 reports on the major European women’s groups: The most prominent European group is the European Women’s Lobby (EWL). Founded in 1990, the EWL has over 3,000 national and EU-wide member organizations, and close links with national women’s groups that are not formal members (European Women’s Lobby 2000: 14). Based in Brussels, its primary

Table 7.2

Major European-level women’s interest groups

Group and year of birth Membership base

Program

European Women’s Lobby (EWL) – 1990

3,000 national and EU-wide groups Lobby and work with the EU to promote equality, rights Individuals who are members of national groups Coordinate activities of national and European women’s Dutch President, French and Portuguese Vice-Presidents groups Board members from every member state Ensure implementation of EU gender laws

European Women Lawyers Association (EWLA) – 2000

National women lawyers’ associations Individual lawyers from member states 25 board members: one from each member state

Improve public understanding of EU laws on women Defend women’s interests in the EU Strengthen links and understanding among female lawyers in the EU

European Institute of Women’s Health (EIWH) – 1996

Individuals from member states Health care professionals from member states Women’s interest groups Patient organizations

Promote health and wellbeing of women as a priority for the European Commission Research on women’s health issues on a European level Promote equality in health care treatment and options for women in the EU Present recommendation to European Parliament

European Federation Organizations from EU member states and Switzerland of Women Working in the Home (FEFAF) – 1983

Lobby EU Parliament and Commission to recognize worth of domestic work Ease transition from domestic work to workplace for European women

Business and Individuals and groups from the EU but also Professional Women – Switzerland, Iceland and other countries Europe (BPWE) – 1985 Officers from all EU countries

Equal opportunity and status for women in economic, civil, and political life Promote the number of women in decision-making positions

Note Internet addresses of these groups are as follows: EWL: www.womenlobby.org; EWLA: www.ewla.org; EIWH: www.eurohealth.ie; FEFAF: www. fefaf.org; BPWE: www.bpw-europe.org.

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mission is to promote the interests of working women by lobbying and working with the EU institutions, holding public meetings across Europe, and raising awareness of women’s issues through publication and research (European Women’s Lobby 2000: 2). In the words of Cécile Greboval, Policy Coordinator for the group, during an interview with the author, ‘we play a role in explaining to the public what’s happening at the EU level [on the issue of women] … No one else does that’.6 The focus is on European women: their problems, needs, and aspirations. The European Women Lawyers Association (EWLA) is a second major group. Founded in 2000, it is above all a networking body, linking thousands of female lawyers across member states. Its language is again Euro-focused: Article 4.1 of its constitution states, for instance, that ‘any person who is a qualified woman lawyer according to customs and practice of the member state where the relevant woman has her principal residence, or has studied law, or is a student of law, in one of the EU member states is eligible for membership’. The primary mission of the EWLA is then to produce research and education on the rights of working EU women: ‘to improve the understanding of European legislation in relation to equal opportunities, with particular reference to women’ (European Women Lawyers Association 2002). To that end, the ELWA organizes a yearly congress and conferences, sponsors research projects, disseminates publications and information, and comments on EU policies. The EWLA too, then, brings EU women together and fosters the development of a common vocabulary around issues, solutions, objectives, and politics. Much the same can be said for the other groups in Table 7.2: they, too, build important connections across women in the EU space and engage in activities that are contributing to the rise of a shared language, and therefore identity, among women. Exposure to Shared Symbols and Images Symbols and images can profoundly shape one’s beliefs and viewpoints. Depending on a host of factors – such as age, depth of integration, and the will of political leaders (Neumann 2003: 161) – RTAs differ in the amount of symbols and images that they generate. All, however, in one way or another, produce material that shapes citizens’ perceptions of their community, values, and place in the world. Such material includes flags, references to geographical territories (for example North America, the Southeast Asian countries, the South American cone, the Andean mountains, and so on), the celebration of particular brands of market capitalism (for example ‘local and balanced’, neoliberal, and so on), and depictions of a common future. They also include discrete events, such as routine meetings of heads of states, which are duly televized or photographed. It is of course difficult to measure the impact of those symbols and images on the population of those countries.7 There is no doubt, however, that they have an impact. 6 Interview with the author, Brussels, April 2004. 7 On this and other questions on how people relate to integration, see Slocum and Van Langenhove (2004).


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The most powerful example of this is probably the EU’s introduction of the Euro in 2002. ‘Money’, Thomas Risse recently reminded us, ‘is among the most important identity markers in people’s daily lives’ (2003: 488). Now a currency in fifteen of the member states stretching from Ireland to Greece (with more countries queuing to adopt it), the Euro provides daily and tangible proof to 315 million citizens that they ‘belong’ to a society that is transnational in nature. The banknote denominations have a common design in all countries. The eight denominations of coins include different national designs on one side but also a European design on the other. A number of studies have shown the close and symbiotic relationship between the Euro and a European identity. ‘The Euro’, notes Risse, ‘has already left its mark on people’s attitudes and feelings towards Europe and the EU’; based on survey data, he reports that ‘a large majority of Euroland citizens agree that using the Euro makes them feel more European than before’, though the extent to which that is the case varies depending on the strength of ties to the home nation state (2003: 488, 494). According to Kaelberer, in turn, the Euro has promoted the formation of a European identity by representing, but also requiring, trust across national frontiers (2004). The importance of the Euro for identity formation can also be gauged by considering the opposition to its adoption in countries such as Great Britain or Denmark, where citizens have voted to stay out of Euroland. Much evidence suggests that a major reason for rejecting the currency is a strong sense of national identity accompanied by fear that participation in Euroland is bound to erode that identity. Consider, for instance, the words of Pia Kjaersgaard, the successful leader of the conservative People’s Party in Denmark, a few weeks before the 2000 referendum on whether to join the Euro. ‘The essential issue is the preservation of our sovereignty’, said Kjaersgaard. ‘The euro’, she continued, ‘will erode our national authority and identity at a time when Denmark is already becoming more and more multiethnic and globalized’ (Cohen 2000). Gabel and Hix have, in turn, recently shown that ‘respondents who see themselves as exclusively British in the near future are less supportive of British membership in the single currency’ than those who do not see themselves as exclusively British (2005: 75). Several other symbols and images have done much to shape people’s perceptions of the world and their position in it. Two deserve mention here. The Schengen Agreement of 1985 removed border checks among participating countries. Already implemented in twenty-two member states, the agreement created the ‘Schengen area’: a space where people travel across national borders without having to stop. The removal of guards, physical bars and other sorts of barriers and inspections, has had enormous meaning for those who frequently travel across borders but also for those who do not. Citizens of a ‘Schengen country’ are now aware that they are ‘connected’ with several other like-minded countries – even though curiously enough that connection is actually figurative for non-adjacent countries (that is, it manifests itself at airports, where different exit lines await citizens of the Schengen countries). The second is the required presence, in most of the member states according to national law, of the EU flag in front of every public building where a national flag may also be flying. The flag now appears also on motorized vehicle’s license plates throughout the EU – this,

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too, as a reflection of national choice rather than imposition on the part of the EU. Importantly, following the recent agreement among transportation ministers and pending the likely approval of the European Parliament, it will also appear on all EU driver’s licenses (Bilefsky 2006). Mercosur and NAFTA are younger and do not aspire to a similar level of integration as the EU. Yet, they too have produced symbols and images that have shaped, to some extent at least, citizens’ sense of who they are and their broader community (Jelin 1999: 43). Among the most important are summits where the heads of the member states meet to discuss their block’s current situation, challenges, and aspirations. Taking place in one of the member states on a regular basis (much more frequently in Mercosur than NAFTA, to be sure), those meetings generate significant media attention – they are discussed in front-page articles in national newspapers and top-of-the-hour radio and television newscasts. Although there is skepticism amongst the public as to the purpose or practical impact of those RTAs, the events undoubtedly communicate to the viewers and readers that indeed ‘something common’ is being forged. The leaders’ use of terms such as ‘we’, ‘us’, ‘our countries’, ‘our people’, ‘our future’, ‘our challenges’, ‘our shared traditions and values’, has an ephemeral but nonetheless real impact on people’s minds that, when repeated over time, acquires a certain significance, especially when the member states have a history of tensions and disputes. We can see these dynamics at work most clearly in the case of Mercosur and, in particular, in how officials from the member states have spoken of spearheading a ‘local’ response to the demands of global capitalism – one that promotes social justice and equality but also raises the profile of South America in the world. The words of Paraguayan President Nicanor Duarte Frutos in the summer of 2003, as he was taking office, are in this sense typical: ‘The solution to many of our economic and social problems depends on integrating our efforts in the zone … We need a Mercosur that is not solely confined to tariffs, but rather a bloc that is far more culturally-oriented in terms of defending the identity of our people … as Lula [Brazil’s president] told me, there must be no hegemonic countries in the region but, rather, countries that promote a policy of inclusion, of solidarity’ (Global News Wire 2003). ‘References to integration, brotherhood, historical origins and common destiny’, reflects one scholar of Mercosur, ‘are all to be found in official declarations and in the assertions made by many researchers and observers of the current process’ (Jelin 1999: 39). Thus, President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva himself stressed as recently as July 2006 that ‘together we are much more than the sum of our parts … today we are negotiating with all world countries without being ashamed of saying who we are and what we want … We also take pride in making our nations respected … we have carried out a small revolution in bringing changes to our hemisphere’ (BBC Monitoring Latin America 2006). Statements such as these, reaching millions of people across the member states, have been repeated and reported daily for fifteen years. NAFTA officials, too, have been articulating their own visions of a united North America. Rather than focusing on pride, social justice, or a common cultural heritage, however, the NAFTA vision has centered on images of economic dynamism, technology, and wealth creation – an embrace of open markets and


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the power of economics, in line with a more Anglo-Saxon approach to capitalism. Some of the more forthcoming language has come from Canadian officials. The words of former Minister of Foreign Affairs, Lloyd Axworthy, during a speech at the North American Institute in Santa Fe, New Mexico, are representative: With rapidly evolving transport and communication technologies transcending national borders, distances, and time zones, it is more important than ever that we co-operate in a wide range of areas: everything from our shared natural environment, to movement of goods and people, to education and human resources … We need to move ahead and develop a vision of what we want the North American community to be … it means developing a sense of North American identity, while at the same time preserving our separate national identities … it is time that we developed a distinctive North American approach to [these issues]. (Toronto Star 2001)

Officials from the United States and Mexico have used similar language. Immediately after its passage, Mexican President Carlos Salinas for example stressed in a press conference that NAFTA would bring Mexico closer to being ‘a part of the first, not the third world’. Mexico was gaining entry into the club of modern, efficient, and successful countries. Mexico’s center-left opposition party leader Cuauhtémoc Cardenas Solórzano recognized as much, despite his opposition to the deal: ‘It marks the end of an important stage in the life of our country,’ he wrote; ‘whether we like it or not, NAFTA will become the new institutional framework for regulating our economic and financial relations with the US and Canada’ (Clark Scott 1993). Clearly, regional integration projects generate symbols and images that shape in a variety of ways people’s viewpoints and beliefs. Their impact is all the more relevant when it is combined with that of law, administrative building, and public discourse and mobilization. We must now examine how the process of identity formation promotes both peace and conflict in RTAs. The next section turns again to examples from the EU, NAFTA, and Mercosur.

Possibilities for Peace This section points to one critical consequence of the rise of regional identities: an increase in regional stability. It is of course very difficult to isolate the impact of any given variable in an RTA on something as intangible and complex as ‘stability’ or, more broadly, ‘peace’. We can nonetheless point to crucial moments of crisis in a given RTA and observe how key drivers of regional identity – shared definitional and normative stances as found in law, transnational organization building for state and regional officials, public discourse and mobilization, and shared symbols and images – have shaped outcomes. Some of the strongest evidence comes from Mercosur. Democracy is relatively new to the region. The member states still had dictatorships in the 1980s. The founding and everyday working of Mercosur are heavily dependent on the member states functioning as democratic countries. Paraguay, the least developed and

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more unstable of the member states, has struggled to remain democratic. Military officers staged two coups in 1996 and 2000. They failed. The primary reason for this was the unequivocal stance of the member states. Argentina and Brazil, along with Uruguay, made it clear that they would not tolerate a dictatorship in their own backyards. Economic reasons were certainly of great importance. But the truly minor weight of Paraguay’s economy suggests that economics were a secondary concern. The driving concern was that Paraguay now ‘belonged’ to a bloc of member states deeply committed to each other’s welfare. An affront to one country was seen as a challenge to Mercosur – the project, the entity – as a whole. In the language of this chapter, it was a question of symbols, images, and a regional public discourse, all promoting economic integration with an emphasis on interdependence, solidarity, and social justice. Consider the reactions to the first attempted coup in April 1996. Latin American countries have a long tradition of non-interference with domestic political events. Yet, when news broke out that General Lino Cesea Oviedo threatened to topple the government after facing pressures to retire, ‘Paraguay’s trading partners in the Southern Cone Market (Mercosur) – Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay – reacted rapidly and forcefully to the coup’ (Hakim 1996). It was, in the eyes of one expert observer from the United States, an ‘overwhelming response’ (Valenzuela 1997: 53). The ambassadors of Brazil and Argentina went directly to the general’s headquarters to try and reason with him. The Brazilian ambassador assiduously worked with Paraguay’s president, Juan Carlos Wasmosy, to diffuse the crisis. Argentina’s president, Carlos Menem, offered to fly to Asuncion if Wasmosy ‘considers my presence useful’. Argentina’s Foreign Minister Guido di Tella then issued a clear statement of what, from his country’s perspective, was at stake: ‘If Paraguay does not have a perfect democracy it will end up isolated by the democratic clauses such as those that rule the countries of the Southern Cone Common Market and the European Union’ (United Press International 1996). A month after the failed coup, Brazilian President Fernando Henrique Cardoso flew to Asuncion to ‘emphasize the determination of Brazil and Mercosur to preserve democracy in Paraguay’ (Gazeta Mercantil Online 1996). A couple of months later, while reflecting on Mercosur’s increasing strength, he would then state: ‘There are no cultural differences that separate us’ (Escobar 1996). Mercosur, in other words, embodied the newly found commitment of its member states, and the region more broadly, to a healthy democratic way of life. ‘Mercosur’, observed Richard Feinberg – Special Assistant to the United States President for National Security Affairs – gave Paraguay’s neighbors a big stake in its democratic stability. Brazil and Argentina could not afford the collapse of democracy … such a loss would deny the strategic conception of community behind the Southern Cone, and could become a dagger pointed at the young democracies in Buenos Aires and Brasilia (Feinberg 1996, emphasis added). The attempted coup of May 2000 – instigated as well by General Oviedo – generated similar language and dynamics. Argentina’s President Fernando de la Rua spoke directly to the Paraguayan people via Radio Uno of Paraguay (with the statements relayed by Radio Mitre in Buenos Aires) with words that evoked images of closeness and connections between the two countries: ‘the maintenance


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and consolidation of democracy in Paraguay are of paramount importance … we all earnestly hope and wish that democracy will be preserved … the important thing for me is to underscore now the value of institutions and the prevalence of democratic institutions in Paraguay’ (BBC Summary of World Broadcasts 2000). The Brazilian Foreign Ministry deployed similar language, stressing that the government reaffirmed ‘its solidarity and support, loyal to the assumed commitments’ (Xinhua General News Service 2000). Such references to loyalty, commitment, and solidarity, pronounced in a direct radio communiqué from a foreign president, would have been highly unlikely, if not outright impossible, a decade earlier, when the image of a united bloc – of countries sharing certain values and in pursuit of shared objectives – was missing. Peace in times of crisis has also prevailed in the EU area. Here, economics have certainly made a difference. Intraregional trade figures are high – more so than in Mercosur (Duina 2006: 20). This, as the original visionaries for integration – Jean Monnet and Robert Schuman – had hoped would happen, has unquestionably promoted peace on the continent. But economics are only one part of the story. There is indeed no question that the adoption of the EU’s legal system – with its definitional and normative notions – has had a stabilizing effect on the member states. This is both because of the volume of those notions and their nature: as a whole, they put forth a vision of reality that advances individual liberty and basic ideas of equality, contracts, regulated competition, and limited state intervention. The impact of those laws has been especially clear in countries that have joined the EU from Central and Eastern Europe after the collapse of the Soviet Union, as well as those transitioning from dictatorship – such as Greece, Portugal, and Spain. The parallel internationalization of national administrations in those countries has also had, by virtue of ‘plugging’ state apparatuses into the broader EU, a stabilizing effect on those member states. Poland provides powerful evidence in support of these points. Similar to the rest of Central and Eastern Europe, a large majority of the Polish people do not trust the state and its activities. In the words of Polish political philosopher Marek Cichocki, ‘Poles in fact do not believe in their own state, in their own capacities, in their own elites. They do not believe that their own state can be the principal factor of modernization and of the transformation for the better’ (as quoted in Sadurski 2004: 372). Thus, for instance, only seven per cent of the population believes that national political institutions function effectively (Sadurski 2004: 373). From the perspective of peace, the fall of the Soviet Union created a potentially explosive situation: what would happen to Poland? The EU addressed this question by quickly offering Poland membership. The Poles welcomed the opportunity. The most pressing prerequisite was the adoption of the 80,000 pages of EU legislation. The Poles understood that the resulting transformation of their legal system would be their ticket to becoming a modern and functioning nation-state: it would be a form of guarantee that their country would join the family of European first-world nations. ‘Rule adoption occurred’, noted recently one observer, ‘because the ideas underlying these rules resonated with national political discourses’ over where the country should head (Brusis 2003: 9, as quoted in Sadurski 2004: 376–7). With the help of the European Commission, the Poles,

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along with the other countries from the region, duly rushed to overhaul their legal regime. Today, the new legal system makes Poland ‘more resilient against crises and potential upheavals … it [gave Poland] extra protection against a possible slide into chaos’ (Sadurski 2004: 372). Additionally, 50 per cent of Poles believe that the EU institutions work well, while most view Brussels as having ‘quasimythical’ status (Sadurski 2004: 374). Most are happy to be back in the European family of nations. Much the same can be said of other member states, including Spain, Portugal, and Greece. The EU’s legal system but also its transnational administrative apparatuses and symbols have impacted wealthier and otherwise stable member states as well. This was clearly seen a few years ago in Austria with the 1999 electoral success of the Freedom Party and its leader, Jörg Haider. With a total of 27 per cent of the popular vote, this far-right party joined the coalition government with a strong anti-immigration, racist, and nationalistic policy agenda. The success rang alarm bells in and outside of Austria: here was a possibly incendiary answer to the pressing questions that unprecedented amounts of immigration from Asia and Africa raised for many EU member states. The member states resolved to face the beast head-on. Their strategy was twofold. First, at the level of symbols and images and law, they explicitly denounced events in Austria as challenging directly what the EU ‘stands for’. Javier Solana, the EU representative for foreign affairs, stated that ‘with things that have to do with principles, with values – there’s no possibility of compromise’ (International Herald Tribune 2000). Condemnations came from every corner of the EU. The European Parliament’s President, Nicole Fontaine, described Haider’s worldview as ‘insulting, xenophobic and racist’. She then continued: ‘I can assure you that the parliament … will be intransigent as regards respect of the principles of liberty, democracy, human rights and the rule of law’ (Black 2000). Haider responded sternly to these criticisms, but nonetheless issued a declaration (after great pressure from the Austrian President Thomas Klestil) of ‘European values’ to which his party was committed. This did little to reassure the EU partners. The EU would later commission a report to determine the extent to which the Austrian government was showing ‘respect’ for ‘common European values’ (Agence France Presse 2000). A pan-European team of three ‘wise men’ was put in charge: Finland’s former president Martti Ahtisaari, Spain’s former foreign minister Marcelino Oreja, and Jochen Frowein, director of the Max Planck Institute in Germany. As a second measure, officials from the EU member states embarked on a practical strategy: they used transnational bureaucratic circles to shun Austrian officials at meetings and in working groups. Immediately after the swearing in of the new government, at the urging of the European Parliament, all of the EU member states imposed a ban on bilateral meetings with the country’s new ministers. Austrian officials would still be able to take their seats at EU meetings, but they would not participate in the backdoor meetings that normally precede official gatherings. This effectively shut them out of any EU business for months. In addition, no Austrian diplomat would be recommended for any international post within the EU structure. No time was wasted. Even before the formal adoption of the sanctions, French


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defense minister, Alain Richard, canceled a meeting with Austrian defense officials set for the following week, while Danish diplomats withdrew from a dinner at the Austrian Embassy in Copenhagen (International Herald Tribune 2000). Importantly, by all accounts this strategy of estrangement from the EU family proved successful. Haider himself resigned from his leadership position in 2000. In the 2002 general elections, the party won only 10 per cent of the votes. In regional elections in 2003, the count was even lower. In the 2004 European Parliament elections, the figure reached a mere 6 per cent. The reflections of European Parliament’s President Nicole Fontain neatly summed up the turn of events: ‘This crisis has strengthened Europe’s political identity. It has had a galvanizing effect, bringing Europeans together by reminding them of the things that truly unite them at the deepest level, but which some people appear to have forgotten, namely peace, freedom and democracy’ (Watson 2000). We could provide further examples. But it should now be clear that RTAs, as they contribute to the formation of regional identities, promote peace in their respective geographies. Regional law, transnational administrative and societal organizations, regional public discourse, and shared symbols and images have all shaped outcomes positively in their regions. Unfortunately, however, they have also had negative consequences, as the next section shows.

Seeds of Conflict The very same mechanisms that in RTAs contribute to the rise of regional identities can promote conflict in a given region. This section examines two of those mechanisms – symbols and images, and transnational institution building. Let us turn first to symbols and images. NAFTA provides us with a powerful example. The agreement gave the Army of National Liberation (EZNL), a Zapatista movement in the southeastern Mexican state of Chiapas, the very impetus for organizing and uprising. As discussed earlier, NAFTA represents a fairly aggressive strand of capitalism: devoid of any extensive measures to raise labor and environmental standards, it calls for rather abrupt transitions towards open markets in sensitive industries – such as corn. The agreement projects, in brief, a neoliberal image. Eager to seal the deal, the Mexican government uncritically rushed to sign it. One Mexican negotiator recalls, for instance, a memo from Herminio Blanco – chief of the Mexican team – urging his associates to ‘show your cards, get to the bottom, there is no tomorrow’ (Cameron and Tomlin 2000: 107). In the eyes of many, Mexico’s haste revealed, once and for all, the true spirit of their country: a nation beholden by corrupt politicians and powerful industrialists unconcerned with the general population and eager to participate in the international capitalist machine. Thus, on 1 January 1994, the day when NAFTA came into effect, three thousand, mostly indigenous, EZNL insurgents took control of four major cities in Chiapas. The movement, virtually unknown until then, used the occasion to define itself and its demands. The EZNL rejected what it thought to be NAFTA’s core values: greed, the promotion of transnational corporations, and big money.

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As one of their leaders, Commandante Marcos, announced during the takeover, ‘the free trade agreement is a death certificate for the Indian peoples of Mexico, which are expendable for the Government of Carlos Salinas de Gortari’ (Golden 1994). The EZNL, instead, called for a more equal distribution of wealth, respect for local needs and traditions, education, justice, and local control of resources. Suspicious of the federal government motives and priorities with NAFTA and more broadly, and realizing that the Mexican government was beyond redemption for the moment, it asked for autonomy or outright independence (Manaut et al. 2006: 138). Violent clashes occurred days after the uprising, resulting in the loss of 145 lives. On 12 January, a ceasefire was reached. Negotiations lasted until June, when some, but not all, of the EZNL’s demands were accepted. They then broke down. A second round of talks culminated with the San Andrés Accords of 1996, which granted autonomy and special rights to the indigenous population. But these, too, fell apart, because of the government’s unwillingness to turn those agreements into law (Manaut et al. 2006: 143). Violence again erupted, with EZNL declaring 32 municipalities autonomous. In August 2003, the EZNL declared all territories under its control to be independent of Mexico. To date, the situation remains tense, though on the whole peaceful, with significant portions of Chiapas enjoying significant, but not complete, autonomy and the EZNL continuing its campaign against NAFTA and for more rights and autonomy. If the EZNL has used NAFTA’s image to define what it did not stand for and, therefore, its own goals and its mission, Quebec’s independence movement has embraced that very same image – a capitalist program with no social or political ambitions – to articulate its own stance. The logic has been rather simple. The citizens of Quebec should not live in artificial social and political societies. Genuine cultural units, like Quebec itself, should engage with other cultural units mostly on an economic level. It follows that Quebec should leave English-speaking Canada. It should then establish strong economic ties with it and with the rest of North America. NAFTA embodies with remarkable clarity this line of thinking. As two observers put it, ‘free trade and a common North American market with the United States as well as Canada’ go ‘hand in hand with the sovereignty objectives’ (Hero and Balthazar 1988: 259, as quoted in Shulman 2000: 376). Thus, from the 1980s onwards, both the Parti Québécois (PQ) and the Liberal Party of Quebec used the very core of NAFTA’s personality to make their stance and fight. The PQ has been especially explicit in leveraging NAFTA and its core values. Throughout the late 1980s and 1990s, it expressed its strong support for the deal, insisting that it could only help the quest for independence. Thus, when confirming that the 1995 referendum on independence would take place, party leader and province premier Jacques Parizeau also said, in the very same breath, that he would ask the Quebec national assembly to ratify those portions of the NAFTA treaty that fall within the Province’s jurisdiction; this, he emphasized, would highlight the province’s vision of its future and place in the world:8 ‘sovereignty’, 8 Parizeau also asked that the province ratify the GATT treaty, in line with his vision of an open and engaged Quebec.


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he stated, ‘is the ability to vote all our laws, collect all our taxes and sign all our treaties … it is also the will to maintain a Canadian economic association within a North American free trade zone’ (Dougherty 1994). In keeping with previous practice during the 1980s, the PQ government then issued studies and statements in support of the close link between NAFTA and sovereignty (Shulman 2000). To those worried about the legal standing of an independent Quebec vis-à-vis the treaty, the government replied – without strong empirical data, in fact – that Quebec would surely be recognized as a member. Indeed, in the first of a series of commissioned studies on the repercussions of independence, the PQ gathered evidence that ‘a sovereign Quebec would likely have no trouble becoming part of the North American Free Trade Agreement’ (Mcilroy 1995). No discussion of secessionist movements would be complete without reference to the EU and the extent to which participation in the EU’s administrative circles has emboldened those movements’ stances. Much research suggests that the EU’s Committee of the Regions, along with regular and institutionalized administrative contacts between EU officials and local representatives (for purposes of fund management, for instance), has given representatives from a variety of areas – ranging from Catalonia and the Basque region, to a number of northern and southern Italian regions, to Scots, Welsh, and others – a sense of belonging to the EU and, therefore, a concomitant feeling of freedom from their national capitals. These dynamics have created considerable tensions in a number of member states, with events in Spain probably receiving the most attention (see for instance Bourne 2003: 600–602; Roller 2004). Regional integration projects can stir conflict well beyond specific geographies within nation-states. With the promotion of symbols and images, it can also raise broader issues of culture and civilization. This is clearest in the EU. The member states have been struggling amongst themselves with whether to formally recognize the continent’s Enlightenment-Christian tradition in official documents – above all, in the proposed but now failed (though mostly still under consideration in different guises) constitution. Predominantly Catholic countries – Poland, Lithuania, Malta, Portugal, the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Spain (until the new Socialist government came to power in March 2004) – fought a widely publicized battle against France, Great Britain, and the Scandinavian countries over whether the proposed EU Constitution should explicitly recognize the continent’s Christian heritage and values. Led by Italy, the seven Catholic countries wrote to Ireland, the country holding the EU Presidency in May of 2003, stating ‘this issue remains a priority for our governments as well as for millions of European citizens’ (as quoted in Black 2004). In the end, no explicit reference was made. Nonetheless, the constitution’s writers used direct and weighty language to spell out some of the foundational values of the EU. The Preamble hence opened as follows: Conscious that Europe is a continent that has brought forth civilization; that its inhabitants, arriving in successive waves from earliest times, have gradually developed the values underlying humanism: equality of persons, freedom, respect for reason. Drawing inspiration from the cultural, religious and humanist inheritance of Europe, the values of which, still present in its heritage, have embedded within the life of society


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the central role of the human person and his or her inviolable and inalienable rights, and respect for law …

Such language (which echoed passages from the Treaty of the European Union, the Copenhagen criteria for accession into the EU, and other official documents) might have appeared vague but left little doubt that certain boundaries separate EU citizens from other people. The EU must stop where other civilizations begin. This inevitably means the creation of ‘others’ both within the EU territory and outside. As to those inside the EU, they will have to transform themselves into ‘proper’ EU citizens. Those who refuse will face sanctions. As to those outside, membership will be denied. At a time when tensions with Islam are rising, this is bound to create major problems. And, indeed, those problems are already emerging, as the murder of Dutch filmmaker Theo Van Gogh, the row over Danish newspaper cartoons, the terrorist attacks in Madrid and London, the question of women wearing a veil, and the problem of Turkey’s fading chances to enter the EU all show. There is a sense, in all of these events, that as the EU (and, surely, individual member states within it) move to assert their values, a clash of civilizations is bound to happen. After all, as two seasoned observers of European integration and identity have observed, Islam has for a long time played the role of a ‘constitutive other’ for the purposes of European integration (Schlesinger and Foret 2006: 71–2). We have considered here how symbols and images and transnational institution building – two key venues for the production of regional identities – can promote conflict in RTAs. Much the same could have been said for regional law and public discourse and mobilization. We have thus seen how the construction of regional identity can have rather contradictory consequences for peace and conflict. The next section summarizes our findings and how they may inform future policymaking in RTAs.

Reflections This chapter has addressed the three central topics of this volume: identity construction, borders, and the promotion of peace and conflict. First, RTAs are contributing in a variety of ways – through law and transnational institution building for state and regional officials, by stimulating public discourse and mobilization across national borders, and through symbols and images – to the rise of transnational identities. The emerging viewpoints and beliefs are regional in nature: they apply to all those who live within the geographical limits of RTAs and are willing to accept them. The process of identity construction has promoted peace but has also engendered conflict. Potentially destabilizing crises in both historically volatile but also rich and stable countries have been averted. But the process has helped secessionist movements bolster their claims and increase their attacks on their respective home states – thus, ironically, increasing the chances of disintegration in the member states at a time when those countries are pursuing further integration. The process has also drawn new lines between


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those who are in a position to share the emerging viewpoints and beliefs and those who cannot, with important implications for ethnic and other types of tensions within RTAs. The evidence in support of these claims came from the EU, NAFTA, and Mercosur. Regional integration, then, is a complex process with contradictory effects on peace and conflict. The findings of this chapter have theoretical but also policymaking implications. Explicit discussions on identity are often missing from official RTA documents and proceedings, as well as from broader societal processes and discussions. This is clearly a mistake. Given the reality that RTAs are conducive to the formation of regional identities, more time and resources should be devoted to ensuring a more organized and deliberate approach. This would of course be challenging, since identity formation is a highly sensitive topic. It should nonetheless be undertaken – for the alternative is riskier. One possibility would entail the establishment of centers, think tanks, and other such entities outside of the official structures of RTAs. Reflecting various perspectives, these would be charged with examining, evaluating, and generating ideas about one or more of the four venues that currently contribute to the formation of a regional identity. A center could for instance ask labor and employer representatives from across an RTA to think about the basic values that ideally should drive regional law. Those same representatives could then be asked to review law proposals before they are voted to ensure consistency with those principles. Another center could ask interest group representatives and national administrators to review existing transnational institutions for cooperation: how do they operate? What beliefs and viewpoints are being promoted? What should change? Yet another center could involve citizens of RTAs and request that they evaluate existing regional symbols and images: what do they communicate? What should they in fact communicate? Should they be different? These centers would then enjoy direct access to RTA officials to communicate their findings and ideas. Within the official structures of RTAs, dedicated units could be set up with similar mandates but also with the responsibility of raising awareness and sensibilities among officials and policymakers about questions of identity. No RTA currently has units of that sort. With some training and commitment, they could easily become active in little time. They would be expected to engage in data gathering and analysis, collect insights from internal and external experts, and make recommendations. Their sheer presence would send an important signal to officials that they should take issues of identity seriously. It would also communicate to the public that coordinating units within RTAs now exist with some oversight over matters. In parallel, it seems imperative that RTA officials become more proactive about managing identity conflicts that might arise from the process of integration. NAFTA representatives – in particular, representatives from Mexico and the United States – have said little about their views on Quebec or their opinions on how to address the EZNL in Mexico. At present, those remain issues relegated to national politics. In fact, they deserve attention at the regional level – even if in coordination with national authorities. EU officials could, in turn, do much

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more to establish ties with non-Christian minorities, encourage public education about ‘other’ cultures, and deal directly with secessionist movements in the various member states. The process of European integration is clearly about defining what is European and what is not. The debate should be an open, public, and explicit one. These are but initial suggestions. Much work clearly remains to be done. The first step towards any healthy solution to challenges and problems is the recognition that, indeed, those challenges and problems exist. This chapter makes a modest contribution in that direction.

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Roller, E. (2004), ‘Conflict and Cooperation in EU Policy-Making: The Case of Catalonia’, Politics and Society 5:1, 81–102. Sadurski, W. (2004), ‘Accession’s Democracy Dividend: The Impact of the EU Enlargement upon Democracy in the New Member States of Central and Eastern Europe’, European Law Journal 10:4, 371–99. Schlesinger, P. and Foret, F. (2006), ‘Political Roof and Sacred Canopy: Religion and the EU Constitution’, European Journal of Social Theory 9:1, 59–81. Shaw, G. (2005), ‘German Lawyers and Globalization: Changing Professional Identity’, German Life and Letters 58:2, 211–25. Shulman, S. (2000), ‘Nationalist Sources of International Economic Integration’, International Studies Quarterly 44:3, 365–90. Slocum, N. and Van Langenhove, L. (2004), ‘The Meaning of Regional Integration: Introducing Positioning Theory in Regional Integration’, Journal of European Integration 26:3, 227–52. Stillerman, J. (2003), ‘Transnational Activist Networks and the Emergence of Labor Internationalism in the NAFTA Countries’, Social Science History 27:4, 577–601. Toronto Star (2001), ‘Perils of Continental Integration’, Toronto Star, 15 April. Trondal, J. (2001), ‘The ‘Parallel Administration’ of the European Commission: National Officials in European Clothes?’, . Trondal, J. (2002), ‘Beyond the EU Membership-Non-Membership Dichotomy: Supranational Identities among EU Decision-Makers’, Journal of European Public Policy 9:3, 468–87. United Press International (1996), ‘Latin Americans Back Paraguay’s Wasmosy’, United Press International, 23 April. Urata, S. (2002), ‘Globalization and the Growth in Free Trade Agreements’, Asia-Pacific Review 9:1, 20–32. Valenzuela, A. (1997), ‘Paraguay: The Coup that Didn’t Happen’, Journal of Democracy 8:1, 43–55. Watson, R. (2000), ‘MEPs Line Up against Austria’, The Herald (Glasgow), 4 February. Xinhua General News Service (2000), ‘Brazil Condemns Coup Attempt in Paraguay’, Xinhua General News Service, 19 May.

Chapter 8

Religion and Regional Planning: The Case of the Emerging ‘Shi’a Region’ Fathali M. Moghaddam

Introduction The Brain is deeper than the sea For – hold them – Blue to Blue The one the other will absorb As Sponges – Buckets – do – Emily Dickinson

Religion is fluid; it can take on different shapes as it moves from container to container, situation to situation. But religion is also like a gas, in that it can drift in the air across geographical borders, lines on maps, and move in different, sometimes unexpected directions. The borders of a country or a region can not limit religion, which is far deeper and more expansive than such containers. Religious identity can serve as a powerful cement, binding people together, sometimes working against national borders and against ‘official’ regional boundaries, even bringing about regional ties that go against the grand plans of world powers. The role of religion in regional identities and regional development can be conceptualized along a continuum with the ‘planned region’ at one extreme and the ‘accidental region’ at the other extreme (see Figure 8.1).

Planned Region

Accidental Region

Figure 8.1 The ‘planned–accidental’ continuum The traditional literature on regions is overwhelmingly concerned with the ‘planned region’ extreme of this continuum. Multidisciplinary planning teams, often led by economists, have invested heavily in keeping the focus on the formal planning of regions. However, this chapter focuses on the other end of the

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continuum, exploring how the fluidity and ‘border-less’ nature of religion can bring about an accidental region, by which I mean a region that was not planned for by the most powerful groups; in this case, the United States and its allies – although, as we shall see, the region in question, a Shi’a region in the Near East, does serve the interests of some local actors. My focus is on attempts by competing powers to strengthen rival identities based on two clashing story-lines: the first story-line presents an identity of a ‘modern, democratic, secular Muslim state’, supported by the United States and its allies; the second story-line presents an identity based on Shi’a religious ties, supported by the Islamic Republic of Iran and its allies. Any planning that took place on the part of the United States and other major powers moved forward with the intention of thwarting the second story-line, and thus preventing the emergence of a Shi’a region. This is because the United States and its allies have tried to diminish the influence of Iran, and Iran’s influence is enhanced by the emergence of a Shi’a region. The case to be considered is an illustrative example, demonstrating that the outcome of regional planning reflects the influence of multiple competing factors, with religion being a historically important factor that can render impotent ‘official’ planning efforts by world powers. Of course, this is a difficult lesson to learn, because most governments, particularly superpowers, are likely to exaggerate their abilities to re-shape the present, even against the direction of deep cultural and historical trends. We will now further explore this tendency toward ‘illusions of control’.

Illusions of Control in Planning: A Psychological Assessment Any consideration of the construction and use of identities as a formal part of regional planning should begin with a consideration of the tendency of planners to exaggerate their level of influence. The human propensity to assume control over both the course of our own lives and our environmental conditions is prodigious, and often associated with ‘illusions of control’ (Moghaddam and Studer 1997). This is partly a result of our desire to see the world as less threatening (Lerner 1980). Through positioning ourselves as ‘in control’ even when we are in the midst of chaotic conflict (Moghaddam et al. 2008), we can presumably ‘prevent’ bad things from happening to ourselves and our loved ones. Thus, we tend to exaggerate our ability to shape the course of events and have a tendency to interpret outcomes as being a result of our intentional planning. ‘Illusions of control’ are particularly rampant in the contemporary world because of increasing specialization (Moghaddam 1997), with planning studies being a prime domain of ‘specialized experts’, and the pervasive assumption that ‘experts’ can predict and control events and people. We tend to exaggerate the value of ‘expert’ judgments (for examples, see Tetlock 2005), and wrongly assume that ‘expert’ predictions are better than those made by lay persons. For example, consider the following report discovered in declassified US government materials: ‘A team of government and outside experts convened by the Central Intelligence Agency concluded in 1997 that North Korea’s economy was deteriorating so

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rapidly that the government of Kim Jong-il was likely to collapse within five years’ (Mazzetti 2006). In my own experience of participating in planning of various kinds, including for United Nations third world development plans, ‘illusions of control’ are often maintained through collective participation in the kind of memory reconstruction highlighted by Loftus and others (Loftus 1997). For example, a five-year plan is made with specific predicted outcomes. But at the end of each year the plan is revised to be more in line with the actual course of events, so that by the fifth year the plan looks rather different from its original shape, as it was at the start of the project. However, by the fifth year the plan has been radically revised to fit the actual outcomes and, on paper and in retrospect, it appears that ‘planning’ worked: after all, the end result is now in line with ‘the plan’. These ‘illusions of control’ are reflected in discussions about regional planning, ‘regionalism’, ‘regional studies’, and by the increased emphasis placed on the ‘planning of regions’ in international development meetings (see the discussion of the rapid proliferation of ‘planned regions’ in the second half of the twentyfirst century, by Francesco Duina in this volume). A critical reading of the contemporary literature on regional studies, set in contexts such as Australia (Eversole and Martin 2005), China (Okamoto and Ihara 2005) and Europe (Paraskevopoulos et al. 2006), reveals underlying assumptions that need to be questioned. First, there is a general assumption that regions have an objective existence outside our minds: we bring into being ‘a region’ by calling it ‘a region’ (Slocum and Van Langenhove 2003; see Moghaddam 2005, ch. 20, for a broader discussion of social constructionism); although of course there are examples of areas that have the characteristics of ‘regions’ through historical-cultural accidents, but were never labeled as ‘regions’. A second assumption is that ‘regions’ come into existence as a result of planning by the most powerful authorities working in the ‘here and now’, such as the United States in the Near East. In this discussion, I am concerned particularly with this last assumption. Top-Down’ Regional Planning and Causal Models of Behavior The assumption that regions can be brought into existence, controlled, and even dissolved and ended, through ‘top-down’ planning by the most powerful authorities is associated with the causal model of behavior that emerged in the West and has been exported to non-Western societies (Moghaddam et al. 2007).1 The causal model underlying regional planning assumes that external stimuli will determine responses (this is true of even the more creative contemporary approaches to planning, that is, Calthorpe and Fulton 2001). Moreover, this model is materialist and rationalist, in that it assumes the material conditions (serving 1 According to the traditional paradigm, the goal of research is to find cause-effect associations. For the first half of the twentieth century when the behaviorists were the dominant school the causes were termed ‘stimuli’ and the effects ‘responses’; since the 1950s, with the rise of cognitive psychology and neuroscience, the causes come under terms such as ‘cognitive mechanisms’, ‘memory systems’, ‘neurotransmitters’ and ‘genes’.

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as positive and negative reinforcements) can be manipulated with predictable results, because people will react to such changes in a rational manner. For example, the behavior of a population can be shaped by economic incentives (as positive reinforcement), because individuals will adopt behaviors that maximize their profits. On a practical level, the situation in Iraq after the US-led invasion of 2003 shows the fallacy of such top-down, rationalist, materialist models. If the goal was the maximization of profits, and if people were rational beings, surely a solution could be found that would lead to less killing and destruction – and more profits – in contexts such as post-invasion Iraq. On a conceptual level also, there are strong reasons to reject the causal, materialist, rational model. Although some human behavior, what I have termed performance capacity (how well a task is carried out), can be explained according to this model, other behavior, performance style (which has to do with meaning), is better explained according to a normative model (Moghaddam 2002). An example of performance capacity is how well a person can hear a particular sound. The answer to the question, ‘Did you hear that sound?’ is in terms of capacity, ‘Yes, I heard it’ or ‘No, I did not hear anything’. The answer to the question ‘What was that sound?’ has to do with meaning, ‘It was just the sound of fire works, not gunfire’. Human2 behavior involves both performance capacity and performance style. One has to be able to first hear a noise, before interpreting it (for example, as fire works or gunfire). But it is only performance capacity that can be explained in terms of what Aristotle called efficient cause, the cause directly and inevitably precedes the effect it produces.3 Performance style requires normative explanations based on cultural meaning systems. The ‘causation’ involved here is not efficient causation, but what Aristotle termed formal causation, which has to do with the structure of a process. Performance style also involves goals, in Aristotle’s terms final causation. The distinction between performance capacity and performance style, and the knowledge that only performance capacity can be explained through causal accounts, whereas performance style requires normative explanations, enables us to better assess the planning of regions. A fundamentally important point is that regional planning necessarily involves social behavior and shared culture, rather than the behavior of isolated individuals. Social behavior is regulated by

2 This is also true in the case of animal behavior. Pribram (2002), a pioneering neuroscience researcher, has written that ‘One of my experimental observations supports the view that brain processes need to be considered in terms of performance style, not just performance capacity. I removed the amygdala on both sides of the brains of monkeys and showed that, as a rule, the monkeys were dramatically tamed. However, taming depended on the form or structure of the social colony from which and into which the monkeys were returned immediately after surgery. If the amygdalectomized monkey was not challenged by an aggressive cage mate, the amygdalectomized monkey became even more aggressive’ (p. xii). 3 This is the stimulus-response (cause-effect) association the behaviorists were seeking.


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normative systems, which provide guides as to ‘what to do’ and ‘how to do’ things in different contexts. An important source for the normative system in many contexts is religion. For example, in Iran, gender relations are regulated by norms and rules that derive from Shi’a Islam. Whereas in a Western context, planners preparing for an event involving a large crowd would consider the size of the crowd and the size of the entrance needed to the event, in Iran planners would consider the need for two different sets of entrances, one for men and a second for women. At the individual level, if and when a man and a woman are introduced in Iran, it would not be correct for them to shake hands (unless they were already related by birth or marriage). Note that the local normative system makes behavior predictable. In the Iranian context, we would be able to predict that women going to the event would use a different set of entrances from men. But this predictability would not be because of efficient causation: individuals can intentionally decide to break the rules and use the entrance that is forbidden to them (there are cases of men dressing as women and women dressing as men, so as to ‘pass’ through the wrong entrance). Most people most of the time ‘do the right thing’ according to the local normative system, but some people behave incorrectly, sometimes intentionally. In summary, although a variety of factors are incorporated in formal regional planning (see Wong 2006, for a review), the underlying orientation is materialist and rational (this is related to points discussed by others under the title of ‘new regionalism’, for example see Boas et al. 2003). But in practice there are many different ways in which regions can come about in different parts of the world, with variations in the priorities that different economic, cultural, linguistic, religious, and other factors have in the emergence of a region. Whereas economic factors take priority in shaping some regions, religious identity can become the dominant factor shaping other regions. The religious and collective identity factors that can influence a region might not be easily influenced by five-year or even 50-year plans.

Case Study: The Construction and Use of the Shi’a Identity The specific focus of this chapter, then, is the factors that are leading to the potential emergence of a ‘Shi’a crescent’ (Nasre 2006). The rise of Shi’a identity comes in the context of rising Islamic consciousness, and a pervasive identity crisis sweeping across Islamic communities around both non-Western and Western world (Moghaddam 2006). To appreciate the contemporary experiences of Islamic communities, we need to first consider the historical context. I begin by assessing the construction and use of a Shi’a identity. My methodological orientation is guided by three principles. The first is that mixed methods yield superior results (Moghaddam et al. 2002). I was trained both as an experimental social psychologist, conducting controlled laboratory studies, and as an environmental psychologist, with a focus on qualitative field research. Over the last few decades, I have learned to appreciate that multiple

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methods have an additive outcome, leading to more accurate results. A second principle is that researchers do best when they break out of narrow specializations and refuse to conform to the assumptions set up by experts in each discipline (Moghaddam 1997). Third, I give highest priority to theory and concepts, and treat the ‘nuts and bolts’ of data gathering as completely dependent on theory. After all, the nature of our theories determines what we recognize to be data. This methodological orientation is reflected in my critical review of the idea of ‘formal planning’. Historical Contexts Two major reasons for the failure of United States policy in Iraq after the 2003 invasion of that country are the lack of appreciation for the importance of cultural continuity and tradition, and the enormous weight of history in the Near and Middle East region. Identity construction among Muslims is ongoing, but it is also directly and strongly tied to events 1,400 years ago. Thus, the consideration of the historical past is not an ‘addition’ that can be omitted, but is essential. The modern Shi’a identity, and the re-emergence of a ‘Shi’a region’ since the last decades of the twentieth century, has to be understood in the historical context of the evolution of Islam as a cultural, political, and religious movement in the seventh century (see Rogerson 2007). The most important splintering that took place in this Islamic movement came soon after the death of the Prophet Mohammed in 632AD, and the struggle for succession that followed (Ramadan 2006). No potential successor to the Prophet Mohammed enjoyed full support among all Muslims. One group of Muslims rallied behind the Prophet’s cousin and sonin-law Ali, and after Ali’s assassination behind his sons Hassan and Hossein, also assassinated by opponents. This minority group is the source of Shi’a Islam. The majority of Muslims supported a different succession line, rallying behind Omar, and form the source of Sunni Islam. The vast majority of the approximately 1.3 thousand million Muslims in the world are Sunni, including in Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Turkey, and other important Near and Middle Eastern Arab and North African nations. The Shi’a-Sunni split parallels another important split: the Persian-Arab split. Almost all Persians are Shi’a Muslim, and almost all Arabs are Sunnis. The main exception to this is found in Iraq, an Arab country with a predominantly Shi’a population. Today over 96 per cent of the approximately 75 million population of Iran, and about 60 per cent of the 20 million population of Iraq, is Shi’a Muslim. As we shall see, this pattern of religious affiliation limits the extent to which ‘revolutionary Iran’ can influence the identity of most Muslims in the world, who are neither Persian nor Shi’a, and even Shi’a Muslims in the Near East, many of whom are not Persian. Historically the most important centers of the Shi’a religion are Najaf and Karbala, both in Iraq. Prior to the 1978 Iranian revolution, the most important Shi’a Muslim religious leaders were established in these two centers. Shi’a Muslims are obliged to select a religious leader as a marja-i-taqlid (source of


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inspiration), a person who serves as a ‘model’ for how to live one’s life, and whose interpretation of the Koran is taken as guide. The most important marja-i-taqlid has traditionally lived in Najaf or Karbala, away from direct political control of Tehran and Baghdad. Since the Iranian revolution, and particularly since the eight year Iran-Iraq war, Najaf and Karbala have become less important Shi’a centers, and religious centers in Iran have become more important, with Ghom taking the lead and becoming the new power center of Shi’a Islam. The Iranian Context The twentieth century storyline of Iran might have been ‘country moves from monarchy to secular democracy’, but intervention by the United States and other powers resulted in Iran becoming an Islamic republic. Iran entered the modern era under the Qajar dynasty (1796–1921), but a democratic movement finally led to an end to this dynasty and a new constitution that restricted the power of the monarchy through a majlis (parliament). However, hopes for a genuine democracy were dashed when Reza Khan, a military officer initially supported by the British, seized power and established the Pahlavi dynasty (1926–78). Reza Shah attempted to follow the same modernization policies as Kemal Atatürk in Turkey, but his attempts to use the influence of Nazi Germany to counter the influence of Britain and Russia in Iran led to his removal by allied forces in 1941, to be replaced by his son Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi (1941–78). In the post World War II period, the United States took over as the most important foreign influence in Iran. When a pro-democracy uprising, in support of the popular Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadeq, forced the Shah into exile in 1953, a CIA directed coup almost immediately brought the Shah back to power. Through continued American backing, the Shah used booming oil revenues to establish his position as absolute dictator. Because the Shah was seen as an ‘American puppet’, the 1978 revolution turned out to be as much anti-American as it was anti-Shah. Soon after the 1978 revolution, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini managed to out manoeuver other potential leaders and there took place what one writer insightfully termed an exchange of ‘the turban for the crown’ (Arjomand 1988). Iran was declared an ‘Islamic Republic’, and power became concentrated in the hands of Islamic fundamentalists. Revolutionary fervor also led the fundamentalists to spread their influence outside Iran’s borders. Khomeini spearheaded an ambitious movement intended to export ‘the revolution’ to other Islamic nations. The espoused goal was to unite all Muslims under an ‘authentic Islamic’ identity, and to recover the glorious early era of Islam. There were two key themes in the ‘revolutionary’ strategy of Khomeini and his followers, both of which involved the construction of a religious identity. The first theme involved identifying and attacking an ‘external enemy’, which was avowedly anti-Islamic. This enemy included the United States (‘the Great Satan’) and Israel (‘Little Satan’), as well as the ‘puppet’ regimes, such as those in Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, condemned for doing the bidding of the United States. Through a variety of tactics, such as hostage taking (of American embassy staff

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in Tehran in 1979 at the beginning of the Khomeini revolution and British sailors in the Persian Gulf in 2007, during the leadership of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad), Khomeini (who died in 1989) and his followers created conflicts with ‘the external enemy’, so as to increase internal cohesion and have an excuse to stamp out internal dissent. Again and again, critics of the fundamentalist government in Tehran were accused of ‘aiding the enemy’ (just as critics of President George W. Bush and his administration have been accused of ‘helping the enemy’ in the era of the so-called ‘war on terror’). The second key theme involved an appeal to the ‘bare foot’ Islamic masses to rise up and revolt against the ‘despotic powers’ that avowedly prevented Muslims from reaching their positive potential. Instead of ‘workers of the world unite’, Khomeini’s slogan was ‘Muslims of the world unite’. The annual Haj pilgrimage to Mecca, Saudi Arabia, a gathering of millions of Muslims from around the world, was one of the most important venues where Iranian fundamentalists attempted to influence Muslims outside Iran. But Khomeini’s ‘revolutionary’ message never caught the imagination of large numbers of Sunni Muslims. Those Sunni Muslims who do lean toward a pan-Islamic vision are more influenced by Wahabism, sponsored by the Saudi regime. The greatest potential for exporting the Khomeini-led fundamentalist Islamic revolution was to areas with large Shi’a populations, such as Southern Lebanon and Southern Iraq. Among Palestinians, the influence of Khomeini’s message is evident among Hamas (rather that Fatah) supporters. However, because of the historical importance of Shi’a religious centers in Iraq, the toppling of Saddam Hussein in 2003, the historically close cultural ties between Iran and Southern Iraq, among a number of other factors, it is Iraq that has become the main external ‘beneficiary’ of the fundamentalist movement in Iran. We will now examine the Iraqi historical context to further illuminate why this is the case. The Iraqi Context Western powers have attempted to establish ‘multi-ethnic Muslim country progresses from dictatorship to democracy’ as the story-line of modern Iraq. However, various historical events in the region have resulted in identities based on religion and ethnicity. The following sections will show how the way in which these identities have been constructed has led to long and violent conflict. The land occupied by modern Iraq was formerly named Mesopotamia and formed part of the Ottoman Empire. The discovery of oil reserves in the region in the early twentieth century heightened rivalries between Turkish, German, and British interests. World War I brought on the demise of Germany and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, with a corresponding rise in British influence. Between 1921 and 1958, a succession of ‘puppet monarchs’ were put into place by Britain to rule the new state of Iraq, composed of Kurds, Sunni Arabs and Shi’a Arabs, but the monarchy ended when a military coup established Iraq as a republic under General Qasim in 1958. There followed a succession of power struggles, eventually resulting in the Ba’th Party of Iraq coming to power in 1968, and the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein being established in 1978.


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In recent history, Sunni Arabs have constituted the power majority in Iraq, and Saddam Hussein further concentrated power in the hands of this group. Although the Kurds, situated mostly in the north of Iraq, are also Sunni Muslims, they have not enjoyed the wealth and status of Sunni Arabs. Iraqi Kurds have long had separatist aspirations, associated with the goal of a united Kurdistan, possibly bringing together tens of millions of Kurds from neighboring Iran and Turkey. But Kurds were brutally repressed in Iraq prior to 2003, when oil revenues helped to create an extensive, centralized government administration and expand higher education opportunities, particularly to the benefit of Sunni Arabs. The Shi’a are concentrated in the poorer districts in Baghdad (particularly in Sadre City) and in the south of Iraq (Basra being the largest city). However, the ‘revenge of the Shi’a’ has come in the shape of their higher birth rates (as in most parts of the world, education and birth rate have been negatively correlated: the higher educated Sunni Arabs have had lower birth rates, compared to the lower educated Shi’a). Saddam Hussein had come to power the same year as the Iranian revolution, and he no doubt felt threatened by the possibility of Khomeini’s influence on the Shi’a majority in Iraq. I was researching in Tehran in 1979, and there were clear signs of Iranian ambitions to export the ‘Islamic revolution’ to Iraq. This exportation was facilitated by the traditional to-and-fro of large numbers of people between the holy Shi’a cities of Iraq and Iran. Although the turmoil of the revolution, and the collapse of the Shah’s military, had weakened Iran militarily, the cultural and ideological influence of Iran on the Shi’a population in Iraq was overwhelming. Indeed, all Sunni Arab regimes in the Near and Middle East had become targets in Khomeini’s attacks on ‘the Great Satan and its puppets’. This further built up the Shi’a identity and constructed it in opposition to Sunnis. In response, when Saddam Hussein’s army invaded Iran in 1980, he positioned himself as fighting on behalf of all Sunni Arab regimes. As a manifestation of this Shi’a – Sunni opposition, from 1980 to 1988 Iran and Iraq were gripped in a bloody war that crippled the economies of both countries. Iraq received considerable financial support (much of it in the shape of loans) from other Arab nations, including Kuwait, and some military assistance from the United States. Clearly, the United States did not want the war to end with an Iranian victory and the possible establishment of two radical Islamic republics side by side, the first in Iran and the second in Iraq.

Islamic Identity and Borders: The Crisis of Identity in Islamic Communities around The World Although there is rapid growth in Muslim populations around the world, Islamic communities feel threatened by globalization. This threat is experienced as being against the physical borders of Islamic countries or groups (as in the cases of Iraq and Palestine, for example), as well as against the life-style of Muslims. In essence, Islam, as it is represented by the cognitive maps of Muslims, is perceived to be under threat. The emergence of a Shi’a region in the Near East is best understood in the context of this wider issue of threatened Muslim identity.

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Globalization does not, of course, mean only Westernization. Anyone who travels internationally can witness the influence of non-Western societies on one another, and on the West. As emphasized in Anne Brown’s (Chapter 9) study of interactions between Melanesia and ‘the West’, influence is mutual, even if not equal. A further example is the exportation of Indian films and music, and an enormous variety of products ‘made in China’, to many different countries. However, globalization has involved secularization, and a perception among many Muslims, particularly fundamentalists, that their way of life is under attack from Western secularism. The weakness of governments in Islamic societies (for example, the reliance of the Kuwaiti and Saudi regimes on the US military to keep power) has intensified this feeling of vulnerability and given rise to a search for better ways forward. This perceived vulnerability to Western power and secularism has contributed to a profound and pervasive identity crisis, experienced by Islamic communities around the world (Moghaddam 2006). This is first and foremost a crisis of collective identity, concerned with the question, ‘What kind of group do I belong to?’, but it is also influencing individual identity, concerned with the question, ‘What kind of person am I?’ How can Muslims both practice their faith and join in the historic changes associated with globalization in the twenty-first century? As they face the challenges of the twenty-first century, Muslims are confronted by two competing ‘ideal’ identities; each of these identities has different implications for the kind of border that Muslims attempt to maintain. The first is represented by Salafists and other Islamic extremists who are pushing to get Muslim societies back to ‘pure’ Islam, to the ideal they imagine Islam achieved ‘in the beginning’. This path is associated with a return to traditional gender roles, the use of the full veil by women, and the implementation of Shari’ah law. The second is represented by those who would abandon traditional ways, copy the West, and adopt Western ideals of what Muslims should become. This blind copying of the West is leading to what has been termed the good copy problem (Moghaddam 2006): adopting an ideal model that you can only be a good copy of, but can never be as good as or better than. The good copy problem resulted in Muslims perceiving themselves to be second-class citizens in their own lands. The Shah’s message to the Iranian nation was ‘copy the West, and you could become the Switzerland of the East’. But this meant that even if Iranians succeeded along these lines, the best they could do was to become a good copy of Switzerland. They would always lack authenticity, and never become as good as the original model. In contrast, Khomeini exhorted Iranians to return to pure Islam, and he told them that they are the best; they are in the lead and ahead of everyone else, because they have Islam. A third, secular, ‘authentic’ identity alternative is so far not available because of policies followed by Western-backed dictatorships in Egypt, Saudi Arabia and other countries in the region (Moghaddam 2006). These dictatorships have harshly cracked down on all forms of free expression, preventing the growth of grass-roots, potentially pro-democracy movements. But even the harshest dictatorships have not dared to close down mosques, which can still serve as a gathering place for dissident voices. Unfortunately, these dissident voices are becoming radicalized.


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The repression of secular opposition and the prevention of an alternative secular identity has resulted in the rise of fundamentalists of various kinds – as well as increased Sunni-Shi’a conflicts. Narratives and Borders: Unexpected Consequences on Identity Various factors have facilitated the construction of a ‘Shi’a Crescent’, a region based upon religious identity. To better understand how this came about, recall that historically the national border between Iran and Iraq was ignored by Shi’a Muslims traveling between religious centers in Iran and Iraq. Hundreds of thousands of people have family ties ‘across the border’.4 Although in the short term the Iran-Iraq war ruptured relations between the regimes of Tehran and Baghdad, the ‘official’ border failed to cut ties between Shi’a Muslims in Iran and Iraq. In the longer term, ties between the two countries were strengthened. Hundreds of thousands of Shi’a Iraqis (including many of the elite) who fled or were expelled to Iran during the Iran-Iraq war have now returned to Iraq, and some of them are in key decision making posts. This includes many of the current leadership in Iraq (that is, members of the powerful Hakim and Sadre families, including Abdul Aziz al-Hakim, head of the Supreme Islamic Iraqi Council, and Moqtada al-Sadre, the leader of radical Shi’a militias in Iraq), who spent a number of years in exile in Iran as guests of the Iranian government. This is because after the 2003 invasion of Iraq and the toppling of Saddam Hussein, there was a sharp rise in the power and influence of Shi’a factions, and a decline in Sunni power and influence in political, economic, and religious spheres. Shi’a clergy had been persecuted during the rule of Saddam Hussein, but after 2003 they became the dominant force in southern Iraq and a major force in national Iraqi politics. Ayatollah Sistani, who was born in Mashad, Iran, gained considerable influence as the leading Shi’a clergy in Iraq. Another factor that served to strengthen ties between Shi’a Muslims in Iran and Iraq is the construction of a Sunni – Shi’a rivalry. Before the 2003 invasion, Saddam Hussein’s predominantly Sunni Arab regime repressed Iraqi Shi’a Muslims, who received at least moral support from Iran. After the 2003 invasion, Shi’a Muslims are the target of attacks from Sunni fundamentalists, apparently funded by Saudi Arabian and other Sunni Arab sources. Once again, Iraqi Shi’a Muslims under attack find that the Shi’a in Iran are their main supporters. Both professional Iraqi Shi’a politicians and ordinary Iraqi Shi’a citizens are pulled by historic, cultural, and religious commonalities to ally themselves with Iran. This identity rivalry has had a domino effect in generating a Shi’a region by influencing the voting patterns in Iraqi elections. In voting for a new Iraqi constitution, and then an Iraqi parliament, voters in Iraq have voted along ethnic and religious lines (see the controversial account by Allawi 2007, a former minister in post-invasion Iraq). That is, Shi’a Muslims voted for Shi’a Muslims; Kurds 4 The author’s mother was born in Najaf, Iraq, and returned to live in Tehran, Iran, when she was in her teens.

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voted for Kurds; and the few Sunni Arabs who participated in elections voted for Sunni Arabs. The result is that southern Iraq has become a de facto Shi’a Islamic Republic, in some respects highly similar to the Islamic Republic of Iran.5 From the perspective of those who are less familiar with the cultural and religious history illuminated here, perhaps the most unexpected and unpredictable factors influencing the strengthening of a Shi’a identity and Shi’a region has been the narratives introduced by the Bush administration after the tragedy of 9/11. The main theme of this narrative is captured by the phrase, ‘you are either with us or against us’, which positions everyone as being on one side or another in the so-called ‘war on terror’. This categorical narrative placed all critics in the ‘against us’ camp, at the pinnacle of which was an ‘axis of evil’ comprising of three so-called ‘rogue states’, Iran, Syria, and North Korea. Within the context of pre-existing historical ties between Shi’a in Iran and Iraq, multiple factors have resulted in Shi’a Iraq being pushed closer to becoming a de facto Islamic Republic in the style of Iran, including the construction of rival Shi’a and Sunni identities and resulting voting patterns, the categorical ‘you are either with us or against us’ narrative (combined with the invasion of Iraq by US-led forces in 2003, the toppling of Saddam Hussein, and the utter mismanagement of post-invasion Iraq) and the general increase of Shi’a influence in Iran. These events have led to the rise of a Shi’a region, combining Shi’a Muslims in Iran and Iraq. Prior to the invasion, it was predicted by some analysts that the presence of US forces in Afghanistan and Iraq, with Iran wedged in between, would put unbearable pressure on the ruling clerics in Tehran. It was imagined that a thriving pro-Western ‘democracy’ in Iraq and another in Afghanistan would lead to the collapse of the regime in Iran. But events have proved this prediction to be incorrect, because developments in Iraq and Afghanistan have not gone ‘according to plan’.

Identity Constructions and Conflict The strengthening of Shi’a identity and the emergence of a Shi’a region in the Near East has increased intergroup tensions locally, regionally, and internationally. A useful way to conceptualize this trend is through the metaphor of an onion, starting at the core inner ring, representing the most local intergroup rivalries, and working out to the surface layers, representing the wider international intergroup rivalries. The Core of the Onion: Local Rivalries At the core of the onion is the local conflict between Kurdish, Sunni, and Shi’a groups in Iraq. The Shi’a are determined to maintain and extend their dominance 5 This is not necessarily because there was an attempt by Iraqi Shi’a to copy Iran, but in large part because the implementation of Shari’ah law has certain inevitable consequences.


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in Iraq, and possibly become an independent republic. The Sunni Arabs, the former dominant group, feel threatened by the emerging Shi’a identity and Shi’a region in southern Iraq, as well as by an emerging Kurdish identity and region in northern Iraq. The Shi’a within Iraq feel less threatened by the emerging Kurdish identity (but, as we shall see, the Kurds are seen as a threat by the Shi’a within the larger regional picture). The Kurds are less threatened by the emerging Shi’a region and identity, but seriously threatened by a possible re-emergence of Sunni power in Iraq. This is because there is direct rivalry between Kurds and Sunnis for oil producing areas, particularly Kirkuk, that both claim as part of their ethnic heritage. Kurds in Iraq are determined to maintain their independence (gradually gained in the 1990s when the US implemented ‘no fly zones’ in Iraq, after the first Gulf War), and also to work toward a greater Kurdistan in the Near and Middle East. The Middle Ring of the Onion: Rivalries in the Near and Middle East The strengthened Shi’a identity and emerging Shi’a region are perceived as major threats by Sunni regimes in the Near and Middle East. This is because a Shi’a region would strengthen Iran, a Shi’a state that is associated with revolution and anti-Americanism. The Sunni regimes in the Near and Middle East, including Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Egypt, owe their continued survival to American support, and Iran is seen as trying to destroy that support. At the same time, Shi’a Iran and Sunni Turkey both feel threatened by the rise of Kurdish identity and the possibility of a ‘Kurdish nation state’. The Kurds in northern Iraq are receiving support from the United States and Israel, as well as various Western powers, and are attempting to build an independent state. Kurds in Turkey and Iran (and to a lesser extent, Syria) also have aspirations to join a ‘greater Kurdistan’. The concern of Iran over Kurdish independence is increased by the perception among Iranian rulers that the United States is attempting to ferment rebellion among Kurds in Iran, and in this way weaken Tehran. The Outer Ring: International Rivalries The emergence of a Shi’a region in the Near East is also increasing international tensions. First, the United States and its allies are concerned that a Shi’a region could strengthen anti-American forces. American policy continues to support a united Iraq (although some US analysts now suggest that a three-way breakup is more realistic, see Galbraith 2006). Second, a Shi’a region would be a threat to the conservative Sunni regimes of the Near and Middle East, and create further instability to oil supplies. In an effort to diminish the influence of Iran and limit the impact of a ‘Shi’a revival’, the United States policy is to isolate Iran politically and economically. However, this effort is not being supported, and in some ways is even being resisted, by China and Russia, as well as by some European states. This resistance arises because China, Russia and some other states are doing lucrative trade with Iran: buying Iranian oil and gas, and selling Iran various goods and services.

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This lucrative trade would decrease if the United States once again became the dominant foreign influence in Iran. Thus, it is clear that the increased prominence of Shi’a identity and the emergence of a Shi’a region is having an impact on intergroup tensions at local, regional, and international levels. This impact was not predicted by, and goes against the plans of, the United States and its allies, reminding us of pitfalls in formal planning. The case of the emerging Shi’a region can help us reflect on planning more broadly, and on planning in the EU and the US in particular. The Role of Religious Identity in Regional Formation: Implications for Other Regions An important lesson to be learned from the accidental Shi’a region emerging in the Near East is that, in some situations, shared religious culture and religious identity can take priority in shaping a region, giving actors who are less powerful on the world stage (that is, Iran) opportunities to seriously challenge a ‘sole superpower’ (the US). This does not fit in easily with the materialist, rational assumption underlying traditional regional planning. Of course, such uncomfortable realities will not lead us to abandon traditional models. Rather, ‘illusions of control’ will tend to mislead us to assume that we can predictably plan for and shape the role of religion in regional development. But religious identities are not easily contained by ‘official’ boundaries and formal laws. Southern Iraq is developing into a Shi’a Islamic republic, with enormously important oil resources, and the probable ability to negotiate independently with foreign oil companies for the exploitation of what will become de-nationalized Iraqi oilfields. In many important respects, this new Shi’a Islamic republic is integral to a rising Shi’a region, which includes Iran. The emergence of this accidental region has implications for how future developments might take place in other regions around the globe. A major assumption of regional planning, including in the most important cases such as the European Union (EU) as demonstrated by Duina (Chapter 7) is that the central elements of collective identity, the kind of people a group believe themselves to be, can be re-shaped in a predictable manner through the political, economic, social and other levers at the disposal of official planners. The avowed goal of European planners is ‘unity in diversity’, intended to promote the diversity of European cultures, but at the same time nurture the assumed ‘common cultural heritage of Europe’. This assumed ‘common cultural heritage’ becomes problematic when we ask, ‘What is a European identity?’ The so-called Copenhagen Criteria (stable democratic institutions, a market economy, and effective administrative structures), is more a bureaucratic than it is a cultural basis for identity, and it does not make clear how far east the European Union could extend in the future. For some, the only strong basis for European identity is a ‘common Christian heritage’ (a view initially supported by Pope Benedict XVI, but somewhat revised during his visit to Turkey in 2006). On this basis, Turkey, an Islamic nation, would be excluded from joining the European Union.


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But the issue of using religious identity as a basis for developing a ‘region’ is problematic for reasons far more important and broad than the specific question of Turkish entry into the European Union. We do not need to go far to provide Europeans with examples of how religious identities are ‘messy’, tend to ‘spill across’ neat categories and borders, and are not easily predicted or controlled through regional plans. Consider the following conclusion that comes at the dawn of the twenty-first century in a report on the transformation of empty churches into mosques in the heart of ‘Old England’: ‘Britain may continue to regard itself as a Christian nation. But practicing Muslims are likely to outnumber churchattending Christians in several decades’ (Perlez 2007: A1). The over twenty million Muslims in the European Union are tending to maintain their religious identity and have a higher birth rate than the local populations (that is, ‘In Blackburn, the constituency of Jack Straw, the leader of the House of Commons, there are 30,000 Muslims among a population of 80,000. But in a telltale sign for the future, the number of children 10 years and younger is evenly divided between Christian and Muslim’ (Perlez 2007: A6). This has led to Islam being a factor in European life, a trend that the planners of half a century ago, at the start of the road toward a unified Europe, did not expect or prepare for. Nor have the outcomes of religious diversity been predicted or planned for from decade to decade. For example, since the (unpredicted) major attacks by Muslim terrorists on 11 September 2001 in New York and Washington, DC, on 11 March 2004 in Madrid and on 7 July 2005 in London, Muslim-Christian relations have become more problematic in Europe and North America. By 2006, the percentages of people who believe that relations between Muslims and Westerners is ‘generally bad’ (rather than ‘generally good’) is 55 (vs 32) in the United States, 61 (vs 28) in Great Britain, 70 (vs 23) in Germany, 66 (vs 33) in France, and 61 (vs 14) in Spain (Pew Research Center 2006). The general assumption has been that the millions of South Asian Muslims in the United Kingdom, North African Muslims in France, Turkish Muslims in Germany, as well as Muslims of many other nationalities spread across the European Union, would assimilate, melt into the mainstream and become ‘European’. Moreover, it is assumed that the borders of Europe can be terminated at the borders of Turkey. Both of these assumptions are being severely tested, and may well prove incorrect. First, Muslims in Europe are not abandoning their identities or traditional lifestyles and ‘melting away’ to become ‘European’. Second, there is a vibrant and active bridge between the Muslims in Europe and the hundreds of millions of Muslims living in Turkey and other Islamic countries. Traffic on this bridge is only partly controlled by regional plans, because much of it is informal and influenced by ‘underground’ rules (and illegal immigration) rather than black-letter law. Like religion, other cultural affinities, such as a common language, are difficult to control using national boundaries and formal regional plans. As evidenced in Slocum-Bradley’s study (Chapter 6) the official trade region created by the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) does not control a Hispanic region being created across the Mexico-United States border, and even the wall being built along parts of the Mexico-United States border will not effectively end illegal

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immigration. Millions of people are making their way up from South to North America, to join the estimated 12–20 million illegal immigrants already in the United States. Hispanics may well be the long-term majority in important areas of the United States, creating a linguistic bridge with Mexico and confronting mainstream American society with historic political and cultural challenges in the next few decades (Moghaddam, 2008). The English Only movement is one kind of backlash against the increasing numbers of Hispanics in America. However, this movement represents another type of formal, organized ‘plan’, and will not necessarily be able to control the North American ‘Hispanic region’ in the process of becoming a reality. The rapid rise in the number of Hispanics, already more numerous than African Americans and hovering around 50 million at the time of the publication of this book, indicate developments unforeseen by official planners. Telltale signs of future developments are found in Miami, Los Angles, and other areas where Spanish is commonly used in public discourse and official business. In conclusion, just as the strong bonds between Shi’a Muslims in Iran and Iraq are breaking the mold of ‘official plans’ for the Near East region, so too the resistance to assimilation of rapidly increasing numbers of Muslims in Europe and Hispanics in the United States, are side-tracking official regional plans for Europe and North America. Identities based upon religion are not easily controlled by planners, be they regional, national, or international. Religious identities can, and often do, spill over ‘official’ national and regional boundaries, and the rise and fall of identities based upon religion cannot predictably be controlled by official intra- or inter-governmental treaties. This important point has not received the attention it deserves, because regional planning tends to work on the assumption that religious identities (like identities based upon other cultural aspects) are not major factors in shaping economic development. This is an assumption that fits with the political and religious leanings of academics and professional planners, who tend to be more educated and less religious than the general public in their societies.

References Allawi, A.A. (2007), The Occupation of Iraq: Winning the War, Losing the Peace (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press). Arjomand. A.A. (1988), The Turban for the Crown (New York: Oxford University Press). Boas, M., Marchand, M. and Shaw, T. (2003), ‘Regional Interweaving of Economies, Ideas and Identities’, in F. Söderbaum and T. Shaw (eds), Theories of New Regionalism (New York: Palgrave). Calthorpe, P. and Fulton. W. (2001), The Regional City (Washington, DC: Island Press). Eversole, R. and Martin, J. (eds) (2005), Participation and Governance in Regional Development: Global Trends in an Australian Context (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate). Galbraith, P.W. (2006), The End of Iraq: How American Incompetence Created a War without End (New York: Simon and Schuster).


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Lerner, M. (1980), The Belief in a Just World: A Fundamental Delusion (New York: Plenum). Loftus, E. (1997), ‘Creating False Memories’, Scientific American 227, 70–75. Mazzetti, M. (2006), ‘In ’97, US Panel Predicted a North Korea Collapse in 5 years’, New York Times, 27 October, A6. Moghaddam, F.M. (1997), The Specialized Society: The Plight of the Individual in an Age of Individualism (Westport, CT: Praeger). Moghaddam, F.M. (2002), The Individual and Society: A Cultural Integration (New York: Freeman). Moghaddam, F.M. (2005), Great Ideas in Psychology: A Cultural and Historical Introduction (Oxford: Oneworld). Moghaddam, F.M. (2006), From the Terrorists’ Point of View: What They Experience and Why They Come to Destroy (Westport, CT: Praeger Security International). Moghaddam, F.M. (2008),Multiculturalism and Intergroup Relations: Psychological Implications for Democracy in Global Context (Washington, DC: American Psychological Association Press). Moghaddam, F.M. and Studer, C. (1998), Illusions of Control (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press). Moghaddam, F.M., Harré, R. and Lee, N. (2008), ‘Introduction’, in F.M. Moghaddam, R. Harré and N. Lee (eds), Global Conflict Resolution through Positioning Theory (New York: Springer). Moghaddam, F.M., Erneling, C.E., Montero, M. and Lee, N. (2007), ‘Toward a Conceptual Foundation for Global Psychology’, in M.J. Stevens and U.P. Gielen (eds), Toward a Global Psychology: Theory, Research, Intervention, and Pedagogy (Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum). Nasre, V. (2006), The Shi’a Revival: How Conflicts within Islam Will Shape the Future (New York: Norton). Okamoto, N. and Ihara, T. (eds) (2005), Spatial Structure and Regional Development in China: An Interregional Input-Output Approach (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Paraskevopoulos, C., Getimis, P. and Rees, N. (eds) (2006), Adapting to EU Multi-level Governance: Regional and Environmental Policies in Cohesion and CEE Countries (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate). Perlez, J. (2007), ‘Old Church Becomes Mosque in Altered and Uneasy Britain’, The New York Times, 2 April, A1 and A6. Pew Research Center (2006), Conflicting Views in a Divided World. How Global Publics View: Muslim-Western Relations, Global Issues, US Role in the World, Asian Rivalries (Washington, DC: Author). Pribram, K. (2002), Foreword, in F.M. Moghaddam, The Individual and Society: A Cultural Integration (New York: Freeman). Ramadan, T. (2006), In the Footsteps of the Prophet: Lessons from the Life of Muhammad (New York: Oxford University Press). Rogerson, B. (2007), The Heirs of Muhammad: Islam’s First Century and the Origins of the Sunni-Shia Split (New York: Overlook). Slocum, N. and Van Langenhove, L. (2003), ‘Integration Speak: Introducing Positioning Theory in Regional Integration Studies’, in R. Harré and F. Moghaddam (eds), The Self and Others: Positioning Individuals and Groups in Personal, Political, and Cultural Contexts (Westport, CT and London: Praeger). Tetlock, P. (2005), Expert Political Judgment: How Good Is It? How Do We Know? (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Wong, C. (2006), Indicators for Urban and Regional Planning: The Interplay of Policy and Methods (London: Routledge).


Chapter 9

Custom and Identity: Reflections on and Representations of Violence in Melanesia M. Anne Brown

Questions of identity arise most sharply in the context of interaction – often complex and multilayered – with what is experienced as other. This chapter explores aspects of the deeply entangled relationship between the post-colonial societies of Melanesia (the Southwest Pacific) and what could be variously conceptualized as ‘the West’, the ‘international community’, or the ‘developed world’, particularly around questions of conflict and violence. While the chapter considers the question of how Melanesian identity constructions might promote peace and conflict, it pays greater attention to the question of whether ways of identifying Melanesians promote peace or conflict in the region. The latter focus may have at least as much significance for the eruption of violence in the region as the former. Thus the chapter addresses aspects of the exchange between Melanesia and the ‘West’ and asks what they make possible, what they call into being and what they occlude. The ‘West’, the ‘developed world’, the ‘global north’ or ‘the international community’ are clearly vague, problematic references. It is worth noting that ‘Melanesia’ is an equally opaque term, as it refers to one of the most diverse gatherings of cultures and communities in the world. Nevertheless, the differences and gulfs between the two are real enough, as are the difficult histories and the dense, multilayered relationships. There are some profound differences, for example, between states, economies and patterns of commerce based on the generation of significant economic surplus and those based on largely subsistence food production (Nixon 2006). In some important ways and sites, however, the complex relationships between Melanesia and the West are imagined in terms of sharp polarities – borders of the mind – between categories of traditional (primitive or backward), a-historical and undeveloped on the one hand, and modern, rational, progressive and developed on the other. The recognition of difference is not identical with polarization. Whether present in a crude or a more subtle form, this polarization, it is suggested here, contributes to processes of identity formation, as well as to shaping elements of identity in Melanesia and those Western states (Australia and New Zealand) most geographically close (and perhaps even, through tales of exotica, those further afield). Such polarizing in processes of identity construction may be a deeply formative dynamic in dealings

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between the global north and south. Moreover, as this chapter explores, these borders of the mind may be more likely to contribute to conflict than to peace. The dynamics of ‘modernization’, ‘globalization’ or ‘Westernization’ in the Pacific Islands, and the complex responses of Pacific Island cultures and peoples to the messy yet powerful historical processes to which these terms refer are the subject of much scholarly research and debate, particularly, and in sometimes competing ways, in the fields of anthropology and development studies.1 While to some extent drawing on this literature, this chapter is concerned with related patterns of exchange and representation presented in policy discourse, journalism and some associated scholarly discussion. Representations of Melanesia in Australia and New Zealand are especially important in this context because, to a significant extent, the public relationship between the independent Melanesian states and the ‘West’ is mediated or influenced by these two, as the major powers in the greater international neighbourhood. Over the past few years, Melanesia has been repeatedly (though not exclusively) characterized in these countries as being part of ‘an arc of instability’; a zone of economic ‘basket cases’ and ‘failing states’, populated by ‘tribal and warlike’ people and open to penetration by terrorism and organized crime. There has been a persistent focus on the violence and political fragility of the region and its disruptive, chaotic potentials. This chapter challenges these images of the Southwest Pacific islands – images which are commonly applied to post-colonial regions – not for being without any empirical basis, but for nevertheless being misleading in profoundly significant ways. They are misleading because they take a part (and in some places a small part) of what is happening as the essential identity of the region, and so overlook significant dynamics of order, resilience and creativity. The confinements of negative imagery also provide frameworks for policy orientation towards Melanesia, but these frameworks have limited capacity for engagement with a reality that they have in important ways misconceived; more problematically, they may be counterproductive. Portrayals of Melanesia as places of threat and collapse may be leading ‘us’ (writing here as a settler Australian) down unnecessary and possibly dangerous paths. Finally, the discussion sets out to remind those of us in the ‘developed world’ of our own agency in these difficult histories, and to enable us to take different paths, by broadening the perspective from (often questionable) accounts of the violence of others to the wider context of relationship in which identities are shaped and actions taken. In so doing the discussion draws on traditions of conflict transformation, drawing the focus away from accounts of conflictual, difficult others to the challenges of engagement – in this case, challenges of deepening awareness of others but also of ourselves, and of at once working across differences (of power, culture, economic life) and of recognizing interdependence, mutuality and commonality. The following discussion falls into four parts. The first part notes key terms and approaches used in the chapter. The second part briefly introduces Melanesia and addresses (in very broad terms) some ways that Melanesians collectively identify 1 There is a considerable body of literature on the interaction between Pacific Island peoples and the West and its meaning, for Pacific identity constructions and for Western knowledge practices, e.g., Marshall Sahlins, James Clifford, Joel Bonnemaison, Margaret Jolly and Nicholas Thomas.

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themselves that are relevant to questions of conflict and peace in the region, to externally drawn representations of violence, and to the interactions of local indigenous and global dynamics – governance and custom, land and economic life, and different cultural constructions of order and violence in different parts of the region. The third part of the chapter considers some dominant Western representations of Melanesia, and explores some of the consequences (particularly in Australia) of these representations for policy approaches and actions. This section explores some of the factors driving these dominant representations, in particular the security environment of ‘the war on terror’, and a related but more long-standing process of polarization. The conclusion puts forward alternative approaches to understanding, representing and engaging with Melanesian societies and states. Notably, rather than being in a state of collapse and chaos, Pacific Island societies could more realistically be seen as struggling with the confusions of rapid change and globalizing pressures, and with the difficult but also creative processes of trying to shape states that are grounded in local social and economic realities. Such an understanding changes subtly but significantly the ways we (writing as a settler Australian and a Westerner) enter into, exist within, and grasp our relationships with the peoples of Melanesia. Interweaving with questions of identity, the intense pressures of rapid change bearing on Melanesian peoples is a theme running throughout this discussion. There is a dense, difficult and critically important dialogue of differences underway in and around Melanesia concerning the shapes of cultural and political life – a pushing and pulling between versions of indigenous or customary life forms and liberal political practices and values and between exchange or subsistence economies and commercial or cash economies. This dialogue is two-way; that is, it is marked by a lively history of accommodations and creative interpretations as well as conflict, rather than by a simple replacement of indigenous with introduced systems. The dialogue occurs not only within Melanesia itself – whether we are conscious of it or not, ‘the West’ is very much part of this exchange. For Melanesians, individual and collective identities are at stake in the most fundamental ways in this exchange. What might the identity constructions drawn for Melanesians by prominent public discourses outside the immediate region – drawn at times in simple, if not simplistic, terms – offer to the challenges with which Melanesian societies are grappling? What might these identity constructions say about ‘our’ own Western or modern abilities to engage constructively with markedly different political and economic sensibilities? And are these characterizations promoting peace or feeding the potential for conflict?

Terms and Approaches Identity, like culture, is a complicated word, called to do many tasks.2 Like language itself, identity is a living process by which we generate value that places 2 ‘Culture is one of the two or three most complicated words in the English language’ (Williams 1983: 87).

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us in relation to each other and within a symbolic cosmos; it is a fundamental part of exchange. Thus it is approached here as dynamic, constructed and relational without, however, being easily or endlessly malleable. The way we identify others is simultaneously part of a process of delineating ourselves. Social identity theories suggest that a key driver of social identity is threat (Louis et al. 2007) while prominent studies of conflict argue that ‘[c]onflict emerges through an interactive process based on the search for and creation of shared meaning’ (Lederach 1995: 9). If ‘the construction of social meaning, as an intersubjective process, lies at the heart of how human conflict is created’, then the ways we together shape identity, as a fundamental part of that social meaning, will bear directly on approaches to and propensity for conflict (Lederach 1995: 8). Aspects of identity have roots deep in history, embedded, for example, in ancient narratives that shape a cultural landscape, in social and economic forms that come together and shift only over many centuries (as deep international divergences over the appropriate forms of land tenure for Melanesia demonstrate), or associated with group narratives of potent events from many decades or centuries ago. Elements of identity can be ‘passed down’ across generations, as histories of protracted conflict and trauma make clear. ‘People remember a particular point in history in a particular way … These topographically highlighted moments in the social landscape of a people form and shape a continuous sense of who they are, and the very events are reconstructed in the present with each new encounter’ (Lederach 2005: 142). Conflict that is experienced as embedded in questions of identity concern people’s sense of meaning or value through time – their own, but also that of their collectivity. Moving past such conflict or preventing its eruption often involves a transformation, even if subtle, of how the relationships are understood, and of one’s own (and others’) identity or trajectory within those relationships. This is the challenge facing powerful aspects of the relationships between Melanesia and the West. The methodology informing this chapter is historical and interpretive. The orientation is dialogical. The terms of this exchange between Melanesians and the West, however, are not equal. The ‘Western monopoly to portray others on the worldwide market of images and meanings’ may be increasingly questioned, but it remains pervasive (Wassmann 1998: 16). Following William Connolly, in a modest way this essay ‘pursues the conviction that politics pervades the relation of identity to difference and that affirmation of the relational and the constructed character of identity can nevertheless make a difference to the ethical quality of political life’ (Connolly 1991: ix). Awareness of and attention to the ways we shape and form part of each other can change the quality of our relationship. The notion of ‘borders of the mind’ can itself suggest this dialogical approach. Borders indicate the delimitation of territory; ‘borders of the mind’ points to the simultaneous delimitation of both physical territory, of a state, a region, a place, and mental or psychic territory: of individual and collective identity, or of a ‘state’ of mind. But borders are also points of intersection and exchange; at least in international politics, they are generally established not by forces endogenous to the state, but by interplay among states and long histories of often fraught exchange across landscapes and populations. Borders delimit territory: but more


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fundamentally than that, they constitute points within and are products of a more extensive system of exchange and transaction. Borders are stories of crossings. ‘Borders’ also point to what is at the margins. In terms of the usual accounting of global transactions of power, wealth, and commodities, Melanesia is at the margins – mostly small islands flung across the Pacific Ocean like a scatter of seeds, with small populations engaged for the most part in subsistence food production. It is at the periphery of the global political imagination, if ‘centres’ are taken as those places normally identified with political and economic power. In addressing Melanesia, we are addressing a region of indigenous peoples caught up in the powerful currents of globalization – forces which they may ride, but which they neither control nor initiated. As Jean Mitchell has argued in regard to Vanuatu ‘violence must be understood within a context of the complex and specific intersections of the local and global’ (2000: 205). For this reason, investigations of peace, violence and conflict in Melanesia are investigations not so much of identities which map and exist within distinct territories of their own, but of the entanglement of global and local – of identities formed and reformed in relationships which are themselves often unequal and full of confusion. It is worth noting here that ‘conflict’ is not assumed to be always and only destructive. In Melanesia people are working with challenges and pressures for change that inevitably generate conflict. Violent conflict, however, particularly when it becomes entrenched, is destructive of lives, communities and wellbeing.

Melanesia Place and States Melanesia is a subregion within the Pacific Islands (also known as Oceania), an arc of tropical and subtropical islands and ocean in the Western reach of the Pacific Ocean, to the north and east of Australia. The region includes the independent states of Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, Vanuatu and Fiji, as well as the French territory of New Caledonia, the Indonesia province of West Papua (or Irian Jaya), and the tiny Australian Torres Strait Islands between Australia and Papua New Guinea. Melanesia is home to between eight and nine million people, and makes up approximately 85 per cent of the population of the Pacific Islands region. The name ‘Melanesia’ was coined by nineteenth century traders, missionaries, colonists and anthropologists who, in the European focus on ‘race’ established a darker shade of skin colour (melan) from a wide set of differences and commonalities across the communities of the Pacific Islands as a critical identifying feature (with usage dating from the 1840s). The apparently simple identification of this group is itself part of a layered history of exchange. While ‘Melanesians’ were the dark-skinned peoples, in contrast to Polynesians and Micronesians, there were also some differences of political and social organization. As a generalization, Polynesian political organization was (and is) relatively


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centralized and hierarchical, with aristocratic classes3 – something taken by nineteenth-century Europeans to denote refinement and civilization. Melanesians, by contrast, were more often organized as semi-autonomous social groups, with ‘leaders with influence rather than authority, social orders in which the natural and supernatural worlds were intricately intertwined, and integrated political, social religious and economic systems that lacked specialized functions’ (McLeod 2007: 76) – a form of organization seen as ‘primitive’ by European standards of the day. Melanesians were commonly associated with greater ‘wildness’. During the colonial period indigenous practices were depicted as an arena of violence and savagery (and in some areas, inter-group fighting was relatively common). By contrast, the violence of colonization was seen as inherently civilizing and as a necessary part of pacification (Jolly 1996: 177). ‘Melanesia’ has now become a positive self-identification within the region itself. Thus we have, for example, the ‘Melanesian way’ referred to in the PNG Constitution, denoting indigenous customary practices and life forms, the Melanesian Spearhead Group, as a regional political organization, and Melanesian solidarity advanced as the basis for sanctuary given by Vanuatu to West Papuan independence activists. Indigenous patterns of human settlement in the region have reflected principles of dispersion, rather than concentration. As a result, Melanesia is extraordinarily diverse; indeed diversity is one of the characteristics by which the region is sometimes identified. Most islands did not traditionally share a single, centralized authority or even a single language. Melanesian societies are extravagantly multilingual – a challenge for contemporary statehood. One-quarter of the world’s contemporary languages are spoken and originated in Melanesia. Vanuatu, for example, is made up of 68 inhabited islands, covering an area of around 12,000 square kilometres of sea, with a population speaking approximately 100 different local languages, the two languages (French and English) of colonization, plus the vibrant creole (Bislama) that has become the national medium of communication. Linguistic diversity is an indication of cultural difference. Papua New Guinea, while largely made up of one mountainous island, is home to more than 700 distinct languages and is perhaps the most culturally diverse country in the world. Melanesia faces many of the problems common in post-colonial regions. These include high population growth and the associated youth bulge, low growth in the cash economy and significant unemployment, growing inequality and poverty, the tension between cash and subsistence economies, patterns of unequal development, unplanned urbanization and squatter settlements, stress on traditional land tenure arrangements and the erosion of traditional mechanisms of social order without the emergence of clear alternatives, political instability, corruption, HIV Aids, predatory commercial interests from beyond the region, resource stripping and environmental degradation. States were transposed to the Pacific Islands, to sit on top of diverse, semiautonomous social groups which have been the most common form of indigenous political, social and economic life. Statehood has brought its distinct territorial but 3

Tonga is a constitutional monarchy, for example.


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also symbolic borders, according to which indigenous political orders are called upon to radically remake themselves as part of a national identity and national unity, a centralizing government and citizens, and new formations of insider and outsider. Independence has been a recent development, for those territories that are independent – 1970 for Fiji, 1975 for PNG, 1978 for the Solomon Islands and 1980 for Vanuatu – and followed a process of colonization that offered little or no preparation for contemporary statehood. Drawing on the participative nature of Melanesian political life, aspects of democracy have fared well in the region. The institutional frameworks of liberal governance are very recent in the region, however, and the forms of agency and identity that mesh with them – however various and wide-ranging they may be – do not occur spontaneously. Assumptions underpinning liberal government and accountability systems are weakly grounded in the world view and social and economic reality of much of the population. By and large, government institutions may be acknowledged with more or less respect, but they often do not carry great weight, purchase or efficacy within communities. They ‘are ‘far away’ not only physically (in the capital city), but also mentally’ (Boege et al. 2007: 4). Lack of connection between state institutions and communities, and friction between liberal modes of governance and local practice create the conditions for significant problems. Local customary systems of reciprocity and accountability provide security and order on the ground, but these same mechanisms can become locked into destructive patterns of interaction with state and parliamentary systems of accountability and order. This leads to corruption and significantly reorders the operation of national governments in ways that work against processes of political representation and the delivery of services. ‘State institutions are captured by social forces which make use of them not in the interest of the state and its citizenry, but in the interest of traditional kinship-based entities’ (Boege et al. 2007: 4). At the same time, customary governance and practices can also be undermined by interaction with parliamentary systems (divisive electioneering for example) while both forms of governance are vulnerable to threats and bribes from commercial interests and other sources. Moreover, while customary authorities and communities provide significant levels of security in much of the region, local governance mechanisms are often not equipped to deal with many of the nationwide patterns of risk noted above; nor are they often well able to respond on their own to the rapid pace of change. These dynamics can undermine the capacity of national or local governance mechanisms to prevent or resolve conflicts. The complex, often fraught relations between community values and the institutions of national governance, and between exchange economies and the international market economy that characterise Melanesia have often been interpreted as a simple dichotomy between tradition and modernity – a tension in which modernity is by definition the path of the future. The apparent arrival of modernity may be cast as a tragedy or a triumph; increasingly, in international development circles, however, the delayed advent of the fully functioning liberal states and economies which signify modernity is greeted with perplexity. Encounters between local situations and global economic and political forces are inherently unequal, and yet this is not a story of the simple march of global

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domination, or of ‘progress’. It is at least as much a story of potentially generative exchange, creativity, ‘local resistances, refashionings, and representations’ (Keesing 1996: 166) – a process of indigenizing modernity in Marshall Sahlins’ phrase (2005: 47). Melanesians are grappling with challenges that are both profoundly difficult and creative: shaping states that are grounded in their own societies and make sense within their own values but that can make their way in the international arena. This is a dense, messy set of exchanges and transformations, taking place within individuals and societies, engaging virtually all dimensions of people’s experience and agency, about how Pacific Islanders ‘reconfigure themselves, drawing selectively on remembered pasts’ and of ‘whether, and how, they convince insiders and outsiders, often in power-charged, unequal situations, to accept the autonomy of a ‘we’ (Clifford 2001: 479).4 Custom and Kastom One way of approaching collective identities in Melanesia is by considering customary life, which remains alive across most of the region. ‘Custom’ in Melanesia is a multilayered term. At one level, custom is the shorthand term describing indigenous lifeways. As such it is dynamic and highly differentiated across the region, varying both in indigenous roots and in the ways it has evolved and melded with other influences, including colonizing and contemporary international forces, from Christianity (deeply rooted in the region) and Western education to the cash economy and the institutions of the liberal state. ‘Custom is part of life, but as our way of life changes, so must custom. Its strength in the future must lie in its flexibility’ (Vanuatu 1990, in Jolly 1994: 256). In this sense custom is syncretic and evolving, but nevertheless rooted in forms of life that are traditional to the region. Some generalizations can be drawn about the nature of those forms of life. Life for most Melanesians is grounded in kinship networks, a strong sense of place, communally held land, and principles of reciprocity. ‘[G]ift-giving and complex exchange cycles are the substance of sociality’ and form the interactive processes through which identities are generated (Thomas 1992: 326). Consultation and consensus are strongly emphasized. Complex networks of reciprocity effectively act as a welfare system – vital in the face of states’ low capacity to supply such support. This has protected many from the extremes of poverty, although the support (and the demands) of extended family and clan structures is coming under increasing strain in many areas. While patterns of customary life are highly differentiated, the continuing vitality of custom seems, in contemporary life at least, to be to a significant extent based on the high percentage of people drawing their welfare and well-being from rural activities on customary – that is to say, communally held – land. Approximately 80 per cent of people live in rural areas 4 In constitutional terms, the sovereign states in the region are variations of liberal democracy (although in Fiji, the elected government was ousted in a bloodless coup in December 2006 – the latest in a series of coups over the past twenty years. The military commander is still head of the government at the time of writing).


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(with urban settlement higher in Fiji and New Caledonia), where subsistence farming, fishing and craft work are the mainstays of activity, although this is increasingly supplemented by some activity in the cash economy. Around 80 per cent of land resources is held in customary tenure. Custom, however (as kastom) is also the assertion and upholding of conceptions of tradition as a form of resistance to colonization, globalization and Westernization (Jolly 1992, 1994). It can be invoked in varying contexts for different purposes: as an expression of localized identity (for example, North Pentecost or Malaitan kastom); or as emergent nationalism (for example, to develop an overarching identity of ni-Vanuatu people or Solomon Islanders); or as an expression of pan-regional identity (e.g. kastom as ‘the Melanesian way’). Such assertions of kastom and identity are made, in the face of intense pressures for change from forces and bodies which have little understanding of or care for the values and forms of indigenous lives. While kastom often operates as a declaration of the value of local approaches – to governance, conflict resolution, social welfare, and so on, as with other forms of nationalist self-assertion, it can also become reified and defensive: an expression of insecurity as people fear that the practices and values which animate their lives together will be taken from them. As Margaret Jolly has detailed in relation to parts of Vanuatu, the reification of kastom creates the conditions for some potent forms of structural and social violence – in particular, of heightened forms of control of women (Jolly 1994). ‘The self-conscious need to ‘hold women tight’ becomes not just an internal imperative but part of the resistant relation to external pressures … [an] anti-colonial defence of tradition’ that Jolly points out is a commonplace pattern in nationalist movements (1994: 257). More broadly, reification of custom can also reduce people’s capacity to respond creatively to the complex challenges of rapid social and economic change that they face. It endeavours to draw a sharp, but unreal and unsustainable border between the threat from the West outside and the authenticity and substance of culture within. Land Land is the key to food and social security for most Pacific Islanders; it provides a basis for community and is a source of social cohesion and resilience. It is thus a basic element of human security for the region. Land remains a leading frame and context of relationship: ‘every mature person is embedded in a complex web of relationships in which control of rights in land or access to land figures prominently in meeting obligations to others. Land is the root of power and success. It is worth fighting for’ (Hutchins 1990: 413). Being one’s fundamental ‘standing place’, land or place conveys not only power but identity. ‘Personal essence and identity are infused into the land … Longana think of themselves as sharing a territory not only with other living residents but with the memory of their ancestors and the future of their children.’ It is in this essential bond between person and place that identity is forged (Rodman, in Bonnemaison 1985: 31). ‘Land is more than just land. It has cosmological significance; genealogies are written on the landscape. It also is a major point of independence. There is

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a political and moral economy attached to this, but also a real economy. This is where people grow their subsistence crops. This is what allows them independence from more powerful, richer people’ (Morgan, in Commonwealth of Australia 2003: 3, 58). Most people retain access to land in the independent states of Melanesia – so far, there are few landless poor, although the phenomenon is emerging. Custom, including relationships to land, is evolving. Nevertheless, land remains fundamental to the shared practical, economic and symbolic world of most Melanesians. As Marshall Sahlins has pointed out, Pacific Islanders stand in stark contrast with the model of homo economicus upon which significant elements of Western policy-making and contemporary cosmology are based (2005a: 23). This is particularly evident regarding land. Customary approaches to land at least begin from a point at clear variance with the commodification of land that is part of investment and commercial development, with much advice emanating from leading development agencies and with some important reference points according to which urban, ‘developed’ peoples construct their identities. Cash in itself may not be an ‘equal’ exchange for land and, for many Melanesians, cash may not be readily transformable into enduring social value. International agencies such as the World Bank argue the need for certainty of tenure for foreign investors as a precondition for investment and growth and see the more fluid customary tenure arrangements as an unpassable obstacle to growth. Influential Western economists point out that no country in the world has developed from a base of communal land ownership (for example, Hughes 2003, 2004), and advise that customary land arrangements be done away with. Governments are thus urged to institute policies likely to result in the creation of a mass of disaffected landless poor for what is argued to be the long term good of the Melanesian population. Efforts to understand sources of insecurity or conflict in Melanesia – or indeed to understand sources of resilience and community – need some appreciation of the role of land, and of the customary forms of life which are to a significant extent underpinned by land, as these enable both the processes and elements of collective identity.5 Pressures around land and between different understandings of land – including between customary and commercial approaches to land – are some of the most pressing causes of conflict across the region and are one of the most difficult points of contention between Western and Melanesian approaches to moral and economic wellbeing. Friction around these questions often involves fundamental failures to appreciate the identity formations involved – one’s own or others’. Land has thus been a leading feature in many of the region’s more violent conflicts, with serious civil conflict in Bougainville (PNG) and in the Solomon Islands as notable examples. But there are many smaller examples. Areas around Port Vila (the capital of Vanuatu) for example, are undergoing a real estate boom 5 Land figures prominently in both the lived experience and the reification of custom. For example, ‘in nationalist rhetoric the reclaiming of land was tantamount to a reclaiming of the ancestral past. One of the key tropes in this was the idea of the rootedness of manples, as against the rootlessness of Europeans: rootedness implies permanence or persistence, while rootlessness implies temporal as well as spatial transience’ (Jolly 1992b).


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as Australians, Americans and Europeans seek to buy their own piece of paradise on the sea. The land they ‘buy’, however, is often in fact communally held land leased under circumstances misleading to the local landholders (and potentially to the foreign lessees), due to legal loopholes that offshore development interests feel justified in exploiting. Indigenous land holders are being increasingly alienated from their land, often with little recompense and sometimes without their consent. This situation is generating increasing resentment and grievance among land holders who feel, often with good reason, that they have been cheated; there is a real likelihood of serious violence. This is not to suggest that accommodation around land usage is impossible. Every town and settlement in the region could be thought of as a site of experimentation in the interaction between communal and commercial approaches to land, as local people seek to enhance their wellbeing and opportunities, governments and international agencies seek development (however understood) and increased GDP, international companies seek access to resources and profits, and opportunists and shysters – from all the above categories – seek to exploit weak regulatory environments and conflicting symbolic universes for profit and power. The interaction and interweaving between different approaches to land, however, which involves personal and collective identity at profound levels, is an area of extraordinary difficulty, confusion and conflict, as well as a potential zone of creativity. Violence and Order A social dynamic that is even less open to generalization than land practices, but that also offers some insight into the entanglement of local and ‘Western’ identity constructions, is the construction of order and violence.6 Most people in Melanesia live in ‘self-help’ communities. That is, people’s basic welfare and services, particularly including security, social order and the management of disputes are not handled by state mechanisms but by the community or kinship group, although the systems of management vary considerably. Serious crimes may often be a matter for the police and the court system, but by and large, police have little presence in rural Melanesia. Nevertheless, everyday life in much of the region is orderly and peaceful. Local systems for working with conflict are generally strong and can also be evident at the national level. (In Vanuatu, for example, customary leaders have resolved a number of potential national crises.) However, what is counted as legitimate violence can vary considerably across the region, including within countries. Two quite different examples may illustrate some issues raised here. Bougainville, a subnational region at the eastern reaches of Papua New Guinea, was for ten years (1989–1998) the site of the bloodiest post-World War II conflict in the Pacific Islands. Several thousand people died in fighting that erupted over a complex mix of factors – the impact on land, symbolically and 6 See, for example, Dinnen and Ley (2000) for an excellent and fuller discussion of issues touched on here.

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materially, of what was then the largest open-pit mine in the world on subsistence communities, inter-communal conflict, and demands for greater self-determination from PNG. With limited assistance from neighboring Pacific countries, the parties within Bougainville negotiated a peace which has successfully lasted since 1998. Part of the agreement includes very extensive autonomy arrangements for Bougainville, with an eventual referendum to be held on full independence. However, some communities within Bougainville have not accepted the authority of the autonomous government, leading to a no-go zone within the autonomous region. Within most Western sovereignties, this would be a situation in which violence on the part of the government would be seen as legitimate and necessary. However, rather than seeing the no-go zone as a challenge to the sovereignty of the government and to the identity of the Bougainville Autonomous Region that cannot go unanswered, and rather than insisting on upholding the government’s monopoly on the legitimate use of violence, the zone has been accepted by the Bougainville government as a situation that will with time be resolved, and peace has been maintained. This attitude reflects an approach to political order that draws on the experience of the civil war but also on local customary traditions of managing conflict and violence. Avoiding direct confrontation and the humiliation of others, and recognizing the legitimacy of other parties in such a situation appears to be part of this tradition. In this case, a culture built around relatively autonomous self-help communities has shaped the expectations of how (a subnational but highly autonomous) sovereignty can work. Simbu province, within the PNG Highlands, offers a different kind of example. The province has high rates of violence. Within the social norms of the area interpersonal violence and local ‘warfare’ are not understood as necessarily illegitimate or antithetical to order (McLeod 2004). That is, they do not constitute ‘lawlessness’ within their own society. Violence may be a rule bound response to grievance which acts to uphold community legitimacy (McLeod 2004: 12). Local communities draw clear distinctions between illegitimate violence which is a rupture of appropriate social relations, and legitimate violence which is understood as a necessary, but also regulated and limited remedy for incorrect social relationships or actions. At the same time, local people ‘place a high degree of value upon settlement-directed talk … such as negotiation, mediation, village court proceedings and compensation (McLeod 2004: 203). Relatively minor incidents, for example, might be physical fighting between co-wives (polygamy is accepted in the area) which is invariably conducted in public and often after church on Sunday, ensuring that acceptable boundaries to the fighting are observed. However, tribal fighting can involve killing. The erosion of traditional authority mechanisms have also meant that inter-group conflict is now less regulated than in the past, while the availability of modern weapons has transformed the social dynamics and the impact of the violence. As a result, the number of fatalities has escalated and the region has developed a pervasive gun culture. Local social norms and constructions of masculinity have in some important respects become self-destructive, as their interaction with high powered weapons undermines the line between appropriate and illegitimate violence and corrodes community selfhelp order. Mcleod argues that ‘external attempts to promote … “peace” … will


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succeed only when local notions of social order are accommodated’ and engaged with, if not accepted or endorsed (2007: 73). That is to say, external efforts to control violence in Simbu need to engage constructively with the place of and the values attached to certain kinds of violent exchange in the personal and collective identities of local people, particularly young men. The role of violence and conflict in constructions of social and political order differs between cultures. It is important not to generalise from Simbu to all of PNG, or Melanesia. As William Mitchell, an anthropologist of PNG, noted: ‘The West, as we know, is fascinated by violence. Western journalists, filmmakers and anthropologists working in New Guinea have made the land famous for headhunting, cannibalism and male-female antagonism. The range of New Guinea societies, however, is great. While the gentler societies lack the riveting appeal of those that are more flamboyantly aggressive, they can be instructive’ (Mitchell 1992: 90, in Collins 2000: 23).

Western Representations and Responses ‘Tribal and Warlike’ Armed conflict is not the norm for the Pacific Islands (MacLellan 2004: 526). Nevertheless, Melanesia has suffered a number of serious crises and violent conflicts over the past few decades.7 Added to the potential for violence associated with weak governance and intensifying social pressures in the region, these crises

7 At the time of Vanuatu’s independence in 1980, a Francophone movement sought (unsuccessfully) to break away from the Anglophone dominated government of independence. (Vanuatu had two colonial governments, English and French, which ruled Vanuatu as a condominium.) Through the 1980s, Kanak independence movements fought against France and New Caledonian central authorities (unsuccessfully) for national independence. In what might be the region’s most violent conflict, several thousand people died in a long-running inter-communal war in Bougainville (PNG) in the 1990s, fought in part over independence from PNG. In Indonesian Irian Jaya (West Papua) there has been a long history of intermittent but persistent clashes with the Indonesian army over questions of self-determination and enhanced local control. Three of these four conflicts have also involved the presence of large scale mining projects and struggle over who makes decisions about the fate of the local environment, and who controls resources and access to profits. Inter-communal conflict around the capital of the Solomon Islands erupted into open violence in 1998 and was contained by a regional military and policing mission in 2003. The crisis grew out of a history of uneven development, grievances over land tenure around the capital, ‘the predatory practices of logging companies from South-East Asia’, government corruption and a flow of small weapons from across the straits in Bougainville (Firth 2005: 8). Fiji too has suffered a series of coups. The coups of 2000 and 2006 were preceded by overthrow of the government in 1987, again around struggles for political and economic control between sectors of the Indian-Fijian and indigenous-Fijian communities, and within the indigenous-Fijian population.

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have been met with a sense of deep alarm in public discussion in Australia and New Zealand. Melanesian culture is tribal and warlike … The truth is Melanesian independence has been a disaster. … Melanesia is often and tellingly compared with Africa. It may in a sense resemble the Middle East. There are no solutions. Nothing works. (Sheridan, The Australian, 20 April 2006) Melanesia … is a scattering of mini-tribes herded into nations which lack most of the glue that holds nations together … [Its] population is set to explode over the next 20 years. … few will have paying jobs … So expect crime and violence in these territories … Add to that transnational crime, drug trafficking, people-smuggling, terrorism and competition for influence by Asian and European states. And those activities will be close by us, threatening to spill over our borders. (James, New Zealand Herald, 12 December 2006) ‘Two die in witchcraft battles’ screamed London’s Evening Standard. The image was of a nation in meltdown, with armed gangs bent on the wreakage that has become such a Melanesian cliche. (Gay 2007: 34)

This sense of alarm, however, is not only misplaced; it reduces the capacity to understand and respond constructively to the real problems which Melanesian states and societies are facing. At the least this reduces the ability of Western agencies to help prevent violent conflict or support its resolution and without such support, Melanesian states may become more vulnerable, as the earlier discussion of land issues suggested. But there is also a danger that approaches guided by images of anxiety and threat may contribute to conflict, as later discussions explore. Moreover, the sense of alarm reflects and reproduces an illusory construction of both Melanesia and ‘ourselves’. Factors other than the challenges faced by developing states are at play in this anxiety, some evident in the quotes above. One factor involves a process of polarization – the identification of, and generation of anxiety around, an exotic and threatening other. This process is a mechanism for identifying both others and ourselves. A second factor, discussed later, is the insecurity following the changed international security environment of the ‘war on terror’ and what has become the associated category of state failure. In the quote from the The Australian’s leading foreign affairs writer, Greg Sheridan (and perhaps the Evening Standard headline), Melanesian culture is itself the problem, identified here both as particularly aggressive (‘warlike’) and as small-scale and, perhaps implicitly, ‘primitive’ or savage (‘tribal’). The diversity of Melanesian cultures is flattened to one single culture. A greater problem, however, is that the challenges of the interactions between local practices, international players and global forces with which Melanesian states and societies grapple, are seen as inherent to, and expressions of, this essentialized Melanesia. The fundamental reality of exchange – of our shared history, our entangled present, and the creative potential of an inevitably shared future – is overlooked. If Melanesian culture is to blame for problems of rapid population growth, rapid urbanization, unemployment, growing inequality, poor governance,


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lack of fit between community values and state mechanisms and between subsistence economics and the economic basis of state operations, environmental degradation, resource stripping and so on, then those of us who are also part of these interactions – the former colonizers, the regional powers and neighbors, the international agencies, the traders and so on – have no role, responsibility or place in these struggles. Melanesians are isolated and confined within sharp symbolic borders, in a symbolic territory at once threatening, but beyond our need to understand. The strong dichotomy, even opposition, drawn between traditional and modern continues to influence approaches to Melanesia (and many other post-colonial states and regions). This powerful border of the mind could be stated in its starkest form, in which an (imagined) West stands identified with modernity and the future, but also with rationality, accountability, justice, democracy, enlightenment and universality. What might be seen as Melanesian or indigenous is by contrast associated with not only the past, but a dark past, characterized by irrationality, lawless power, parochialism and violence; thus its persistence (beyond a superficial expression of cultural activities) appears as resistance, or an obstacle to a functioning, enlightened future. Such an extreme, social Darwinist form of the traditional/modern dichotomy is not commonly stated explicitly, but the polarity it establishes can subtly pervade many Western characterizations of the relations between Melanesia and ‘ourselves’ – the ways that ‘we’ can think not only of ‘them’, but imagine ourselves in relation to them. This has significant policy implications for governments and agencies and broad-ranging social implications for public understanding. Good governance, for example, is repeatedly identified solely with Western liberal mechanisms for participation, accountability and security; what indigenous mechanisms might offer to these social and political goods is repeatedly discounted. More sharply, Melanesia is increasingly represented in Australian and to a lesser extent New Zealand media and political rhetoric as threatening, a sinister shadow fringing rational, modern lives. How do these images of Melanesia affect policy-making? The complexity of interaction between indigenous and liberal forms of political economy, their histories of adjustment and friction, and their areas of resonance and compatibility, as well as incommensurability and contradiction, are through this dichotomy of traditional and modern flattened into a simple opposition (Sahlins 2005). Agencies supporting state building in Melanesia have thus tended to interpret tension or contradiction between formal government institutions and local customary practices and values as simply problems with local practices and values. Thus the small scale nature of customary political organization is approached less as a source of resilience and endurance, than as ‘tribalism’, and so an obstacle to the proper functioning of the state. But the strength of community and network in Melanesia have worked powerfully as a mechanism for social welfare, meaning that the region has never faced the widespread starvation or extremes of poverty that are often present elsewhere in the developing world. Local communities can also provide real scope for participative politics (although this is not always the case, particularly regarding women and young people). Significant dispersion of

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power poses real difficulties for state-building, but it also offers some strengths, as well as opportunities for the evolution of what might be somewhat different models of the state. Such decentralized power seems likely to be one reason why Melanesia has so far avoided the autocracies that have dogged independent subSaharan Africa. The intermeshing of localized, decentralized, and subsistencebased traditions of political economy with centralized, liberal democratic states resting on a monopoly of legitimate violence and a system of raising and redistributing tax and other revenue is clearly an extraordinary set of challenges. Nevertheless, in general terms it can be argued that Melanesian experience offers as much opportunity to political orders that are in principle based on values of participation and consultation as it presents difficulty and contest. The emergence of a sense of citizenship, and of superordinate national identities capable of effectively holding a number of highly localized identities (often with their own distinct languages), is equally challenging. Again, strong local identities have tended to be seen as not simply other than, or in tension with, the national affiliation of citizenship, but as standing in the way of its development, and so as impediments to be removed. As well as reflecting the polarization between tradition and modernity through which Western/indigenous relations are in part constructed, such an approach reflects too narrow a grasp of how identities work. Explicitly appreciating the multiple nature of people’s identities may enable a more nuanced and creative approach to citizenship. Melanesian cultures, many of which are voyaging and exploratory as well as strongly placed within a territorial space, may well be able to support a citizenship in which a woman is rooted in Ambrym but is also actively ni-Vanuatu, or Malaitan but equally a Solomon Islander. Community identifications can play a positive and adaptive role by providing a cultural frame for stabilizing multiple and layered identities. As Joel Bonnemaison has remarked about Vanuatu, for example, communities have their own symbolism of being both at home and of the world, both tree and canoe (Bonnemaison 1985). If ‘the village is the key to understanding development in the Solomon Islands’ (Moore 2007: 193) and in most of Melanesia, then efforts to support citizenship need to engage with the village, or the clan, or the local community, rather than reject them as the source of clientelism, parochialism and division. There is much commentary on high levels of violence and disorder in Melanesia, with Papua New Guinea in particular characterized through ‘dominant images of pervasive violence …’ (Dinnen 2000: 5). Port Moresby, PNG’s capital, in particular struggles with significant rates of violent crime. Melanesian societies certainly generate violence, with some areas being particularly problematic.8 It is not clear, however, that Melanesia is a particularly violent part of the world. Claims of law and order breakdown across the region bear little relevance to most rural areas; nor do they apply generically to towns. Nevertheless, without careful intervention, violence around urban centres in parts of Melanesia is likely 8 There has been an increase in violent crime in towns for example, which is linked with rapid urban growth, high rates of urban unemployment, and the mushrooming of squatter settlements.


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to increase. This is driven by demographic and economic factors, and by tensions around land tenure and usage – matters far from the picture painted of inherently violent cultures. Yet responses to violence depend on the interpretation of the causes. For external agencies seeking to support security in the region, a likely response to violence that is seen as a natural expression of the culture, or as the result of elements of the culture believed to be beyond rational understanding, is the need for stronger government able to wield more assertive security forces. This indeed is how official Australian responses have been governed. ‘There is often an implicit view that ‘law and order’ and ‘peace’ are conditions to be imposed upon society by the state …’ (Dinnen 2000: 11). The causes of violence, however, require not a polarized view of difference, but a deeper engagement with the societies in question, while the mechanisms of constraint are at least as likely to be customary and community based as dependent on policing. Failing States? The second factor fuelling anxieties about the Southwest Pacific is the changed security environment associated with the ‘war on terror’ and the related concerns about state failure. This is particularly clear in relation to Australian security policy and popular discussion of that policy, upon which the following analysis is focused. While the category of state failure predates the ‘war on terror’, its salience has sharpened considerably following 2001. Poor governance, political crises or inter-communal conflicts in the region are increasingly taken to signal the emergence of ‘Somalia-like “failed states”’ in ‘the formerly benign South Pacific Islands’ (Reilly 2000). Over the past several years, the concept of state failure has become prominent in the study of international politics and in policy-making. State failure or fragility is seen to be in a vicious circle with violent conflict while weak or failing states are considered breeding grounds of transnational crime and terrorism, weapons proliferation and ‘grey area’ phenomena. Thus failing states are a threat to their neighbours, and become a critical factor in transnational conflict formations. This concern was captured vividly by Greg Sheridan: ‘Melanesia is on fire and one day the flames will engulf Australia’ (Sheridan 2001: 14). Along with terrorism and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, ‘the consequences of state fragility and failure’ were identified by the Australian Department of Defence in 2007 as ‘the most immediate strategic challenges for Australia’ (Australia’s National Security Update 2007). The Weekend Australian, commenting on the report drew attention to ‘the multiple security challenges presented by failed states in our region’ and later, the ‘continuing instability in the Southwest Pacific’, along with Islamist terrorism, as the ‘sinister side of globalization’ (Walters, 19–20 May 2007: 20; 7–8 July 2007). Unfortunately, while particular analyses of ‘failing states’ in the Pacific Islands region may be insightful (see, for example, Wainwright 2003), the language moves easily into an alarmist focus on weakness, collapse and security endgames. As a number of analyses have pointed out, the concern with state failure in the Pacific Islands is directly linked to the reframing of security discourse following

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the terrorist attacks on New York in 2001 and Bali (in Australia’s region) in 2002 (for example, see Kabutaulaka 2004; Dinnen 2004). Crystallization of the view that the Solomon Islands was a ‘failing state’ (Wainwright 2003) triggered the link now commonly drawn between state failure, transboundary threats, terrorist havens and the ‘war on terror’. The then Australian Prime Minister, announcing the proposed Regional Assistance Mission to the Solomon Islands to Federal Parliament, stated ‘[i]f the Solomon Islands becomes a failed state, … potential exploitation of that situation by international drug dealers, money launderers, international terrorism … will make the inevitable dealing with the problem in the future more costly, more difficult’ (Australian Broadcasting Corporation Asia Pacific News 2003). Moreover, the lens of security crisis could be extrapolated; uncertain governance, the weakness of police forces and systems of accountability meant that states across the region could be seen through this perspective. Concerns about the effectiveness of development assistance in the face of growing poverty in parts of the region suddenly took on a new complexion and urgency, as they moved into the realm of regional security and compelling Australian national interest in a security environment in which security threats are seen as non-specific but grave. The Australian Government aid agency noted that ‘[e]merging Pacific challenges have altered the development assistance context. Australia has sharpened its focus on the region following the deterioration of security in Solomon Islands and in the context of global security, increasing trans-boundary challenges and the understanding that a porous and undeveloped region is not in the interests of the Pacific or Australia’ (AusAID 2004: 11). Australian public discussion of the Southwest Pacific became touched with the sense of generalized chameleon threat that terrorism represented, of new and unknown enemies. This sense of pervasive yet elusive threat forming the lens through which Melanesia might be viewed as quite different from a focussed assessment of, and response to, deteriorating security in parts of the Solomon Islands or PNG, and consideration of the possible regional implications. While Melanesia itself has definitely not been constituted as an enemy, possible and impending ‘failures’ have meant that the region appears deeply worrying, and part of an ultimately menacing ‘arc of instability’.9 Imagined threat is an extraordinarily powerful frame for shaping exchange and identity – as noted earlier, it is a key driver for the formation of social identities for both others and ourselves, as borders are drawn and barriers erected. As a lens for understanding, state failure encourages crisis and security driven responses, narrowly conceived. However, as noted by an Australian Senate committee report in 2003, ‘[c]risis driven responses downplay or ignore the diversity of the region, the dynamism of change, and the fact that Pacific islanders are engaged, on an ongoing basis, in dealing with the social, environmental 9 ‘What we now have not just in the Solomons but right across Melanesia is an emerging arc of instability around Australia. We have problems of law and order in Papua New Guinea. We have problems of law and order in the Solomons. We have problems of law and order in Bougainville. We have problems of law and order also in parts of Fiji’ (Labor’s Foreign Affairs spokesman, Kevin Rudd, quoted in Maclellan 2004).


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and political problems affecting the region’ (Commonwealth of Australia: Recommendations 2003: 9). Nor, arguably, does this lens provide a sufficient means of understanding causes of violent conflict in the region. As a consequence, notions of state failure may be unable to point to sustainable responses to the problems of state weakness which they identify. The conflict in the Solomon Islands – the crisis that first drew the language of state failure – offers an example of this problem. The Solomon Islands, in particular the areas around the capital, Honiara, were convulsed by armed fighting and lawlessness between 1998 and 2003, when an Australian-led Regional Assistance Mission (RAMSI) – much welcomed by the local population – went in to end the turmoil. The conflict has complex roots. Structural causes lie with strong patterns of uneven development, dating from the colonial era, which led to entrenched inequality of opportunity among different regional and clan groups. Over many generations, people from densely populated but severely underdeveloped areas (primarily Malaita) migrated to the capital in search of cash income. The sense of economic disadvantage, neglect and inequality led to the emergence of regional ethnic solidarities, which could also be seen as having a class dimension. More recently, the distribution of the costs and benefits from logging (an area of often illegal resource stripping by off shore, mainly Malaysian logging companies) intensified regional distrust and grievance. The 1990s were marked by political instability, increasing collusion of government in the logging and fisheries industries, both dominated by off shore interests, and corruption. Rather than managing the deepening fissures in Solomon Island society, elements across the government were ignoring, or profiting from them. At the same time, the pattern of increasingly intensive settlement around Honiara put pressure on land tenure arrangements, leading to building resentment and friction between the migrant Malaitans and the resident Guales. Economic grievance and building pressure around land led to division along ethnic lines, ignored or manipulated by corrupt elite elements. This potent mix erupted into violence in 1998. During the course of the strife, hundreds of people died, and thousands were displaced; the formal economy was devastated and public services virtually collapsed. At the same time, as Clive Moore notes, ‘[w]hat had failed was the introduced modern centralized processes of government … not the lives of the 84 per cent of Solomon Islanders who still live in villages and remain dependent on subsistence agriculture and fishing’ (Moore 2007: 170). RAMSI (the Regional Assistance Mission to the Solomon Islands) has been a positive intervention, and participating governments have made a long-term commitment to supporting security in the Solomons. However, RAMSI has ‘adopted a criminal justice approach – as opposed to a peace and reconciliation approach’ to the problems of development and peacebuilding which it faced (Matthew 2006: 315). The intervention made its priority the ‘bigger picture … of a strong state, and a police-focused view of law and order’ (Oxfam 2006: 10). The emphasis is on strengthening state institutions, particularly security and financial institutions, which ‘failed’. While important, this leaves unanswered the causes of the ‘failure’. Approaching the conflict essentially in terms of criminality

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means that ‘the deep-seated and long-standing grievances surrounding, amongst other things, the distribution of the benefits of development are obscured and therefore ignored’ (Matthew 2006: 315). Local people, however, continue to express frustration about corruption, land tenure, and inequalities in the use of the country’s natural resources (Matthew 2006; Oxfam 2006). While law and order was the immediate imperative, ‘projects which would improve the livelihoods and welfare of the predominantly rurally-based population’ and support stronger connections between government and society may contribute more to long term peace (Matthew 2006: 315; Moore 2004). Policing and security responses are a vital part of responding to crises such as that of the Solomon Islands. However, as an organizing principle for development, or more broadly, for relationships between Melanesia and countries or agencies of the West, state security narrowly understood is not sufficient, or sufficiently creative, to meet the challenges of serious engagement, of supporting the evolution of states that work for Melanesians, or of responding effectively to the long term causes of violence.

Conclusion – Hybrid States? Melanesia is often represented as conflictual and warlike, dominated by small clan groupings that undermine the potential for a working state. Current discussion of ‘state failure’ in Melanesia often reflects this understanding. Custom and customary identifications are frequently cast as the source of conflict in Melanesia. But customary and community life practices (in their social, economic and spiritual dimensions) play a major role in establishing thresholds for and restraints to violence and socially destructive conflict. They underpin powerful patterns of collective identity and order. Forms of community life, significantly shaped by customary values and practices, have enabled community resilience and survival in the face of pressures and crises, many flowing directly from the demands of colonialism and globalization. Melanesian societies hold customary, other community and state-based constructions of order within one society, overlapping and intersecting with each other in often awkward and testing ways. These intersections can be destructive, but they can also be creative. The challenge is how to work with these tensions and discontinuities in ways that support constructive interaction. A focus on state failure and violence has encouraged preoccupation with the problems of the region and an extraordinary inattention to its strengths. This is a serious distortion of analysis. Like the suggestion that Melanesian cultures are intrinsically violent, the idea that the state itself is failing can encourage a frame of despondency and closure within which the region is viewed and policy imagined. ‘Nothing works’ as Sheridan expostulates, conflating everything within this potent phrase. One of the critical strengths that an emphasis on failure overlooks is social resilience. The region has indeed suffered turmoil over the past three decades. These are the crises that have attended struggles for self-determination, the


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confusions of rapid social, political and economic change, the legacies of careless and dictatorial colonization and decolonization, dislocation between liberal and customary forms of governance, corruption, and the challenges subsistence societies face in providing the economic basis for a working state or dealing with mining multinationals and massive resource extraction. Nevertheless, in the face of these crises, Melanesian societies have not collapsed. Communities have not starved or gone without shelter for extended periods; while tragic, conflict has been relatively contained. Local initiatives, often involving both communities and governments, have continued to work on healing the scars of conflict for decades after it has occurred (for example, in New Caledonia, Fiji, Vanuatu and Bougainville). The region’s underlying challenges are not resolved – further significant problems can be anticipated. It is possible, however, that with attention they need not deteriorate into violent crises. In working with regional governments and societies on these underlying challenges, it is important to acknowledge and work with the regions’ strengths, as well as its weaknesses. In most of Melanesia orderly community rests less on state institutions than other entities – the churches, customary authorities, other community networks. A focus on ‘state failure’ has encouraged emphasis on the need for a strong state apparatus, particularly policing and economic accountability. But one of the underlying problems with which Melanesian states are grappling is a gulf between state institutions and practices and community values and practices, a gulf which weakens the operation of accountability, participation and representation at all levels. Strong states in Melanesia are likely to be states that are grounded and have legitimacy in terms of their own populations. The emergence of such states, however, requires attention not only to state institutions but also to communities and, vitally, to the links between government institutions, community values, and community governance mechanisms of various forms. Melanesian states that are firmly rooted within their own populations are unlikely to be simple reproductions of developed liberal states. Melanesian states could be more accurately understood not so much as failed states, as emerging states or as ‘hybrid’ political orders (Brown 2007; Boege 2007; Wassmann 1998). As Boege et al. (2007) argue, conceptualizing the ‘actually existing states’ of the Global South not as fragile/failed states, but as hybrid political orders allows a better understanding of violent conflicts and opens new options for conflict prevention and peacebuilding. The Pacific Islands could be understood as struggling with a generative process, not in a state of collapse. The form of the state appears to be undergoing change across the globe, not always positive. Melanesia is a vital part of this experimentation. How would we act if we really started to look at the Pacific Islands like this, as engaged in a challenging and creative process of experimentation, rather than struggling with state institutions as we know them? The evolution of governments and governance grounded in Melanesian societies is likely to demand flexible, creative and imaginative processes of social dialogue, as Pacific Islanders experiment and struggle with forging versions of institutions with local legitimacy and authority. Such exchanges, in actions as well as words, are needed not only within Melanesia; they also need to become

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a greater part of relations between Melanesian states and societies and those of the West.10 More broadly, it asks those of us in the West to recognise the Pacific, in Anthony Regan’s words, as a place with clever people working on difficult problems, rather than as failing or fragile states.11 The West, mediated to some extent through Australia and New Zealand as regional and Western powers, imagines elements of a mythic Melanesia. We have ‘topographically highlighted moments’ not of our own trauma, but nevertheless linked to discourses of threat, violence and irrationality (Lederach 2005). These may be simply exoticized tales of faraway places that flicker occasionally on our mental screens – sorcery in Vanuatu, for example12 – or (for those geographically closer) they may be dramas of social and political upheaval – of ‘Melanesia in flames’. There is, of course, violence in Melanesia, and an array of real and pressing problems with regional implications. Images of a tribal and warlike culture and people, and of failing states where nothing works, however, are not engaged accounts of the states or territories and societies of the region. They are a polarization of identities. We are in danger of constructing a narrative of threat around the complex social challenges with which our neighbours are grappling. This narrative is certainly not the only set of stories about Melanesia that circulates beyond the immediate region and any given individual may have a number of accounts co-existing, but it is a powerful and damaging bank of images and anxieties. Such a narrative does not offer a context for engagement or dialogue with Melanesian people or state and community entities. It does not open a route to deeper understanding of either the problems to hand, or of the region’s strengths. Across Melanesia, people have good reason to fear loss of their ways of life and of their land. Nevertheless, such fear can reify customary practice, polarise and 10 This can involve practical contributions to conflict prevention and economic support such as providing greater access to labour mobility schemes. High rates of urban unemployment and squatter settlements tend to be a Melanesian problem within the Pacific. One factor that sets Melanesia apart from the other Pacific Islands is that Micronesia and Polynesia have access to labour mobility schemes or migration in New Zealand, the United States and Canada. Melanesia, for historical reasons, has not had such access (although in 2007 New Zealand accepted some Melanesians into its labor mobility programs). Elsewhere in the Pacific Islands, labour mobility has been a major source of remittances, but also a mechanism for absorbing a significant source of potential instability. Australia, the clearest choice to offer such a program, has resisted this option. 11 Anthony Regan,verbal comments made at ‘Good News Workshop’, Divine Word University, Madang, 24–26 November 2004. 12 Peri-urban squatter settlements mix across clan, custom and language groupings. This can lead to friction, to battles between groups or individuals for land to occupy, and also to confusion between different mechanisms of social control. The murder of three men from settlements around Port Vila in March 2007 grew out of such tensions. The killings, which were across island lines and followed threats of cursing or sorcery, also sparked a riot in the area. The incident was one of the few news items from Vanuatu to be reported widely internationally. Per head of population, however, Vanuatu is likely to be at the quiet end of international statistics for murder.


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flatten relations with others and reduce the scope for creativity and flexibility in negotiating the complex challenges facing societies in the region. It can also break into violence. In the Western states bordering the Pacific Islands, there is also fear of something unknown that might lie in the shadows of Melanesia, and that might erupt in the future. Indeed there are security challenges. By creating a context of suspicion, despondency and what seems at times to be accusation, there is a danger of exacerbating for Melanesian states and societies the confusions and frictions of negotiating rapid change, juggling often competing symbolic and institutional worlds, and dealing with the pressures of survival as small economies in relentlessly competitive international markets. Within Australia, the mental borders drawn between us and the dangerous arc snaking around our north-West erects real barriers to certain kinds of positive contributions to conflict prevention – seasonal labour migration schemes for example. There is a danger that images of Melanesia as violent, and Melanesian states as hopeless and failed, are shaping a context for policies on the part of external governments and agencies that are overly security-oriented, hectoring, and out of touch with both the sources of problems and of resilience or strength in the islands. There is a further danger of such policies creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. Dialogue, or interaction that takes the time to listen, to increase understanding and appreciation of others, to engage with local communities and to be open to change oneself, is one antidote to the dynamics of polarization and insecurity. This requires, however, going against the grain of the politics of representation, whereby dominant images of Melanesians often reflect less on their circumstances and lives, and more on narratives about them, circulated elsewhere, generated according to other points of reference. Borders, both material and discursive, and their porosity or inviolability, bear directly on the construction of collective identities. In this case there are the international borders of the region, and explicit concern about their permeability. But there are also discursive borders – between Western, modern, liberal, developed, individualized on the one hand and indigenous, collective, customary on the other hand, with shadows lurking behind each of these categories. When deploying terms like ‘failed state’ or ‘basket case’, it seems that judgement is made on somewhere else, over there. Yet despite what often appear to be the sharp boundaries separating Melanesia and the West, and despite the reality and the difficult challenges of difference, there may not be such a sharp polarity or disjunction between one and the other, identity and difference, the West and Melanesia (or vice versa).13 There is, rather, a dense history of exchange and interaction. Our relationships, across cultures, between and within peoples are two-way; we exist within an exchange and ongoing processes of mutual, if not necessarily equal, shaping; we are already stories, not of polarization but of crossings and entanglement. When 13 In different ways and contexts, Ashis Nandy’s thoughtful reflections on the colonial and post-colonial relations between British and Indians, in Intimate Enemy, and Michael Ignatieff’s discussion of Serbs and Croats in ‘The Narcissism of Minor Difference’ in The Warrior’s Honour make this point very well.

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we look at questions of development and security, or violence and peace in the Pacific Islands we are looking not only at the Pacific, but at our relationships with the Pacific. Melanesians are under intense pressure to change their ways of being, their identities at every level, to conform to Western models. But in this dialogue of differences, it is we who need to learn how to listen. It is not only Melanesia, but also the ‘West’ that faces the challenge of how to engage constructively with difference.

References Australian Broadcasting Corporation Asia Pacific News (2003), ‘Australia Ready to Send Police and Troops to Solomons’, 25 June, (accessed 25 June 2003). Bonnemaison, J. (1985), ‘The Tree and the Canoe: Roots and Mobility in Vanuatu Societies’, in M. Chapman (ed.), Mobility and Identity in the Island Pacific, Special Issue of Pacific Viewpoint 26:1, 30–62. Boege, V. et al. (2007), ‘Towards Effective and Legitimate Governance: States Emerging from Hybrid Orders’, unpublished paper, Australian Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies, Brisbane. Brown, M.A. (ed.) (2007), Security and Development in the Pacific Islands (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner). Clifford, J. (2001), ‘Indigenous Articulations’, The Contemporary Pacific 13:2, 467–90. Commonwealth of Australia (2003), A Pacific Engaged – Australia’s Relations with Papua New Guinea and the Island States of the South-West Pacific, Canberra, Foreign Affairs, Defence and Trade References Committee, August. Commonwealth of Australia (2004), AusAID, Pacific Regional Aid Strategy 2004–09. Connolly, W. (1991), Identity/Difference (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Dinnen, S. (2004), ‘Lending a Fist? Australia’s New Interventionism in the Southwest Pacific’, State, Society and Governance in Melanesia Project Discussion Paper 5, Canberra, ANU. Dinnen, S. and Ley, A. (eds) (2000), Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (Annandale, NSW/Canberra: Hawkins Press/Asia Pacific Press). Dinnen, S. and Ley, A. (2000), ‘Violence and Governance in Melanesia: an introduction’, in Dinnen and Ley (eds), Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (NSW/ Canberra: Hawkins Press/Asia Pacific Press). Firth, S. (2005), ‘The Impact of Globalization on the Pacific Islands’, Briefing Paper for the 2nd Southeast Asia and Pacific Subregional Tripartite Forum on Decent Work, International Labour Office, Melbourne, 5–8 April. Gay, D. (2007), ‘Escaping the Arc of Instability’, Islands Business, May. Gustafsson, B. (1998), ‘The Identity Construction of Ethnic and Social Groups in Contemporary Papua New Guinea’, in J. Wassmann (ed.), Pacific Answers to Western Hegemony: Cultural Practices of Identity Construction (Oxford: Berg). Hughes, H. (2003), ‘Aid has failed the Pacific’ Issues Analysis 33 (Sydney: The Centre for Independent Studies). Hughes, H. (2004), ‘The Pacific is Viable!’, Issues Analysis 53 (Sydney: The Centre for Independent Studies).


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Hutchins, E. (1990), ‘Getting it Straight in Trobriand Land Litigation’, in K. Watson-Gegeo and G. White (eds), Disentangling: Conflict Discourse in Pacific Societies (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press). James, C. (2006), ‘We Ignore the Pacific Timebomb at our Peril’, New Zealand Herald, 12 December. Jolly, M. (1992), ‘Custom and the Way of the Land: Past and Present in Vanuatu and Fiji’, Oceania 62:4, 330–54. Jolly, M. (1994), Women of the Place: Kastom, Colonialism and Gender in Vanuatu (Melbourne: Harwood Academic Publishers). Jolly, M. (1996), ‘Women ikat raet long human raet o no?’ (‘Women’s Rights and Domestic Violence in Vanuatu’), Feminist Review 52, 169–90. Kabutaulaka, T. (2004), ‘“Failed State” and the War on Terror: Intervention in the Solomon Islands’, Asia Pacific Issues, East-West Center 72, 1–8. Keesing, R. (1996), ‘Class, Culture, Custom’, in J. Friedman and J.G. Carrier (eds), Melanesian Modernities (Lund: Lund University Press). Lederach, J.P. (1995), Preparing for Peace: Conflict Transformation Across Cultures (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). Lederach, J.P. (2004), The Moral Imagination: The Art and Soul of Building Peace (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). Louis, W.R., Duck, J., Terry, D.J., Schuller, R. and Lalonde, R. (2007), ‘Why Do Citizens Want to Keep Refugees Out? Threats, Fairness, and Hostile Norms in the Treatment of Asylum Seekers’, European Journal of Social Psychology 37:1, 53–73. Matthew, A. (2006), ‘Contemporary Histories of the Conflict in Solomon Islands’, Oceania 76:3, 310–15. McLeod, A. (2004), Contesting Violence: State and Simbu Approaches to Law and Order in Contemporary Papua New Guinea, unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Queensland. McLeod, A. (2007), ‘Police Reform in Papua New Guinea’, in M.A. Brown (ed.), Security and Development in the Pacific Islands (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner). Mitchell, J. (2000), ‘Violence As Continuity: Violence As rupture – narratives from an Urban Settlement in Vanuatu’, in S. Dinnen and A. Ley (eds), Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (Annandale, NSW/Canberra: Hawkins Press/Asia Pacific Press). Moore, C. (2004), Happy Isles in Crisis. The historical causes for a failing state in Solomon Islands 1998–2004, Australian National University (Canberra: Asia Pacific Press). Moore, C. (2007), ‘External Intervention: The Solomon Islands Beyond RAMSI’, in A. Brown (ed.) (2007), Security and Development in the Pacific Islands (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner). Nixon, R. (2006), ‘The Crisis of Governance in New Subsistence States’, Journal of Contemporary Asia 36:1, 75–101. O’Collins, M. (2000), ‘Images of Violence in Papua New Guinea: Whose Images? Whose Reality?’, in S. Dinnen and A. Ley (eds), Reflections on Violence in Melanesia (Annandale, NSW/Canberra: Hawkins Press/Asia Pacific Press). Oxfam New Zealand (2006), Bridging the Gap between State and Society: New Directions for the Solomon Islands, N. Maclellan with contributions by A. Powles, A. Lockley, N. Kwalea, P. Roughan and F. Metz, and . Reilly, B. (2002), ‘Internal Conflict and Regional Security in Asia and the Pacific’, Pacifica Review 14:1, 7–21.

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Sahlins, M. (2005),‘On the Anthropology of Modernity, or, Some Triumphs of Culture over Despondency Theory’, in A. Hooper (ed.), Culture and Sustainable Development in the Pacific (Canberra: Asia Pacific Press). Sahlins, M. (2005), ‘The Economics of Develop-man in the Pacific’, in J. Robbins and H. Wardlow (eds), The Making of Global and Local Modernities in Melanesia (Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate). Sheridan, G. (2000), ‘Breaking Up Brings No Benefits’, The Australian, 9 June. Sheridan, G. (2001), ‘Danger on the Doorstep’, The Weekend Australian, 24 March. Sheridan, G. (2006), ‘Melanesia is a Huge Disaster’, The Australian, 20 April. Thomas, N. (1992), ‘Contrasts: Marriage and Identity in Western Fiji’, Oceania 62:4, 210–26. Wainwright, E. (2003), ‘Our Failing Neighbour: Australia and the Future of the Solomon Islands’, ASPI Policy Report, Canberra, Australian Strategic Policy Institute, Barton, Australia. Walters, P. (2007), The Weekend Australian, 19–20 May. Walters, P. (2007), ‘More Bang for our Buck’, The Weekend Australian, 7–8 July. Wassmann, J. (ed.) (1998), Pacific Answers to Western Hegemony: Cultural Practices of Identity Construction (Oxford: Berg). Williams, R. (1983), Keywords (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

Chapter 10

Crossing Mental Borders: Constructing a Laissez-Passer for Peace Nikki Slocum-Bradley

The research in this volume is based upon the assertion that identities are constructions, delineated by psychological borders, which can enable conflictinciting or peace-promoting thought and action. It is thus argued that this construction process is essential to understanding the root causes of conflict. The case studies presented in the preceding chapters address three focal questions: How are identities being constructed in the region?; How are these identity constructions related to borders?; and How do these identity-constructions promote peace or conflict? This chapter extracts and summarizes some insights that can be gleaned from the case studies with regard to these questions and explores their implications.

Borders and Identities The foregoing empirical chapters examine processes of identity construction in regions throughout the world and evidence the evocation of multifarious ‘borders’. These boundaries were used in diverse contexts to partition the world into types of people, categorized by, inter alia, nationality, region, locality, race, religion, language, other ethnic distinctions, historical geographic origin, socio-economic class, and level of ‘modernity’. Table 10.1 summarizes, non-exhaustively, the types of borders evoked and the corresponding identity distinctions made within the context of each chapter. The metaphor of a mental ‘border’ highlights the reflexive and relational nature of identities, which was illustrated in the case studies from various angles. The evocation of a certain type of ‘border’ indexes corresponding types of identities, meaning that it makes these types of identities relevant within the context conjured by the border reference. Thus, a reference to the southern border of the United States makes salient the identities of ‘American’ and ‘Mexican’. Often the ‘border’ remains implicit. For example, if Person X evokes her identity as a ‘female’, then Person Y’s identity as a ‘male’ is indexed – evoking implicitly the ‘gender’ border. However, if Person X evokes her identity as a ‘Francophone’, she simultaneously indexes Person Y’s ‘Anglophone’ identity – implying a linguistic border.

Table 10.1 Borders evoked to define identities Type of border

Chapters

Categories delineated by border

National

Dubois (2)

Belgium – Netherlands – Luxembourg – other states in western Europe; Wallonia – Flanders

Alubo (3)

Nigeria

Newman (4)

Israel – Palestine

Camroux and Pathan (5)

Thailand – Malaysia

Slocum-Bradley (6)

US – Mexico

Duina (7)

Member states of regional organizations

Moghaddam (8)

Iran – Iraq, other states in region, ‘Kurdish nation state’

Dubois (2)

Benelux


ASEAN

Slocum-Bradley (6)

NAFTA

Duina (7)

EU, NAFTA, Mercosur

Moghaddam (8)

Shi’a Crescent, Near East, Middle East, West

Brown (9)

Melanesia – West

Dubois (2)

Wallonia – Flanders – Brussels ‘regions’

Alubo (3)

North (Hausa) – West (Yoruba) – East (Ibo)

Regional

Local (intra-state)

Racial


Patani

Moghaddam (8)

Southern Iraq (Shi’a) – Northern Iraq (Kurdish) – Sunni-controlled regions in Iraq

Slocum-Bradley (6)

Brown skinned – Whites

Table 10.1 cont’d Type of border

Chapters

Categories delineated by border

Religious

Alubo (3)

Christian – Muslim – animist

Newman (4)

Jewish – non-Jewish (particularly Muslim)


Muslim – ‘infidels’ (particularly Buddhists within Thailand)

Language

Ethnic (other)

Moghaddam

Shi’a – Sunni Muslim

Dubois (2)

Francophone – Flemish – German

Camroux and Pathan

Bahasa Islam (Islamic language) – Thai

Slocum-Bradley (6)

Anglophone – Hispanic

Alubo (3)

Hausa – Yoruba – Ibo

Newman (4)

Jewish – Arab


Malay – Thai

Slocum-Bradley (6)

American – Mexican/Hispanic

Moghaddam (8)

Shi’a – Sunni – Kurds

Brown (9)

Melanesian

Historical geographic Dubois (2) origin Alubo (3)

Indigenes – settlers

Newman (4)

Jewish

Slocum-Bradley (6)

Immigrants – Non-immigrants

Socio-economic class Dubois (2) Level of modernity

Belgian; Flemish

Relative economic power of Flanders and Wallonia

Slocum-Bradley (6)

Elite – non-elite

Brown (9)

Modern/civilized – backward/savage

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Furthermore, the evocation of certain identities, whether implicitly or explicitly, is not an objective or merely descriptive exercise, but can have an important impact upon the persons so identified. Brown (Chapter 9) points out that Western references to Melanesian customary practices as ‘savage’ can provoke a retreat to traditional and unadaptive identities. Moghaddam (Chapter 8; 2006) has shown that the Bush administration’s ‘you are either with us or against us’ rhetoric has pushed many Muslims to identify themselves in opposition to ‘the West’. Similarly, Sen (2006) has underscored how the British government’s dealing with British Muslims only through Muslim clerics and other Muslim leaders forces the salience of religious identity, whereas, given the opportunity, the relevant individuals may prioritize other identities (such as being ‘British’) within a given context. One can add that conjuring this religious border simultaneously underscores the religious identities of non-Muslims. While much literature has focused either on processes of self-identification or on other-identification (including stereotyping and prejudice), the border metaphor helps us see these processes as concomitant.

Allocating Rights In the case studies presented, identities were conjured by actors in diverse contexts, who were engaged in promoting various interests or agendas. Concomitantly, rights and duties were allocated to persons identified in accordance with the borders evoked. In this way, borders served not only to divide people but to allocate rights and duties. This dynamic is evident in all of the case studies. For example, Alubo (Chapter 3) and Moghaddam (Chapter 8) both highlighted how identities are evoked to claim the right to exploit oil within a region. In Chapter 4, Newman demonstrated how Jewish Israeli identity is narrated to lay claim to a particular territorial space. In most of the chapters identity categories were evoked to claim rights to determine various aspects of culture, including to resist cultural change. For example, rights to the use of a particular language were an issue of contention in Dubois’ examination of Belgium (Chapter 2) and in Slocum-Bradley’s (Chapter 6) study of discourse on migration across the US–Mexico border. Similarly, Moghaddam (Chapter 8) and Brown (Chapter 9) illustrated how Shi’a Muslim and Melanesian identity constructions, respectively, emphasize the right to resist the hegemony of Western values. In the context of Denmark’s referendum on joining the European Monetary Union, (Duina, Chapter 7) Danish identity was constructed in opposition to EU identity in order to safeguard Denmark’s right to ‘sovereignty’. Rights to education, employment, and other social benefits were at stake in the ‘indigene’ versus ‘settler’ identities in Alubo’s study (Chapter 3) and in the ‘immigrant’ versus ‘non-immigrant’ distinctions highlighted by Slocum-Bradley (Chapter 6). The Malay Muslims in Southern Thailand/Patani (Camroux and Pathan, Chapter 5) narrate their identity to argue their right to independence. These are just a few examples from the case studies which illustrate how borders are evoked by actors promoting diverse interests and agendas. The borders evoked serve not only to divide people into identity groups but, concomitantly, to assign

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rights and duties, demonstrating how borders and identities are tools used by actors to achieve, or at least in achieving, various ends.

How Identity Constructions Promote Conflict or Peace Conflict and peace can be seen as two types of ends, amongst many others, achieved through discourses that evoke identities and borders. This may be done intentionally or may be an accidental by-product of the processes engaged in to achieve other ends, such as the various interests and agendas enumerated above. While history unfortunately provides abundant examples of cases where identities were constructed expressly for the purpose of enflaming conflict, the case studies presented in this volume illustrate some of the more subtle ways in which conflicts (or peace) can be incited through identity constructions. The Analytical Process Following the insights from Slocum-Bradley (Chapter 6), the role of identity in conflict can be schematized as emerging at various points within an analytical process. First, this analytical process will be presented in three main steps (see Box 10.2). The steps are distinguished for analytical purposes and are not meant to imply chronological order. In fact, the steps often occur implicitly and simultaneously, so the process should not be understood as necessarily linear. We will subsequently examine ways in which conflict can emerge at each of these steps. In step one of the analytical process, a narrative context (or ‘storyline’) is evoked, certain identities are evoked within this context, and rights and duties are allocated to persons, in accordance with the identities evoked. Each of these elements is accomplished (usually simultaneously) through discursive acts. The second step entails: a) an interpretation of an action as a transgression of another’s rights, and/ or an interpretation that an actor has failed to fulfill the duties assigned to him/her/it; b) an ascription of intentionality; and c) evocation of identities to the alleged transgressor(s) and the victim(s). The ascription of intentionality can entail alleging specific intentions or motivations, which obviously suggests that the action concerned was done ‘on purpose’. Alternatively, various techniques can be used to suggest that the action was unintentional, such as referring to it as an ‘accident’ or giving accounts of uncontrollable circumstances. To suggest that an action was unintentional can have mitigating effects on the conclusions made regarding the moral standing of the allegedly transgressing actor (Slocum 2001a). The identities evoked for the alleged transgressor(s) and victim(s) will generally be the same as those evoked in step one. This brings us to the third step, which entails the drawing of conclusions or consequences based upon analytical steps one and two. These conclusions include the determination of: a) what general measures should be taken to redress the alleged transgression; b) how the general measures should be implemented; and c) whom the measures should address. The latter entails the evocation of an identity of the alleged transgressor, and usually corresponds with the identity


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Box 10.1

Identity construction in conflict: the analytical process

STEP 1: Establishing a meaning system 1 A narrative context is evoked (‘storyline’); 2 Certain identities are evoked within this context; and, 3 Rights and duties are allocated to persons, in accordance with the identities evoked. (Elements 1, 2 and 3 are accomplished (simultaneously) through discursive acts.) STEP 2: Interpreting a transgression 1 Interpretation of transgression: • Interpretation of an action as a transgression of another’s rights; and/or • Interpretation that an actor has failed to fulfill the duties assigned to him/her/it; 2 Ascription of intentionality (on purpose, accidental); and 3 Evocation of identities of the alleged transgressor(s) and victim(s). STEP 3: Redressing an alleged transgression 1 Determine general measure(s) to redress the alleged transgression; 2 Determine the implementation of the measure(s); and 3 Identify who the measure(s) should address (evocation of identity of the alleged transgressor). evoked in the first two steps. Conclusions regarding general measures to remedy an alleged transgression include, for example, making accusations (evident in all of the case studies). However, the form such accusations can take are varied, and might entail, inter alia, submitting articles to newspapers (Chapter 6) or academic venues (Chapter 4), discussing with the alleged transgressor(s), participating in a blog (Chapter 6), or making further identity ascriptions, such as ‘greedy’ (Chapters 3 and 6), ‘colonizer’, (Chapters 5 and 6) ‘infidel’ (Chapters 5 and 8), ‘savage’ (Chapter 9), and so forth. Another general measure is to promote one’s autonomy from the alleged transgressor(s), or to eliminate or minimize their influence. Manners of implementing such a measure might include starting a non-violent irredentist movement (Chapter 2), taking up arms (Chapters 5, 6 and 7), or promoting protectionist policies (Chapters 2 and 9). Finally, ‘punishing’ an alleged transgressor can be accomplished by initiating a boycott (Chapter 6), international sanctions (Chapter 7), or war (Chapter 5). These three aspects of the conclusions drawn must be distinguished, because while actors may concur about a general measure, such as ‘punishment’, they may disagree over how the measure should be implemented, as well as over ‘who’ should be punished, as discussed below.


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The Emergence of Conflict Contestations can occur, and conflicts can arise, at any or each of the three analytical steps distinguished. We will examine each of these steps in detail, citing examples from the case studies that illustrate how conflict can emerge at each step. Step 1 In step 1, a proposed framework of meaning can be contested, whereby an alternative narrative and identities may be evoked and/or a different allocation of rights and duties may be advocated. This type of contestation is exemplified in nearly all of the case studies. For example, competing narratives highlighted by Dubois (Chapter 2) attempt to establish ‘Belgium’ or ‘Flanders’ as (primordial) nations and, concomitantly, to justify an associated distribution of rights and duties. Conflicts in Nigeria (Alubo, Chapter 3) are the consequence of contestations over who qualifies as an ‘indigene’ or ‘settler’ as new states are created and rights are re-distributed accordingly. Newman (Chapter 4) contrasts neo-Zionist and post-Zionist discourses on Israeli nationalism and the discrepancy over rights and duties allocated to different persons within each. Slocum-Bradley (Chapter 6) illustrates a number of competing storylines, identities, and distributions of rights and duties in discourse on migration at the US–Mexico border. Duina’s (Chapter 7) comparison of various regional organizations highlights how different forms of life (to use Wittgenstein’s term), essential to which are interpretive frameworks, are generated through the everyday activities of these organizations, and how these new frameworks are often the subject of contestations. Moghaddam (Chapter 8) argues that Western powers attempted to establish in modern Iraq a ‘multi-ethnic Muslim country progresses from dictatorship to democracy’ storyline. However, various actions instead served to strengthen the storyline, ‘Islamic Republic unites against the Great Satan and its puppets’. Brown (Chapter 9) illuminates the conflict between the form of life manifested in Melanesian custom with the interpretive framework imposed upon it by the West. A similar disjunction is pointed out by Camroux and Pathan (Chapter 5), who contrast Malay Muslim narratives about the ‘golden era of Patani’ as the center of the Malayan world with both the national narratives of the Thai State and external (press) narratives about the insurgency in southern Thailand as part of a ‘global jihad’. All of these examples are cases of contestations over the meaning (or interpretive) system and the distribution of rights and duties entailed therein. A common conflict that emerges at this step results from the construction of various identities as incompatible or contradictory, as illustrated in several of the case studies. For example, Dubois (Chapter 2) examines the construction of ‘Flemish’ identities as incompatible with a ‘Belgian’ identity. Newman (Chapter 4) reveals how the construction of an Israeli identity as exclusively ‘Jewish’ renders it incompatible with the identity constructions of non-Jewish citizens of Israel. Camroux and Pathan (Chapter 5) show how Malay Muslims in southern Thailand construct their identities as incompatible with a ‘Thai’ identity. Similarly, in Chapter 9, Brown discusses how local identities in Melanesia are portrayed as inhibiting the development of national identities. Such incompatibilities are not

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inherent; they are the result of the way in which the identities are constructed within a given context. This is why previous research has concluded that it is indeed possible to ‘have’ multiple identities. To ‘have’ multiple identities, one must construct the identities in such a way that renders them complimentary rather than contradictory. Step 2 Conflict can also emerge at step 2, if the interpretation of a particular action (or alleged lack thereof) as a transgression of rights or duties, or the intentionality of the action, is contested. For example, within the narratives of Malay Muslims in Southern Thailand, or Patani (Camroux and Pathan, Chapter 5), the Thai state is portrayed as an ‘occupier’; in other words, the state is accused of transgressing ‘Patani’s’ right to autonomy. However, no such transgression is alleged by other Muslims in Thailand, who’s meaning constructions are able to harmonize the ‘Muslim’ and ‘Thai’ facets of their identities. Within the context of Nigeria, (Alubo, Chapter 3), the awarding of various employment positions to ‘settlers’ was contested as a violation of the rights of ‘indigenes’, who claimed that such positions should be reserved for indigenes. Similarly, in Chapter 6 (Slocum-Bradley), American citizens protested the employment of (illegal) immigrants in jobs to which they claim only US citizens have a right. Contesting these claims, both ‘settlers’ within certain states in Nigeria and ‘immigrants’ in the US have argued for the rights to free movement and access to employment. In Israel-Palestine (Newman, Chapter 4), both Israelis and Palestinians view each other as transgressing their right to control a specific territory. In Mexico (Duina, Chapter 7), the Army of National Liberation took up arms in protest of the country’s signing of the North America Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) charter, arguing that it trespassed upon the rights of ‘the Indian peoples of Mexico’. Moghaddam (Chapter 8) and Brown (Chapter 9) illustrate various ways in which Muslims and Melanesians, respectively, feel their identity and way of life is threatened, which is a perceived violation of their right to existence. These are only some of the examples provided by the case studies of diverse ways in which conflict emerges in part as the result of people’s interpretations that their rights were being (intentionally) transgressed. The perceived relevant identity of the (alleged) transgressor also has important consequences for the potential for conflict. Alubo (Chapter 3) cites an example in which a motorist was said to insist upon passing through a roadblock during a Muslim prayer session. The ensuing altercation led to citywide violence, in which Muslims and Christians were pitted against each other. Clearly, it was not the driver’s identity as a ‘motorist’ that was evoked, but rather the driver’s ‘Christian’ identity. Consequently, ‘Christians’ (the alleged transgressors) were accused of violating the rights of ‘Muslims’ (the alleged victims), provoking intergroup violence amidst the backdrop of already heightened tensions between these groups. Had another identity of the person been evoked (such as ‘motorist running out of petrol’, ‘harried single parent’, or ‘professor late for a lecture’), violent conflict would not have been provoked. The identities of the transgressor and victim that are likely to be evoked are set up through the interpretive framework established during the process elaborated in step one. Furthermore, the evocation of a


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particular identity is intricately interwoven with the interpretation of an action as an intentional transgression of rights or duties. Whereas a ‘motorist’ running out of petrol would insist on passing through a road block because he may not be able to manage the detour, a ‘Christian’ insisting on passing is attributed the intention to display contempt for the Muslim prayer session. In this way, an attribution of intentions is interwoven with the identity evoked. Thus, the evoked identities of the actors are integral to the interpretation of an action as a meaningful act – and as a transgression. Step 3 Finally, conflict can emerge regarding conclusions about the appropriate measures to remedy an alleged transgression. As described above, such conclusions encompass the type of measure that should be taken, how it should be implemented, and against whom the measure is to be taken – or the identity of the alleged transgressor. Following the motorist incident cited by Alubo (Chapter 3), acts of retribution were taken against ‘Christians’ by ‘Muslims’ and were retaliated in turn. Thus, the evocation of these religious identities resulted in a chain of violent conflict. However, such acts of violent retribution were not the only option available to redress the perceived transgression. Rescinding the motorist’s driver’s license would have addressed the actor as an individual, rather than distributing responsibility for the alleged transgression amongst all members of the Christian faith. Evoking the person’s Christian identity in this context incites conflict in two ways. First, it has the function of accusing the alleged transgressor because of his religious identity. In other words, fault is found with the identity, rather than with the action. Whereas actions can be adjusted, a religious identity is relatively fixed. Focusing on the action can generate possibilities for change in order to accommodate all parties’ needs, while focusing on the identity of the alleged transgressor leads to impasse. Second, evoking the driver’s Christian identity in this context also promotes conflict by implicating (all) other Christians in the alleged transgression. As a result, individuals who identify themselves as ‘Christian’ are likely to feel held responsible for an action in which they had no part. In reaction to the perception of being unjustly accused, such persons are likely to assume postures of self defense and of retaliatory accusation. The manner of implementation of a general measure can also be the subject of contestation. Within the context of discourse on migration at the US–Mexico border (Slocum-Bradley, Chapter 6) let us take, for example, the ‘national security’ storyline. In this discursive context, ‘undocumented’ immigrants are denied the right to reside or work within a given territory, and ‘US citizens’ are prescribed the right or duty to force their departure. Even within the constraints of this framework of meaning, opinions as to how to force the departure can vary: immediate death at gunpoint or transfer by bus will both do the job, but they have radically different consequences. An immediate death sentence is more likely to incite conflict, because it is more likely to be perceived as unjust. The relationship between identity constructions and conclusions about appropriate measures to address an alleged transgression are evident in Camroux and Pathan’s study (Chapter 5). The authors point out that the predominant identity constructions within the Malay Muslim community in Southern Thailand

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construct ‘Malay Muslim’ and ‘Thai’ as inherently contradictory. One conclusion drawn is that the Malay Muslim community – located in ‘Patani’ – should become independent of Thailand. Attempts to achieve this general measure could take various forms, one of which is armed insurgency. Independent of one’s views on the irredentist agenda, important to note is that neither the construction of the identities as inherently incompatible, nor the conclusion that autonomy is the solution, nor the means employed to achieve (or at least advocate) independence, are imperative. Each of these can be the object of contestation.

Summary Identity constructions can play an integral role in promoting conflict or peace. First, the evocation of identities is inherent to the establishment of a meaning system, by virtue of which actions are interpreted as meaningful acts and rights and duties are allocated. Identities evoked are suggestive of a certain distribution of rights and duties. While perceived injustice in the distribution of rights and duties is kindling for conflict, a perceived just distribution promotes peace. Second, when a transgression of rights or duties is alleged, the type of identities evoked for the transgressor and the victim have important implications for peace or conflict. The evocation of fixed group identities in assigning blame is prone to lead to further perceptions of injustice and mutual acts of retaliation. In contrast, the evocation of individual responsibility is more likely to contain the incident. Finally, the nature of identities evoked can be suggestive of appropriate measures in redressing perceived transgressions. Measures that are violent or seen as otherwise extreme are likely to promote conflict, as are measures that are taken against a fixed group of people (identified by race, religion, language, and so on), rather than individuals. Reasonable measures that address individuals (by evoking individual identities) facilitate peace by enabling a focus on possible conciliatory action. The case studies included in this volume dynamically illustrate each of these links between identity and peace or conflict.

Constructing a Laissez-Passer for Peace The above schematization of the role of identity in conflict provides a tool for making explicit an analytical process that usually remains implicit and for understanding how identity constructions can promote conflict or peace. The case studies provide vivid illustrations, from diverse perspectives, of how we use borders to partition people into identity groups. The resulting identity constructions constitute and rationalize a meaning system that functions as a reality lens, through which thoughts and actions are filtered. This reality lens is arguably the most important root cause of conflict – or peace. In attempting to ‘find’ a reality lens that will prevent conflicts, academics and policy makers alike have promoted various types of identities, including supranational (‘European’) identities and national identities. For example, some authors


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have proposed that state citizenship offers a solution to identity-based conflicts. For example, Adejumobi (2005: 20) argues that: … underlying the litany of identity-based conflicts in Africa is the issue of citizenship and rights, a phenomenon that has been exacerbated by globalization. The genealogy to this is the history of African society dating to colonialism in which primordial identities were the foci of individual rights, and not the state. State citizenship was constructed on and above primordial logic. Currently, group identities have assumed not only the primary means of social expression, but also of rights and privileges in the polity. The concept of national citizenship of equal rights, benefits and duties for all citizens has been attenuated or bifurcated, with the state sunk in a cesspool of inter-group struggles and conflicts over the distribution of public goods.

Similarly, the Commonwealth Commission on Respect and Understanding (2007: 49–50) writes that, The concept of citizenship is indifferent to group identity or identities – the idea of citizenship does not differentiate or discriminate between people with different identities, it looks at national belonging alone. Identity based on citizenship can amount to an essential lubricant of common belonging and inclusion to work.

While national identity and citizenship may offer a path to peace in some cases, it is not a panacea. Various case studies included in the present volume, as well as other authors, have illustrated how the same types of identity-based conflicts pointed out by Adejumobi can also be a product of national identities and the ideology underlying them. Consequently, Paasi poses the following challenge: If boundaries and identity are two sides of the same coin, as many have argued, the crucial question is how we could lower the boundaries to promote tolerance and democracy. Citizenship has been central to the politics of inclusion and exclusion in modern states but the boundaries of postnational citizenship are fluid (Soysal 1997; Isin and Wood 1999). Therefore we have to ask, how new supra-, sub- and non-state locations for citizenship can be organized that do not ignore human diversity, and realize that states are not the only actors that have the right to define the moral aspect in international relations (Linklater 1998). (Paasi 2005: 25)

The present volume has illustrated that the primordialism in identities underscored by Adejumobi is not escaped by national identities. Rather, primordialism is evident in all types of identities examined by the case studies herein, as are its consequences. Borders, and the identities they delineate, are reified in everyday discourse, by academics, policymakers and laypersons alike. Due to the reflexive and relational nature of identities, as discussed above, such reification impacts not only how people identify themselves and others, but also the relationship between them, including the potential for destructive conflict. Social scientists, in theorizing about identity, can generate and reify identity conceptions that can (be used to) foment conflict (Sen 2006). Educators aiming to prevent prejudice and stereotyping can accomplish the opposite by indirectly

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teaching pupils to think in reified identity categories (Slocum 2001b). Politicians and (other) would-be peace builders reify identities by institutionalizing them in efforts to assure representativeness (for example, by enforcing specific quotas), yet they can thereby inadvertently hinder peace (Simonsen 2005). It is vital that social scientists, policymakers and all communicators become aware of the constructive nature of their discourse and the consequences thereof. As illustrated throughout this volume, merely overlaying nationalistic discourse onto a different geographical space does not provide a panacea to identity-based conflicts. Similarly, it does not suffice to say that people can have multiple coexisting identities that vary, with the context, in salience and importance, as stated in the Human Development Report (UNDP 2004) and by other scholars (Risse 2002; Sen 2006). Malik (2006) argues that it is not the multiplicity of people’s identities that is problematic but the kinds of identities that have become fashionable in contemporary society: After all, what has made the question of identity important is not that individuals do not know how to choose which hat to wear and when, but that collectively hat-wearing fashions have changed. Certain social affiliations have acquired new significance while others have faded away. In this post-ideological age, people are less likely than they were to define social solidarity in political terms – as collective action in pursuit of political ideals. The question people ask themselves is not so much ‘what kind of society do I want to live in?’ as ‘who are we?’ As political identities have weakened, so people have come to view themselves more in terms of their cultural, ethnic or religious affiliations. And they see those identities as given rather than chosen. What is important, then, is not that people have forgotten that they possess multiple identities. It is rather that political identities have so little significance that people often look elsewhere for meaning- to faith, culture or ethnicity.

Lessons gleaned from the present volume show that ‘who are we?’ is indeed the question with which many people begin. Camroux and Pathan (Chapter 5) and Moghaddam (Chapter 8) have argued that Muslims’ search for identity lies at the root of the violent conflicts in which they are engaged. Moghaddam (2006) has described in detail how, in the midst of a pervasive Islamic ‘identity crisis’, people’s pursuit of an identity is the first phase in a process by which some individuals come to identify themselves in ways that condone committing acts of terrorism. Thus, revising Malik’s argument, lessons from this volume have shown that it is more accurate to say that contemporarily it is common for people to define their solidarities in socio-political terms only as a consequence of their cultural, ethnic or religious identities (which they perceive as given). In other words, they first ask, ‘who are we?’ and, upon this basis, draw conclusions about desired social and political actions. This volume has also shown that it is possible to reverse this process. It is possible to start with the question, ‘what kind of society do I want to live in?’ and then to answer the question ‘who are we?’ in a way that facilitates the realization of one’s answer to the first question. In other words, if we desire to live in a peaceful and just society, we can construct our identities in a way that is conducive to so doing.


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In order to achieve this, a deeper understanding must be gained of how identities are constructed and form part of a meaning system that acts as an interpretive lens through which we view (and further construct) social reality. The results of this process are arguably the most important ‘root causes’ of conflict – or, alternatively, of peace. It is hoped that the present volume has contributed to this understanding, to raising awareness of how we all co-construct identities and how these constructions can foment conflict or peace. Armed with this understanding, it is our collective task to cross the borders of our minds and to construct identities that facilitate a tolerant, just, and peaceful co-existence for all peoples. In reference to Madiba’s1 wisdom, this is how we teach ourselves to love.

References Adejumobi, S. (2005), ‘Identity, Citizenship and Conflict: The African Experience’, in W.A. Fawole and C. Ukeje (eds), The Crisis of the State and Regionalism in West Africa: Identity, Citizenship and Conflict (Dakar: Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa), 19–43. Commonwealth Commission on Respect and Understanding (2007), Civil Paths to Peace (London: Commonwealth Secretariat). Malik, K. (2006), ‘Illusions of Identity’, Prospect Magazine 125, August, http://www. prospect-magazine.co.uk/article_details.php?id=7583. Moghaddam, F. (2006), From the Terrorists’ Point of View (Westport, CT: Praeger Security International). Paasi, A. (2001), ‘Europe as a Social Process and Discourse: Considerations of Place, Boundaries and Identity’, European Urban and Regional Studies, 8(1), 7–28. Risse, T. (2002), Nationalism and Collective Identities: Europe versus the Nation-State?’, in P. Heywood, E. Jones, and M. Rhodes (eds), Developments in West European Politics 2 (Houndmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave), 77–93. Sen, A. (2006), Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny (New York: W.W. Norton and Company). Slocum, N. (2001a), Positioning Analyses of Discursive Expressions of Conflicts, Graduate School of Arts and Sciences of Georgetown University, Thesis 7926, UMI Number: 3037791, Ann Arbor, MI: UMI. Slocum, N. (2001b), ‘Realising the Future: On Collaboration between Policy-makers and Social Scientists to Facilitate Social Change’, in OECD Proceedings, Social Sciences for Knowledge and Decision Making, 145–52. United Nations Development Program (2004), Human Development Report: Cultural Liberty in Today’s Diverse World (New York: UNDP).

1

Nelson Mandela (see the quotation at the beginning of this volume).


Index

9/11 61, 176 Abah, Steve 41, 42, 48 Abuza, Zachary 83, 87 actor(s) 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 12, 82, 83, 86, 89, 92, 94, 106, 108, 112–15, 146, 166, 178, 212–14, 217, 219 Adejumobi, S. 4, 13, 48, 219 Afghanistan 93, 176 agency 3,–5, 7, 45, 104, 135, 148, 189–90, 200 causal 110 versus structure 5 Akoh, Abdullah 89, 90 Alubo, Ogoh 13–14, 41–5, 47, 50, 53, 133, 210–12, 215–17 Anderson, Benedict 21, 83 anthropology 14, 184 apartheid 96 Appiah, K. 5 Argentina 141, 145, 154 Askew, Marc 83, 85 Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN) 86, 97, 210 Austin, John 106, 135 Australia 167, 183–5, 187, 192, 196, 199–201, 204–5 Austria 25, 28–30, 32–3, 156–7 autonomy 3, 26–7, 29, 32, 35–6, 87, 158, 190, 194, 214, 216, 218 Babaginda, General 42, 54 Balkans 62 Bali 83, 91 Bar Gal, Yoram 66, 70 Barnard, A. 84, 121 Belgium 14, 21, 23–58, 2120, 212, 215 beliefs 6–7, 15, 72–3, 139–41, 143–4, 147, 150, 153, 160–61 Billig, M. 6, 7 Boege, V. 189, 203 Bonnemaison, Joel 184, 191, 198 borders

cultural 61 discursive 205 economic 61 ethnic 96 geopolitical 7, 85 international 205 language/linguistic 2, 7, 9, 14, 22–3, 29–30, 32–8, 38, 84–5, 89–91, 93, 95, 116, 119–21, 140, 146–8, 150, 153–5, 159–60, 179, 185, 188, 199, 201, 204, 209, 211–12, 218 mental 1–16, 81–97, 209 national 1, 6–7, 22, 47, 61, 103, 147, 151, 119, 160, 165, 209 open 126 psychological 7, 15, 82–3, 209 racial 108, 126, 133, 141, 187, 209, 218 regional 7 religious 61 social 61 state 7, 51, 61 territorial 94 Bosnia 32 Brazil 141, 145, 152, 154 Brown, Anne M. 16, 117, 183, 203, 211–12, 215–16 Bruner, J. 3, 5, 106, 109, 135 Burma/Myanmar 81 Bush, George W. 126, 131, 132, 172, 212 California Coalition for Immigration Reform (CCIR) 122, 128 Camroux, David 15, 81, 210–12, 215–17, 220 Canada 7, 126, 140–41, 153, 158, 204 Chayan, V. 83, 96 Cheney, Dick 132 China 49, 167, 174, 177 Cienfuegos, E. 129, 130, 134 citizenship 6, 13, 22, 41–58, 61, 85, 110, 116, 119, 126, 198, 219 civil war 27, 28, 41–2, 46, 81, 91–2, 96, 117, 119, 194

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Clifford, James 184, 190 Cohen, Saul 67, 151 Cold War 6, 86 colonialism 13, 48, 72, 73, 202, 219 common Commonwealth Commission on Respect and Understanding 1, 2, 8, 12, 219 Communism 86, 87 communitarianism 13 community academic 71–2 global 69, 75–6, 94, 96 international 2, 113–14, 183 Islamic 82, 169, 173 local 194, 197 macro- 97 micro- 97 ummah 82, 84–5, 96 conflict resolution 15, 63–4, 77, 81, 191 constructivism 3, 6, 9–12, 21 Cornish, Andrew 83, 87 crime 89, 91, 121, 124, 129, 184, 196, 198–9 hate 105, 108, 110, 117, 128–30, 133–4 organized 184 culture national 22, 97 shared 168 Cyprus 62 Czech Republic (Czechoslovakia) 32, 159 Danfaluni, U. 54, 55 Dayan, Moshe 65 democracy 55, 68, 72, 76–7, 132, 153–7, 171–2, 174, 176, 189–90, 197, 215, 219 Denmark 151, 212 determinism 3–5, 10 Dinnen, S. 193, 198–200 drugs 85, 121, 124–5, 132 Dubois, Sébastien 14, 21–3, 30, 135, 210–12, 215 Duina, Francesco 15–16, 139, 142, 155, 167, 178, 210, 212, 215–16 East Timor 81 education 21, 33–4, 36, 42, 52, 62, 64, 66, 68, 75–6, 121, 150, 153, 158, 162, 173, 190, 212 Egeberg, M. 4, 146 Egwu, Sam 47, 49–50, 57

Egypt 74, 170, 174, 177 Elaigwu, Isawa 42, 43 Enwerem, I. 51, 53 ethnicity 3, 10, 15, 21–3, 43, 45–6, 50, 53, 84, 86, 97, 172, 220 Europe 2, 4, 6–7, 14, 21, 23, 26–7, 29, 31, 37, 61–2, 75, 88, 94, 106, 149–51, 155, 157, 159, 167, 178–80, 210 Eastern 22, 75, 155 Western 21, 23, 61–2 European Parliament 149, 152, 156–7 European Union (EU) 15, 38, 105, 139–62, 178, 179, 210, 212 Falah, Ghazi 66, 70, 71 family 3, 47, 72, 155–7, 175, 190 extended 190 Fearon, J.D. 7, 10 Feinberg, Richard Finland 141, 156 Fox, Vicente 126, 132 France 22–31, 34, 37–8, 156, 179, 195 Fwatshak, S. 54, 55 Gellner, Ernest 21, 22 gender 1, 3, 43, 149, 169, 174, 209 genocide 1, 113 Gergen, K. 3, 4, 11, 12, 135 Germany 1, 22–5, 31, 34–6, 38, 144, 156, 171–2, 179, 211 Ghana 49 Gillett, G. 5, 104, 110–11 globalization 1, 3, 7, 13, 49, 61–2, 72, 94, 173–4, 184, 187, 191, 199, 202, 219 Glock, Albert 70 Gofwen, R.I. 51, 52, 53 Golden, T. 26, 27, 33, 158 Golob, S. 6, 7, 135 Greece 141, 151, 155, 156 Gulf War 177 Gunaratna, Rohan 83, 92 Gurion, David ben 72, 77 Hagher, I. 46, 55 Harré, Rom 2, 3, 5, 8, 11, 104–5, 107, 110–11, 113–14 Hopkins, N. 4, 6 Horstmann, Alexander 83, 85 Human Rights Watch 48, 54, 55 Hussein, Saddam 172–3, 175–6

Index Ibrahim, I. 41, 45, 51, 58 identity collective 22, 33, 38, 41, 169, 174, 178, 186, 192, 193, 202 ethnic 43, 45, 53 European 4, 151, 178 group 7, 219 hegemonic 71 historical 22 individual 3, 174, 186 Islamic 12, 173 local 198, 215 linguistic 1, 4, 14, 33–8, 116, 169, 180, 188, 209 multiple 4, 216, 220 national 6, 7, 15, 22–3, 29, 37–8, 61–77, 143, 151, 153, 189, 198, 215, 218–19 supra- 218 trans- 147, 160 pan-regional 191 personal 193 reduced 13 regional 6, 7, 15, 139, 140–41, 147, 153, 157, 160, 161, 165 religious 16, 43, 45, 52, 58, 73, 94, 169, 171, 175, 178–80, 212, 217 Shi’a 169–70, 173, 176–8 social 9, 10, 186 state 74 territorial 62–3, 67 identity construction 2, 5, 8, 11–16, 23, 41–38, 58, 82, 103–36, 139, 160, 170, 183–5, 209, 212–15, 217–18 identity politics 13, 44, 52–3, 55, 57, 97 Ikime, Obaro 46, 47 illegal aliens 122, 124–5 immigration 29, 62, 64, 66–7, 74, 103, 108– 9, 116–27, 130–32, 134, 156, 179–80, 211, 216–17 indigenes 14, 44–5, 47–51, 53–5, 57–8, 133, 212, 215–16 Indonesia 93, 4, 97, 187 inequality 135, 188, 196, 201 insurgency 15, 81–97, 157 insurrection 81, 87, 91, 93, 96 integration 81, 87, 91, 93, 96 integration 1, 6–7, 15–16, 46–8, 74–5, 84, 86, 120, 126, 140, 143, 147–8, 150, 152–5, 159–62

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International Monetary Fund 139 invasion 32, 56, 116, 119–20, 122, 124, 128, 168, 170, 175–6 Iran 166, 169–73, 175–8, 180, 210 Iraq 84, 168, 170–3, 175–8, 210, 215 Ireland 141, 151, 159 irredentism 81–97, 214 Islam 52, 55, 83–5, 89–90, 94–7, 160, 169–71, 173–4, 179, 211 Shi’a16, 165–80, 210–12 Sunni 170, 172–3, 175–7, 210–11 Islam, Syed Serajul 83, 87 Israel 15, 61–77, 171, 177, 210, 215, 216 Italy 22, 86, 159 Jerryson, Michael 83, 91 jihad 15, 42, 82, 84, 88, 89–96, 215 Jolly, Margaret 184, 188, 190–92 Khomeini, Ayatollah Ruhollah 171–4 Kliot, Nurit 67, 70 Kuwait 171, 173–4, 177 Laitin, D. 7, 10 Langenhove, L. van 2, 6, 8, 104–5, 107, 110, 113, 150, 167 Lebanon 62, 172 Lederach, J.P. 8, 186, 204 liberalization 49, 141 Lithuania 159 Louis, W.R. 23, 24, 27, 28, 186 Lula, Luiz Inacio 152 Luxembourg 23–5, 210 Maclellan, N. 195, 200 Malaya 86 Malaysia 15, 81–2, 85–6, 97, 210 Malik, K. 94, 220 Malta 159 Mandela, Nelson 221 marginalization 41, 50, 52 Matthew, A. 201, 202 McCargo, Duncan 83, 96 McLeod, A. 188, 194 Melanesia 16, 174, 183–221 Mercosur 15, 139–62, 210 Mexico 15, 103–36, 140–41, 153, 157–8, 161, 179, 180, 210, 212, 215–17 Army of National Liberation (EZNL) 157–8, 161, 216

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migration 2, 115, 117, 127–9, 131 Moghaddam, Fathali M. 8, 10, 12–13, 16, 104, 105, 113–14, 129, 133, 165–70, 174, 180, 210–12, 215–16, 220 Monnet, Jean 155 Moore, Clive 198, 201, 202 myth 11, 65–6 narratives 5–7, 9–10, 12, 14–16, 23, 31–2, 38, 62–4, 66, 68–70, 81, 83–5, 88, 93, 97, 104, 135, 175–6, 186, 205, 215–16 alternative 68 competing 215 contested 61–77 counter- 69 critical 68 external 83 historical 31, 63–4, 68–9, 135 identity 6, 10, 14–15, 23, 38, 81 political 68–9 storylines 104–15, 119–34, 136, 213–15, 217 nationalism 6–7, 14, 22, 33, 37, 42, 72, 125, 191, 215 post- 61, 71–3 ultra- 73, 76 Neumann, I. 10, 150 Newman, David 1, 15, 61, 67, 70–71 New Zealand 183–4, 196–7, 204 Nidhi, A. 83, 90 Nigeria 13–14, 41–58, 210, 215–16 North Atlantic Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) 15, 103, 139–62, 179, 210, 216 North Korea 166, 176 Obasanjo, Olusegun 49 oil 43, 49, 121, 171–3, 177–8, 212 oppression 32, 33, 41 Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC) 50–51 Oviedo, Lino Cesea 154 Oxfam 201, 202 Paasi, A. 5, 6, 7, 219 Palestine 15, 61–77, 173, 210, 216 Paraguay 140–41, 145, 148, 153–5 Patani United Liberation Organization (PULO) 87, 90 Pathan, Don 15, 81, 210–12, 215–17

Philippines 92 Poland 140–41, 155–6. 159 Portugal 155–6, 159 Positioning Theory 8, 15, 103–36 Potter, J. 4, 11, 106 poverty 2, 3, 9, 188, 190, 197, 200 prejudice 118, 212, 219 primordialism 7, 10, 21, 219 Qasim, General 172 racism 1, 7, 125–6, 128–9, 156 Ram, U. 72, 73 refugees 42, 68,69 regionalism 23, 167, 169 regional planning 165–80 regional trade areas (RTAs) 139–44, 147, 150, 152–3, 157, 161 reification 4, 11, 14, 115, 191, 192, 204, 219, 220 religion 2, 15, 28, 43, 45, 50–51, 53, 55, 57, 76, 83–4, 95–7, 165–80, 83–4, 95–7, 165–6, 169–70, 172, 178–80, 209, 218 religious affiliations Buddhist 82, 84, 89, 91–2, 96–7, 211 Christian 45, 50–55, 58, 97, 140, 159, 178–9, 190, 211, 216–17 Catholic 25, 26, 27, 30, 31, 35, 108, 159 Protestant 3, 26–7, 30, 108 Jewish 1, 15, 62, 64–77, 211–12, 215 Muslim 2, 3, 45, 50–55, 81–3, 85, 87–8, 90–97, 166, 170, 172–6, 179–80, 211–12, 215–18, 220 Risse, Thomas 4, 151, 220 Russia 54, 74, 171, 177 Rutherford, Danilyn 93, 94 Rwanda 1, 12, 113 Sadurski, W. 155, 156 Sahlins, Marshall 184, 190, 192, 197 Saudi Arabia 170–72, 174, 177 Schengen Agreement 151 Scott, James 87 secularization 21, 174 security 2, 43, 48, 55, 74, 76, 82–3, 90–92, 108–9, 116, 121, 123–5, 134–5, 146, 185, 189, 191, 193, 196–7, 199–202, 205–6, 217 segregation 57 self-identification 81–2, 97, 188, 212

Index Sen, Amartya 1, 12–13, 135, 212, 219–20 settlers 45–7, 50–51, 53–8, 65–7, 211, 216 shari’ah 52–3 Sharon, Ariel 77 Sheridan, Greg 196, 199, 202 Shi’a Crescent 16, 175, 210 Shotter, J. 3, 4, 11, 12, 135 Six Day War 67–8, 76 Slocum, Nikki 6, 8–9, 12–13, 105, 107, 113–4, 150, 167, 213, 220 Slocum-Bradley, Nikki 1, 4, 8, 10, 12–13, 15, 103, 113–14, 179, 209–13, 215–17 Slovakia 159 social construction 2, 43, 75–6 Soh, Ustaz 89–90 Solana, Javier 156 Solórzano, Cuauhtémoc Cardenas 153 Somalia 42, 199 South Africa 2 Southeast Asia 49, 81–3, 85, 88, 97 Soviet Union 74, 155 Spain 23–9, 119, 131–2, 155–6, 159, 179–80 stereotyping 12, 212, 219 Switzerland 24, 149, 174 Syria 176–7 Tan, S. 105, 113, 114 Taylor, C. 11, 104 terrorism 12–13, 37, 84–5, 92–3, 96, 122, 125, 160, 184, 196, 199–200, 220 ‘war on terror’ 172, 176, 185, 196, 199–200 Thailand 15, 81–97, 210–12, 215–18 The Netherlands 23–7, 30–31, 37–8 Thomas, Nicholas 184, 190 Toure, Toure Kaza 41, 42

227

trafficking 85, 196 transgression 113, 126, 133, 213–14, 216–18 Turkey 160, 171, 173, 177–9 unemployment 144, 146, 188, 196, 198, 204 United Kingdom 22, 27, 86, 89, 130, 151, 159, 171–2, 179 United Nations 2, 32, 86, 167 United States of America 7, 28, 86, 103–36, 141, 148, 153–4, 158, 161, 166–8, 170–71, 173–4, 176–80, 204, 209–10, 215–17 urbanization 188, 196 Uruguay 141, 145, 148, 154 Usman, B. 51, 90 Wainwright, E. 199, 200 Wassman, J. 186, 203 Westernization 174, 184, 191 Westphalian system 1, 6, 83 Wetherell, M. 4, 106 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 106, 215 World Bank 192 World Trade Organization (WTO) 49, 139 World War I 172 World War II 86, 139, 171, 193 xenophobia 117, 132–3, 156 Yegar, Moshe 83, 86 Zerubavel, Yael 65, 66 Zionism 15, 62, 65–7, 69, 71–4 neo- 15, 71–3, 75–7, 215 post- 15, 71–3, 75–7, 215

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