11.2009 Journal of International and Global

Transcription

Journal of International & Global Studies
Mission Statement: the Journal of International and Global Studies provides a multidisciplinary
forum for the critical discussion and reflections on the consequences of globalization throughout
the world. The editors welcome essays and book reviews that deal with globalization from
economists, historians, political scientists, anthropologists, sociologists, geographers, linguists,
religious, ethnic, or environmental studies specialists, cross-cultural education, media and
communication researchers, or other humanities or social science scholars that have an
international and global focus. One of our goals is to help undermine the fragmentation of
specialization within the international academy by emphasizing broad interdisciplinary
approaches to the comprehension of globalization in all of its many different forms and
implications for different regions of the world.
Editorial Board
Center for International and Global Studies, Lindenwood University
Chief Editor: Raymond Scupin, Ph.D., Director: Center for International & Global Studies,
Lindenwood University
Associate Editor: Ryan Guffey, Ph.D., Associate Director: Center for International & Global
Studies, Lindenwood University
Associate Editor: Joseph Cernik, Ph.D., Professor of Political Science & International Studies,
Editorial Assistants: Rebecca Goulart, Cassandra Ickes
International Advisory Board:
David L. Carr, Ph.D., University of California Santa Barbara: Geography
Joan Ferrante, Ph.D., Northern Kentucky University: Sociology
Ronald Kephart, Ph.D., University of North Florida: Anthropology
Joseph Chinyong Liow, Ph.D., Nanyang Technological University in Singapore: S. Rajaratnam
School of International Studies
Gordon Mathews, Ph.D., Chinese University of Hong Kong: Anthropology
Gyan Pradhan, Ph.D., Eastern Kentucky University: Economics
Richard Wilk, Ph.D., Indiana University: Anthropology
Rodrigo Tarté P, Ph.D., Ciudad del Saber (City of Knowledge), Panama: Ecology
Introduction
Welcome to our inaugural issue of the Journal of International and Global Studies. This
online journal has been launched as a forum for an interdisciplinary approach to comprehending
the consequences of globalization and all of its manifestations throughout the world. The first
issue of the journal contains a variety of highly readable essays from different disciplines that
offer insights on global processes and international issues. The first essay “The Cultural Effects
of the Narcoeconomy on Rural Mexico” by James McDonald concentrates on a recent topic that
has generated a lot of international press coverage, but has received very little analytical
treatment by social scientists. McDonald’s ethnographic research on how the narcoeconomy has
influenced new forms of consumption and identity formation in rural Mexico details how local
changes are influenced by global trends. Insightful in-depth descriptions and analysis by
McDonald of how traditional patterns of hierarchy and status are eroding in a rural Mexican
locale due to the narco-activities provide a context for evaluating these trends as they impinge on
both U.S. and Mexican interrelationships and global trends.
The second essay “Planning for Internationalization By Investing in Faculty” by Lisa K.
Childress is an important contribution on how higher education institutions can enhance their
international orientations by careful planning and budgeting. In a detailed investigation of the
internationalization of Duke University and the University of Richmond, Childress demonstrates
how higher education can become more internationalized at this crucial stage of global
interdependency through innovative financial planning and resource allocation to help faculty
engage in more international research. The third essay “Population, rural development, and land
use among settler households in an agricultural frontier in Guatemala’s Maya Biosphere
Reserve” by geographer David Carr discusses the demographic, social, political, and ecological
dimensions of an attempt to contain deforestation in a Maya region of Guatemala. Carr’s study
is the first detailed statistically representative sample of a population settling in the biodiverse
region of Sierra de Lacandón National Park a frontier area in Guatemala. By assessing the recent
population growth along with the social, political, and religious influences within this frontier
region in this reserve area established by UNESCO, Carr offers a perspective on how
environmental sustainability and loss of habitat ought to be understood and managed.
The fourth essay “Nuclear Proliferation and Authority in World Politics” by Brian
Frederking, Kaitlyne Motl, and Nishant Timilsina is a probing analysis and argument about
nuclear proliferation and collective security issues drawing from the current cases of North
Korea and Iran. Recognizing that global security involves hierarchical rules of authority, the
authors argue that hierarchical and unilateral decision-making can become coercive and
constrain collective security negotiations and agreement. Establishing the legitimacy of
hierarchical rules through mutually based multilateral agreements and open discussions and
diplomacy can produce more effective global security as is demonstrated by recent decisionmaking in North Korea. The fifth essay “Islam, Cultural Hybridity and Cosmopolitanism: New
Muslim Intellectuals on Globalization” by Carool Kersten explores the new Muslim discourses
emerging within the Islamic world that distances itself from both extreme secular or radical
Islamist tendencies and the simplistic binary postulates regarding a ‘clash of civilizations’ or
‘Jihad versus McWorld.’ By focusing on Muslim thinkers such as the Sorbonne-based
Mohammed Arkoun and the Egyptian Hasan Hanafi and Muslim intellectuals in Indonesia,
Kersten demonstrates how these new discourses reveal a nuanced form of cosmopolitanism and
cultural hybridity that overcome more restricted Islamic identities.
The sixth essay “Nepal’s Civil War and Its Economic Costs” by economist Gyan Pradhan
provides an analysis of the macroeconomic conditions that have resulted from the tragic Maoistproduced conflict in Nepal. Although Pradhan employs the heuristic techniques and models used
within macro-econometric analysis, the essay can be readily understood by non-economists and
general readers who want to improve their understanding of the difficulties faced by the peoples
within contemporary Nepalese society.
In fact, all of the essays in the first issue of the Journal of International and Global
Studies are aimed at a general audience without any specific disciplinary training. We intend to
maintain this standard of generalized interdisciplinary readability for all of our essays in future
issues of our journal.
Finally, this inaugural issue of Journal of International and Global Studies has
substantial reviews of ten books by reputable scholars around the world that have a bearing on
globalization issues. We hope that you enjoy and profit from the essays and reviews in this
online journal and continue to return to this site www.lindenwood.edu/jigs to pursue useful
contributions on understanding globalization issues.
Sincerely,
Raymond Scupin, Ph.D.
Director: Center for International & Global Studies
Professor of Anthropology and International Studies
The Cultural Effects of the Narcoeconomy in Rural Mexico
James H. McDonald, Ph. D.
Southern Utah University
[email protected]
Abstract
This essay describes the cultural effects of drug trafficking on a town in rural Mexico. A
variety of ethnographic scenes reveal the rapidly changing social imagination as new forms
of consumption create new opportunities for identity formation. However, because these
new consumer forms are expensive, and therefore inaccessible to the majority of community
members, a type of cultural exclusion is at work. In this ordinary town, there are
extraordinary forms of consumption: large, lavish houses; high-stakes gambling at local
cockfights; a new urban-oriented consumer culture; and new farmer entrepreneurs. All were
underwritten by narco-activities. These new forms of consumption challenge and subvert
older, stable forms of hierarchy and status. Individuals with access to these forms of
consumption have new types of economic, cultural and social capital privilege, and such
access legitimizes their status and power. The article closes by considering the implications
of the rising levels of violence in Mexico’s interior and the potential that we are seeing the
initial stages of a civil war.
Journal of International and Global Studies
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Introduction
This essay analyzes the cultural effects of the penetration of the narcoeconomy into a
seemingly pedestrian, rural community in the West-Central Mexican state of Michoacán. It
builds upon and updates ethnographic work that explored this penetration as an incipient
phenomenon (McDonald, 2005) in which new forms of cultural and social capital emerged or old
ones were co-opted by participants in the drug trafficking trade. This data is re-evaluated in the
context of an escalated, violent drug war in which these processes result in a reconfiguring of
local society and the foregrounding of stark economic inequalities and cultural disjunctures.
Until recently, the focus on Mexico’s struggle with drug cartels largely centered on the
U.S.-Mexico border region, where the narcoeconomy is pervasive and violent (cf. Campbell,
2005, 2008, 2009; Payan, 2006; Willoughby, 2003). The U.S. has tried to control the “spillover”
of drug trafficking though various means, including heightened border militarization and
surveillance (Heyman, 1999; Dunn, 1996). There is also a history of high-profile violence
involving public officials that has punctuated the more routinized violence between cartels vying
for turf and market share. In 1993-1994, a Catholic Bishop was gunned down in Guadalajara; a
presidential candidate was assassinated in Tijuana; and the Secretary General of the then-ruling
Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) was shot to death in Mexico City. 1 The suspicion was
that these killings were drug-cartel related, though definitive proof has never been uncovered.
Nevertheless, the pattern led Andrew Reding (1995) to perceptively warn of an emergent narcopolitics in Mexico. Other scholars were beginning to argue that Mexico should be labeled a
“narco-state” or “narco-democracy” (e.g., Pasternostro, 1995; Andreas, 1998; Massing, 2000).
Most recently, George Grayson (2009a) has strongly suggested that Mexico is on the verge of
becoming a failed state. If such labeling was at one time seen as perhaps over dramatized, recent
events highlight that the interpenetration of cartels with state politics is deep and pervasive.
At this time, Mexico is the major supplier of cocaine and marijuana for the U.S., where
demand seems bottomless. [In 2006 somewhere between 530 and 710 metric tons of cocaine
entered the U.S.—an estimated 90% of which came from Mexico (Office of National Drug
Control Policy, 2007). It is further estimated that Mexico produced 13,500 metric tons of
marijuana in 2003 and accounts for the vast majority of that drug that enters into the U.S. (United
States Department of Justice, 2005). Mexico is also an important supplier of heroin and
methamphetamine. The production and distribution of illegal drugs is controlled by seven major
cartels: Juarez, Sinaloa, Los Zetas, Tijuana, Beltran Leyva, Gulf, and La Familia. If there was
ever any question about the relationship between the cartels and governance in Mexico, the
question was answered by events that unfolded in late spring 2009.
On 26 May 2009, the Mexican federal government undertook its boldest move in the ongoing war being waged with the country’s drug cartels. Security forces swept into the WestCentral state of Michoacán and arrested 10 mayors and 20 other high ranking state officials
including the State Attorney General (Wilkinson, 2009; La Voz de Michoacán, 2009).
Interestingly, Governor Leonel Godoy was not informed of the operation until it was underway.
His brother, Julio Cesar Godoy, was questioned and later sought in connection with providing
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protection for the local cartel. Wilkinson (2009) further reports that, “[a]t least 83 of
Michoacán’s 113 municipalities are mixed up on some level with the narcos.” Most recently, the
state’s Deputy Director of Public Safety was gunned down in Morelia—he had been on the job a
scant two weeks (Montero, 2009).
Mexico’s Attorney General, Eduardo Medina Mora, contends that the cartel in control of
Michoacán, known as La Familia2 (The Family), is the country’s most ruthless and violent gang
(de la Luz González, Gómez & Torres, 2009; Grayson, 2009b). They announced their presence
when 20 gunmen stormed a crowded dance hall and dumped five severed heads on a club’s dance
floor in the city of Uruapan in September 2006. Since then, they have moved quickly to
marginalize the Sinaloa and the Beltran-Leyva cartels. Subsequent to their auspicious
introduction, they have amassed the largest number of arms among the cartels, estimated at well
over 10,000 weapons, 60% of which are large (e.g., machine guns, rocket launchers, etc.), and
they have conducted the highest number of executions of any cartel in Mexico, along with the
carrying out of the more mundane activities associated with cartels, such as kidnappings,
detentions, extortion, and robbery (de la Luz González, Gómez & Torres, 2009). Former
Presidential candidate, Andrés Manuel López Obrador of the left-leaning Democratic
Revolutionary Party (PRD) underscored the gravity of the death toll by saying that the number of
drug cartel related deaths was higher than during any revolution (Jiménez, 2009). Though he
was trying to chastise President Felipe Calderón’s (National Action Party or PAN) strong
military aggression against the cartels, he hit upon an emergent truth—Mexico’s drug war is
taking on the profile of a civil war whereby cartels have enlisted the nation’s poor and marginal
as their foot soldiers; the cartels are creating a social base; they have used their economic power
to infiltrate all levels of politics; and they have unleashed waves of violence unseen in
contemporary times. Since January 2007, almost 10,000 people3 have been killed and 45,000
military troops have been deployed, along with 5,000 federal police in 18 states—even President
Calderón was forced to admit, “[t]his is a war” (Los Angeles Times, 2009).
The U.S.-Mexico border used to be the focus of what most Americans considered to be
Mexico’s drug war. Violence used to be synonymous with Juarez, Tijuana, or Reynosa. The
interior was largely quiet. Now it is only too clear that places like Michoacán are really more at
the drug war’s epicenter. Indeed, Michoacán was the first state to be militarized by President
Calderón in 2007, drawing clear attention to the dire problems there.
In the wake of the unprecedented arrests of public officials in Michoacán, a wave of
extreme violence shook that state. La Familia reacted with swift vengeance over the loss of its
operatives in the political system, along with the arrest of one of its Chiefs of Operations,
Arnoldo Rueda Medina. Twelve military intelligence officials were kidnapped, tortured, and
killed in what was the single deadliest attack on Mexican security officers; in all 16 officers were
killed in a four-day period that saw a coordinated attack on security forces in eight Michoacán
communities and two others in Guerrero and Guanajuato (de la Luz González, 2009; Gómez
Leyva, 2009). Attacks against police stations, military barracks, and hotels occurred elsewhere in
Michoacán and other states, leading to the deaths of two more soldiers and six federal police
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(Castillo, 2009). Even Bishops within the Catholic Church have been threatened by La Familia
to enforce the clergy’s silence on the criticism of drug trafficking (Rodríguez, 2009). It is
estimated that among Mexico’s 15,000 priests, 1,000 have received threats from cartels, and
particularly outspoken clergy have been murdered (Castillo, 2009). In what has to be the most
surreal dimension of the latest surge of conflict and violence between the cartels and government,
the purported head of La Familia, Servando Gómez Martínez (otherwise known as “La Tuta”)
sent a communication to President Calderón requesting that they wage a “clean war.” By that he
meant to invite the president to conduct a war in which collateral damage to family members
(e.g., wives, children, etc.) be kept to a minimum (cf. Lacey, 2009a). To demonstrate the
professional nature of his operation, La Tuta closed his message with, “[w]e are not kidnappers,
nor do we kill for money” (El Universal, 2009a).
Given that Michoacán is one of the central locales in the Mexican drug war, it is
important to ask how the narcoeconomy affects rural communities with long histories of
otherwise mundane economic activity. I will begin with a general description of one such place,
a small town to which I apply the pseudonym “Buenavista.” This initial orienting section will be
followed by a series of ethnographic examples of the manner in which the narcoeconomy has
been woven into the local social fabric, both materially and conceptually. The community is, in
fact, in many ways very ordinary. Many residents are dedicated to dairy farming or dairy
processing, activities through which few, if any, get rich. Most are lucky to just get by. Yet,
immersion in the place reveals odd anomalies: large, expensive houses; cybercafés; urbanoriented clothing stores; high-stakes cockfighting; a day spa; and a new cadre of entrepreneurial
narco-farmers who purchase lavish ranches. This newly emergent consumer culture simply does
not describe the poor, agrarian roots of the place or the day-to-day experiences of most of its
inhabitants. The stark contrast between poverty and opulence begs for further analysis of a
rapidly changing cultural dynamic and how this shapes the lives and imaginations of the majority
population of hard working, often impoverished, residents.
The Place
Buenavista is a small town of about 10,000 people nestled in a valley between mountains
that constitute part of the neo-volcanic axis that cuts across the center of Mexico. It is a
community with a long agrarian history and a regionally important dairy industry. Indeed, my
research there explored problems of globalization and agricultural development. This essay
emerged out of long-term research projects that specifically focused on the political economy of
dairying in Buenavista and adjacent regions (e.g., McDonald, 1995, 1997, 1999, 2001, 2002,
2003, 2005, 2006). During the course of my research, the area’s narcoeconomy, however,
formed a persistent backdrop and a tangential, yet sustained, narrative theme among the many
farmers, dairy processors, and government officials that I have interviewed and worked with
since the mid 1990s. The topic came into sharper focus in the 2002 field season as part of ongoing research exploring the social and cultural dynamics of organizational initiatives by area
farmers. This essay is based upon interviews and observational data that accumulated over the
past decade.
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A Profile of Buenavista
Buenavista is hardly at the end of the road in the mountains or down a lonely jungle path
in the lowlands. It is a rural community that once had a thriving ranching economy and is well
connected to the rest of the world. The town’s older residents still embrace the values of a
traditional ranchero (rancher) culture (cf. Baisneé, 1989; Barragán López, 1989, 1997; Cochet,
1991; Barragán López et al., 1994; Léonard, 1995). For rancheros, wealth was measured by the
quantity of land they owned and the number of cattle they held, scrawny or otherwise. Men
prided themselves on their horsemanship, gallantry, and thrift. They were aggressively
independent and self-sufficient (Quinones, 2001) and highly adaptive to new and changing
economic circumstances (Barragán López, 1997). The main use for money was to buy land or
cattle. Since the 1880s, life revolved around the dairy economy and a Spartan lifestyle. It was
only from about 1940 onward that people invested in anything that might be construed as a
luxury. As Lomnitz-Adler (1993) aptly points out, rancheros create a culture of individual
dominance packaged in populist rhetoric. They are self-made and have conquered their once
isolated, inhospitable, and marginal region. Their narrative of migration and conquest also primes
them for, what is for many, their latest role as poor migrants in search of economic opportunities
in the U.S. (cf. Farr, 2006). Overall, the ranchero narrative, of course, erases others, be they
indigenous peoples, ejidatarios, or peasants. Lomnitz-Adler (1993) underscores two dimensions
of difference that are used to distinguish rancheros: (1) class or wealth and (2) race. Rancheros,
as a category, are wealthier and they are whiter than those surrounding them. Together, this
combination of class position and racial identity creates a powerful regional cultural hegemony.
Like many other towns in the region, Buenavista is characterized by brick and block
houses that are interspersed with old adobe structures—reminders of a bygone era. On the
surface, the main economic anchor for the region is dairy farming and the complementary activity
of processing milk into dense white cheese, yogurt, and a variety of milk-based candies. Over
80% of the farmers are small in scale, milking fewer than 20 cows in their daily milking routine.
Production methods are often traditional. Farmers milk in the fields by hand, have limited access
to water, and use few medicines. Their milk cows are poor in quality and have low productivity,
in part because of endemic diseases such as mastitis, but also due to lack of water and poor
quality diets. All of this activity occurs against a backdrop of increasingly deforested mountains
and valleys that suffer from severe overgrazing, the associated environmental consequences of
which further threaten farmer livelihood. Dairy processing, in what are locally known as
“creameries,” complements the farming activity in Buenavista. Of the 60 dairy processors in this
town, most are small and family-run. A few medium-sized operations process over 10,000 liters
of milk daily, and only one large-scale operation processes over 27,000 liters daily.
Thus, it would be incorrect to think of Buenavista as a town wholly defined by the
narcoeconomy (cf. Fineman, 1996). Indeed, I have visited one such place elsewhere in Central
Mexico, a town off the beaten path that I stumbled onto as I drove over dirt roads on what was
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supposed to be a short cut. Suddenly, I came upon a town, by all appearances, with a cluster of
buildings forming a central plaza of store fronts and offices. A couple of high-end late model
trucks were parked in the shade Yet it was empty of people, except for the occasional furtive
glance by someone through a doorway. At one end of the plaza was a massive compound.
Peaking above its high walls was a richly tiled, pagoda-style roof—a complete anomaly,
especially in that part of rural Mexico. Seeing no one from whom to ask directions, I rang the
bell at the house compound, which was quickly answered by two burly men in dark glasses who
told me no one was there and, effectively, to hit the road. On my way back to my truck, I was met
by a man in a dusty suit who identified himself as a manager of a large, nearby ranch. He pointed
me in the direction of the highway. He bid me farewell and made sure I left.
Buenavista, in contrast, appears to be rather commonplace. It is its ordinariness that
forms a powerful front. On a day-to-day basis, people go about their business. That business is
usually related to dairying, either as a farmer, dairy processor, hired hand, veterinarian, cattlefeed seller, or extension agent. The town also has a bank, a church, a few small restaurants,
several dentists and doctors, and a number of stores and small food markets. It is institutionally
complete. The town’s rhythm follows those of the dairy cows—up early to milk, a midday break,
and afternoon milking again. After 6:00 p.m. and a shower, farmers and their families flow into
the town’s plaza where they socialize and pass what is left of day.
A View Down the Valley
My own second-floor lodging in a small pensión (boarding house)—built with migrant
money by a man who had spent years in California—looked down the main valley and provided a
lofty vantage point to survey the town. The accommodations were, like the town, squeaky clean
with no frills. I had stayed at this place many times. It was from this vantage point that I was
able to observe physical changes in the town over time and from which the inequalities that
characterize Buenavista initially became evident. Significant new construction—mostly
residences and warehouses—increasingly emerged on the landscape. Closer scrutiny revealed
that many of those warehouses were extremely large, and the houses were often lavish.
Numerous trips down the valley into the communities of the more humid and productive
lowlands found no similar analogs. An interview with a PANista federal congressman was
instructive in this regard. He was in the midst remodeling his own home. He noted that he made
a very good salary and was investing everything he could into his renovation project. He invited
me to compare his house and what he was doing with many of the construction projects around
town, about which he then said:
We all know what construction costs these days; it’s sky high. I will tell you and you can
repeat this, much of what you see around town is narco-money. And I don’t just tell you
this out of suspicion.
Poverty, Wealth, and the Narcoeconomy
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The modified and new cultural forms and practices found in Buenavista were emerging in
a place where local farmers were losing their struggle for a decent livelihood in a rapidly
globalizing economy. Indeed, I have rarely met a wealthy farmer in this region, and many were
grindingly poor. The rhetoric of neoliberal reform and trickle-down prosperity aside, times are
not likely to get any better. Recent reports out of Buenavista suggest that efforts begun in the
early to mid 2000s aimed at organizing farmers to produce higher quality milk for a just market
price have failed for a variety of reasons. Extension agents working with those organizational
projects, furthermore, were not paid for over three years by the state’s agricultural ministry. Not
surprisingly, then, this region, and Michoacán in general, fuel Mexico’s migrant pipeline to the
U.S. Rural people are being rendered obsolete and are displaced in a faltering agrarian economy.
This has resulted in widespread migration, unemployment, and underemployment among those
left behind. Those who left for the U.S. did so to obtain what I refer to as “dollar power.” That
is, they earned highly valued U.S. dollars and pumped them back into the local economy. (The
value of the Mexican peso, by contrast, has eroded markedly over the past 30 years.) Those U.S.
dollars were earned through jobs that paid far higher wages than those that migrants could find at
home. Migrant remittances, thus, brought massive sums of money back into the state and helped
keep the rural economy afloat.4 However, with the global economic downturn in 2008-2009, the
Mexican economy has been battered on two fronts. First, Mexican GDP shrank 10% in the
second quarter of 2009. Second, migrant remittances have also plummeted—down virtually 18%
in the second quarter of 2009 from the previous year, and off 12% during the first six months of
2009 (Ellingwood, 2009). Overall, broad-based rural decline and poverty continues to create
fertile conditions for the narcoeconomy to flourish.5 This, in turn, creates further forms of
cultural and economic displacement.
Even early on in my research, what caught my attention was the dramatic inequality in
Buenavista, most easily seen in large, ostentatious houses, massive warehouses, and fancy
apartment buildings that contrasted with modest brick and block affairs or dilapidated adobe
structures. Inequality was further foregrounded in leisure activities, such as cockfights, where a
wealthy few participated, and bets were often in the thousands of dollars. Several different
things drove inequality: successful local entrepreneurship, migrant money, and drug trafficking.
A number of community members, knowing very well the cost of new construction, argued that
the most marked inequalities were underwritten by narco-money. Others commented on the
ostentatious bets being made at the local cockfights. Still others noted how the agricultural land
prices had inflated over the last ten years. They too concluded that an infusion of narco-money
was at the root of these inequalities. Drug money is now routinized in daily discourse and
materialized in architecture, cars, clothes, champion cattle, and leisure activities. As Andreas
(1998) poignantly observes, the narcoeconomy provides poor people with a kind of economic
exit option.
The narcoeconomy is also far more than drug production; it has a huge multiplier effect in
the vast array of other jobs it generates both directly (e.g., transportation, security, banking, and
communication) and indirectly (e.g., construction, the service sector, and spin-off businesses). It
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is this everyday integration that I would like to explore in considering how rural communities
and culture are being reshaped in subtle and not so subtle ways. In part, this integration is
experienced directly through various material manifestations. It is also experienced through a
dimension that is indirect and imagined (Long, 1995). Both are powerful forms of displacement
and disjuncture that are transforming what it is to imagine and to be a rural community member.
In Bourdieu’s (1984) terms, new forms of cultural, social, and economic capital are forming a
complex triad that is altering the local dynamic. Modernity is being reconstituted, as is the way
people pursue their economic livelihood. Here I use the concept of “modernity” advisedly and
with no small amount of ambivalence. I do not wish to imply that the region is characterized by
some sort of traditional-modern divide, as implied by Robert Redfield’s classic folk-urban
continuum. Despite numerous critiques, Redfield’s concept of the ‘traditional’ town lingers on
in the anthropological and popular imagination. Buenavista, however, has never been stuck in
time. Indeed, it has always been modern, albeit in a rural, ranchero way. The history of the
place underscores the dynamism of its multiple modernities. Early on, there were economic
innovations: bees wax and honey production, sheep and wool production, dairying, poultry, etc.
Later came the radio, then the highway, followed by large-scale migration, and now the narcos,
who usher in new forms of consumption and ways of conceptualizing being rural. What flows
into Buenvista now is, in part, a Western urban variant of modernity. The area, then, is best
characterized as having multiple, competing modernities that may or may not be reconciled and
institutionalized into a new form.
At this stage, it is unclear what the overall effect of the new elite’s cultural colonization
of this small community will be. In a modernist vein, Mintz (1985) argues that elite practices of
consumption may, under the right economic conditions, become broadly infused into everyday
culture through processes of “extensification” and “intensification.” Extensification, according
to Mintz, occurs when once scarce and expensive commodities become cheap enough that they
extend to regular usage by common people. In the process, the commodity’s meaning is recast
within its new, everyday context and slowly loses its historic connection to elite practices and
attenuated set of meanings. Intensification, in contrast, projects older elite meaning and practice
forward, more deeply into society among people who then reproduce formerly elite activities.
Mintz, however, notes that while old meanings and actions may get carried forward, they also
lose some of their earlier significance.
Following a somewhat similar modernist approach, de Certeau (1984) notes that elites
may overlay and impose foreign elements onto new locales and peoples. This creates a kind of
slippage in consumer culture in which elites and average citizens differently enter into acts and
rituals of consumption. De Certeau sees this as creating a possibility for forms of resistance
among the average citizenry—“[average citizens] escape the colonizing effects without leaving
it” (1984, xiii). Of course, the other side of the de Certeau argument is that the average citizen is
constantly reminded of what he or she lacks. The result may be a profound sense of relative
deprivation wherein the vast majority is relegated to the consumption sidelines as bystanders in
an institutionalized form of cultural exclusion.
Taking a more postmodern perspective, Wilk (1999, 2007; also see Colloredo-Mansfeld,
1999) invites us to question and critique the binary arguments concerning consumption (e.g.,
9
emulation/resistance) that characterize the modernist approach. He offers a nuanced,
postmodern-oriented perspective and argues that we conceptualize consumption as a creolized or
hybrid experience that will carry quite different meaning for individuals depending on their
position within a consumer culture. Whiteford (2002) picks up on this theme in his analysis of
war-torn Colombia, where people are confronted with rapid, often chaotic, socio-cultural change.
They manage to find a variety of ways to “normalize the aberrant” (Whiteford, 2002, p. 108). In
Colombia, as in the Mexican case, local people learned how to appropriately read and operate
within the new social reality: “Thus, everything from the chemistry of social comportment to
understanding who has money and where power resides has been altered” (Whiteford 2002, p.
109). Accordingly, the cultural adjustment process that is underway among the average citizens
of Buenavista will likely result in the adoption of some of the new commodities and activities
flowing into town. A hybrid consumer culture will likely emerge, coupled with an acceptance,
on some level, of the abnormal.
Scenes from Buenavista
Opulent Homes and Security Systems
In the summer of 2002, Buenavista was experiencing a construction bonanza. This was
curious given the region’s failing dairy economy. Construction materials and labor were
expensive; the latter largely because so many construction workers had left for the U.S. and
better wages. An average multi-story, middle-class house might cost upward of $85,000 to
$100,000 USD. Some of the larger houses in town easily would have cost $300,000 or more;
massive sums of money by rural Mexican standards. Recall as well that unlike the U.S., there are
no loans available to finance construction costs. Construction is strictly a cash business, which
explains why Mexicans often build in stages with projects going on for years, with portions often
left unfinished.6
The fresh construction included all manner of residential housing, from small, humble
dwellings to massive houses and apartment buildings. The larger structures attracted the eye
because of their scale and bright, contrasting colors—orange, yellow, green, and blue. They were
meant to be seen. One of the more stunning of these structures was a walled compound with
gates and doors inlaid with copper, expensive wood, and glass, giving it a jewel-encrusted look.
It provided anyone on the street with a tantalizing hint of what must lay behind its walls. All that
could be seen, however, were treetops and a large, stained-glass dome in vibrant reds and greens.
On closer inspection, surveillance cameras hovered over all entryways into this villa-like affair.
As we drove by, an extension agent with whom I have been working noted the “narco-house”
and laughed.7 It was beyond further comment, which was telling. On the one hand, this
seductive materialization of place and power left so much to the imagination. On the other, it
was the manifestation of an alien social world with which most local people had little direct
engagement and over which they had no control. If my companion did not like this new social
10
form in the neighborhood, there was not much he could do about it. In this way, the
narcoeconomy is a colonizing phenomenon (Appadurai 1996).
Such ostentatious, conspicuous consumption also wove its way into leisure activities that
were once the domain of the town’s average citizenry. One of the most visible of these arenas
was the local cockfight, staged on a regular basis on the outskirts of Buenavista.
Cockfights and the High-Stakes Status Game
Cockfighting has a long history in Mexico as a legal leisure activity. Although not Bali,
Mexican cockfighting exudes many of the same gender and power implications as its Southeast
Asian counterpart (cf. Geertz, 1972). The aesthetics of the event should not to be
underestimated—trainers have a stunningly intimate relationship with their birds, going so far as
to suck their heads to clear their eyes to prepare them for battle, and then again when they are
fouled with blood during the match. The intimate relationship between man and bird is built on
years of breeding and developing prized fighters—trainers take great pride in their birds beyond
anything that can be bought and sold. At stake is the trainer’s reputation and that of his
community. This contrasts with the relationship of bettors to the fight. In terms of personal status
accrued from the act of betting, it is an entirely different game. It is high macho theater in a
pleasurable context that allows the bettor to publicly display and commodify his status.
An arena that was once accessible to a much wider array of local players is now restricted
to an elite few. As we shall see, the betting structure is such that most rural peoples attending are
relegated to the status of observing those few who actually participate. Large bets not only
exclude the poor, but also the rural middle class, from entering the game.
Cockfights were advertised well in advance and always drew large crowds. As we
entered down a muddy road to the arena, parking seemed to be spatially organized, to some
degree, by social class. Just outside the arena was a small fleet of late-model Chevy Suburbans
and even a Cadillac Esplanade. Farther down the slick, red clay road, one found an array of
vehicles, mostly pickup trucks ranging from 1960s era models to more contemporary ones, all
well used. The arena itself was spare in style. It was an unpainted red brick building with a
metal roof that seemed to sprout out of the hilly landscape. Inside, a packed dirt ring was
surrounded by about 10-15 rows of tiered, blue-plastic seats, a small version of a Greek odeum.
Around the upper perimeter of the arena was a wide walkway with a bar and take-away food
stands in two of the corners. The clientele was largely composed of people from the surrounding
rancherias (small ranching villages) whose birds were competing in the night’s events, which
would run from 7:00 p.m. to about 2:00 a.m. For a small cover charge we entered to a place
abuzz mostly with onlookers. It was only the first two rows of seats that held the serious bettors
and their retinues.
A single bet was quite high: $100 USD to lose and $80 USD to win on a favored bird,
with the reverse holding true ($100 USD to win and $80 USD to lose) for a bet on a less-favored
animal. Bettors obtained fichas, a slip of colored paper signifying a single wager, from the odds
makers who worked the ring. The color of the ficha indicated whether the bet was placed on the
favored bird or its less-favored challenger. If a bettor won, the odds maker from whom he
11
obtained his fichas paid up, with the reverse happening if the bettor lost. Simply put, if a bettor
placed one bet (one ficha) on a favored bird and had the good luck of that bird winning, the
bettor would collect $80 USD from the odds maker; if the bird had the poor fortune of losing, the
bettor would have to pay the odds maker $100 USD. Unlike the Balinese cockfight, it did not
appear that bettors were making complex hedging calculations by placing bets on both birds (cf.
Geertz, 1972). Rather, large wagers were placed on single birds (bettors might obtain upward of
20-25 fichas or more), with impressive sums of money changing hands.
A couple of rows in front of my seat, a young twenty-something fellow from a nearby
ranch consumed copious amounts of Courvoisier and Coke. He was sharply dressed in what
might best be described as “ranch modern” style—khaki pants, a colorful rayon shirt, and a
baseball cap (in his case, one with a Miami Dolphins logo). The odds makers paid close
attention to him and it quickly became clear why, as he peeled off numerous $500 peso notes
(then roughly equivalent to $50 USD), along with $100 USD dollar bills, to pay off a bet he had
just lost. Later in the evening, he enjoyed a winning streak and at one point won $27,000 USD
on a single match. He always bet against the favorite.
This was the ostentatious betting of which I had heard rumors in Buenavista. A farmer
who accompanied me leaned over, shrugged, and commented, “[i]t’s the marijuana or perhaps
the powder,” in order to explain the young man’s source of money.8 A long-standing pastime
was being remade into a status arena for the newly rich.
Here a return to Balinese cockfighting is useful. Part of Geertz’s analysis of the Balinese
cockfight—a fascinating critique of Jeremy Bentham’s notion of “deep play”—becomes
especially relevant. Bentham (1882) argued that high-risk, high-stakes economic transactions
(e.g., gambling) were irrational and immoral insofar as they often did not benefit the participating
parties. Geertz astutely contends that the key to understanding the rationality of big-money
betting is in its sign value in a status game. This occurs most incisively when the transaction
centers on people of similar status and, additionally, those who have high status (Geertz, 1972).
When those conditions are met, solidarity and status among the players will be legitimized and
confirmed. He notes the transformative, almost magical quality of the cockfight when he says,
“What makes the Balinese cockfighting deep is thus not money itself, but what, the more of it
that is involved the more so, money causes to happen: the migration of the Balinese status
hierarchy into the body of the cockfight” (Geertz 1972, p. 17). Status hierarchy is, thus,
materialized through the spectacle of economic play.
New Forms of Everyday Consumption for the Elite
Buenavista also had more everyday forms of consumption, though they too were stages
upon which the town’s new elite constructed status and identity. A number of novel stores had
opened, especially for higher-end, urban-style clothing that contrasted markedly with the items
available in the more traditional, and less expensive, stores in town. Indeed, these new stores
were so numerous that some even specialized in such low-volume niches as children’s wear or
12
slinky lingerie. A new mall was about to open, and there was a cybercafé with surprisingly fast
internet service, as well as a day spa. These had all bubbled up within the last two or three years,
and all were located within a couple of blocks of the town’s main plaza. These new stores catered
to the town’s elite. The majority of townspeople may go by these stores and gaze into their
windows, but they do their shopping in the more traditional stores. Here we have yet other forms
of conspicuous consumption, but also a new source of ideas and ways to actively construct
identity for elites and ways to imagine identity for the average citizen.
Trading on Bourdieu’s (1984) notions of capital, Richard Wilk (1999; also see Wilk
2007, Chapter 7) has explored similar themes through the lens of food, taste, and class in Belize.
The knowledge of things foreign is, he argues, a form of cultural capital. Wilk (1999) contends
that the diffuseness of “things foreign” may render it a less crisp distinguisher of upper and lower
class in Belizean context. For Buenavista, in contrast, access to economic capital still clearly
demarcates who has access to new and exotic consumer items from the outside. Things are
clearly more fluid in Belize, where strict hierarchies of taste have eroded and are more blended.
In Buenavista, the process of change is far more incipient and hierarchies more obviously
differentiated. Thus, if we walk down the streets away from the main town plaza, there are stores
that sell an urban style that contrasts markedly with the garden-variety consumables and sites of
consumption that are part of the average citizen’s everyday life. In Buenavista, these new stores
were innovations rather than the objects of banal urban consumer drudgery. All of them flowed
into a common symbolic crucible of Western, urban-oriented style. While it was not possible to
determine that narco-money had either bankrolled these new enterprises or fueled consumption
in them, the average dairy farmer was clearly not their clientele. These businesses survived on
disposable income that was in short supply among most of the farming class. They may have
sold very little of their merchandise to the majority of townspeople. Still, by their very presence,
they altered what it was to be part of rural ranchero society. As Wilk (1999) has underscored in
the Belize example, they suggested a new openness to the outside world of ideas and practices
that will eventually infiltrate Buenavista and become an unconscious part of local culture and
practice.
The Narco-Farmer Entrepreneur
The final dimension of the narcoeconomy’s penetration into everyday life that I will
explore is through the repatriation of a particular subset of migrants back into Buenavista society.
These are the young, male migrants who have worked in U.S. drug trafficking networks.
Typically these men work through their late twenties or early thirties in the U.S. and then return
to the community, invest in a ranch, and take on the farming life. Extension agent colleagues
remarked many times, “They say that X is a narco, but he’s one of the hardest working farmers in
the area. He’s really serious.”
It is interesting that many of these returnees chose to invest in farming since it was both
hard work and not terribly lucrative. They could easily have opted for a line of work that required
less toil and sweat, such as opening some sort of business venture. Farming, however, was a sign
of legitimacy and a traditional means for attaining social status, and these young men took on the
13
material trappings and practices of a respectable life that reflected local norms and values.
Baseball caps were shelved and replaced with new tejanos (cowboy hats). Whiteford (2002:109)
suggests that this is an “attempt to buy respectability.” However, it also speaks to the powerful
symbolic value of farming.
Most of these young men came from farming families and had some basic knowledge that
helped them get started. Unlike their fathers and grandfathers, however, they did not have to
start at the bottom and work their way up. Because they had cash resources, it was not
uncommon for them to pay inflated prices for ranches, artificially driving up local land values. It
was becoming harder for other farmers to afford to buy land, while at the same time making it
lucrative for those who owned choice pieces of land to sell out.
These new farmer entrepreneurs, furthermore, have been socialized in a patronage-based
political culture. This politicized culture was typical of the region in general and the
narcoeconomy specifically. Often, the new farmers found ways to tap into the resources of the
state, through their network of caciques (political bosses), in order to subsidize or otherwise draw
resources to their ranches. Because of the local narco-political networks, they frequently had
success in gaining access to development resources. As with most money laundering schemes,
those launching them need to be successful and make a profit.9 Though it was impossible to
confirm, my impression was that these individuals not only sought legitimacy, but had also
invested everything they were able into their new enterprises without much left in reserve. Thus,
the stakes were high, and they had to make their new farming operations successful. This made
them very interesting players on the local agricultural development scene—committed members
of the farming community struggling against a dying way of life. In sum, economic capital is
important, but, following Bourdieu (1984), the cultural and social capital associated with new
farmers is equally so. These new farmers control the symbolic objects of status (land and cattle)
and the social networks that help them politically. Nonetheless, the control of these powerful
forms of capital does not provide them with ultimate legitimacy or respect.
Specifically, because of their connection to local narco-political networks, some
townspeople were suspicious of the new farmers’ motives for participating in local development
efforts. The question the townspeople raised was whether these new farmers were operating on
their own behalf or on that of their narco-patron. Consequently, the new farmers’ position was
always ambiguous and a bit suspect. As one farmer noted in reference to a local development
initiative, “[Fulano] was participating in the project, but he dropped out to go back with [his
patron].” In this case, his patron was promoting a competing project. Everyone seemed very
clear on how these individuals came by their money, yet they participated relatively seamlessly in
the local dairy economy. This was a sign of the routinization of this pathway to land and other
resources. (Notably, because they have spent considerable time in the U.S. where they were
exposed to new ideas and had honed their business skills, these new farmers were often inclined
to be early adopters of innovations. The extension agents I have worked with always found them
open and willing to seriously consider new ideas, practices, and technologies.)
14
Discussion
New Forms of Cultural and Social Capital
Bejeweled houses, new types of consumer culture, rich young farmers, and wild
extravagance infused into leisure activities all led to new forms of desire and imagined ways of
being that can be highly seductive (or highly repellant depending on one’s perspective).
Buenavista had become a resonating chamber for the reverberations of the different cultural and
material forms that were reconstituting local culture and practice. While many of the new forms
of consumption may have appeared out of place, only the most ostentatious of them received
comment. These new forms of consumption were being rapidly routinized. Ironically, most
members of the community were unable to actually participate. They simply could not afford to
do so. In this way, new forms of modernity were being institutionalized, as were the inequalities
they established and signified. They, further, made the narco-life appear to be a potentially
desirable strategy for economic success. Grillo (2009), for example, reports that La Familia will
pay their employees a basic starting salary of $2,000 USD per month—10 times the minimum
wage.
Buenavista is a town of stark contrasts—poverty pitted against the conspicuous
consumption of the newly rich. It would be tempting to see this extravagant consumption as a
form of hyperconsumption, as conceptualized by Jean Baudrillard (1989, 1995) or George Ritzer
(2009). It is enticing because day spas seem to bizarrely out of place and fantastic in a workingclass farming town on Mexico’s margins. Regardless of how odd these may seem, we are still
dealing with real brick and mortar structures and not the often virtual simulation and spectacle of
Las Vegas or Disneyland.
We have seen, however, that the denizens of Buenavista are confronted with markedly
new forms of cultural and social capital that are subverting old forms of status and power, and to
which the average citizen has no access. Bourdieu’s (1984) concept of cultural capital rests on
knowledge—the learning of those signs and activities that signify taste, success, and power. We
have seen a number of these in the various ethnographic scenes presented above. The new
narco-farmer buys his way into the existing status and prestige system of the community by
purchasing a premier ranch and stocking it with top-quality cows.10 He does not achieve this
through years of experience, but rather through his new dollar power. In so doing, he inflates the
local land and cattle markets, making it even harder for any legitimate farmer to aspire to afford
such a luxurious ranch, thereby subverting the existing system.
The narco-farmer is also well situated in social networks that ensure access to state
resources. Those networks act as a form of social capital. This is a classic form of differential
privilege found in Michoacán, whereby patronage systems are mobilized to gain political access
in ways that are not possible for average citizens.
The cockfight is a particularly interesting example of both cultural and social capital
intertwined in a single event. Again, we see narcos coming to dominate a traditional system of
status and leisure. They know where and how to insert themselves to gain and legitimize their
status. By virtue of their economic power, making bets so large that the average citizen cannot
15
participate, they become the observed by a crowd that cannot hope to participate. In the process,
they develop the recognition of status legitimacy by onlookers and also develop social capital by
creating networks of solidarity with other narco-gamblers. As Geertz (1972, p. 22) observes,
“[t]he more the match is (1) between near status equals [and] (2) between high status individuals,
the deeper the match….the greater the emotion that will be involved and the more general
absorption in the match.” In sum, focus is shifted from an economic game to a far more
symbolic and status-oriented one.
Finally, the new urban-oriented consumption patterns, the cybercafé, and the day spa all
point to the importation of the foreign into the local. To access these, one must know what they
are and value them, as well as have sufficient buying power. They too are forms of cultural
capital that most Buenavisteños do not understand very well, let alone have much interest in.
While these new forms of social and cultural capital may prove to have their seductions
for the average citizen, the likelihood that these citizens will ever have or experience them is
remote, especially given the current state of the Mexican economy. At least for the foreseeable
future, there is little chance that there will be a blending of the new dominant form of status and
power into the old one.
As such, there is strong potential for a willing and able reserve labor pool, mostly of
young men, who will be eager to gain access to these new forms of capital. This will be
especially true as farms continue to fail, jobs dry up at an even faster pace, and older forms of
prowess become less valued (e.g., horsemanship, gallantry, thrift).
The Development Vacuum in a World of Escalating Violence
Young men form the primary labor pool for the area’s narcoeconomy, and they have few
viable economic options. First, they can be farmers with little or no land who can only reconcile
to a life that will result in poverty. Second, they can migrate, most likely to the U.S., in search of
jobs and higher wages. Third, they can get involved with the local narcoeconomy, sometimes in
conjunction with being a migrant. The final option will have an increasingly strong attraction for
young men living on the poor margins as the rural economy continues to collapse and the U.S.
economy continues to falter, further constricting the job market for U.S.-bound migrants. Women
in this area typically remain behind to maintain homes, care for families, and work at whatever
poorly paid job they can find.11
In a development vacuum, the narcoeconomy has certainly infused an otherwise
moribund rural economy with cash and jobs. In part, then, from a neoliberal perspective it might
be argued that some of the effects seen from the narcoeconomy in Buenavista are positive. The
narcoeconomy ushered in certain forms of consumption into an otherwise stagnant, marginal
community; it brought money back into the community in various forms of legal reinvestment
activities, such as farms and businesses; and it provided many people with all manner of jobs. At
the same time, it has also exacerbated existing inequalities; created gross spectacles and rituals of
excess; underwritten the construction of ostentatious houses; inflated land values; raised levels of
16
interpersonal violence and fear; and increased problems with local drug addiction. All of these
features, good or bad, are being shaped within a larger political-economic context that has been
dominated by policies and practices stemming from the opening of the Mexican economy, which
was formally institutionalized by the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) in 1994.
The pressures of poverty and globalization are poignantly addressed in a narco-corrido (drug
ballad)—“Michoacán Harvest”—by El Cejas y su Banda Fuego (Brown Eyes and his Fiery
Band12):
The product we offer is first quality
You can sample it if you want
Harvest in Michoacán
It’s pure goat’s tail
It’s part of the best product
We have picked from our land
In Michoacán soil
We harvest tons of it
In our green meadows we plant the “evil weed”
And it’s transformed into millions in the United States
The say the mafia dies
And this is a big lie
The product has been “internationalized” to a large scale
And our Mexican land gets more and more famous
In La Ruanda and El Aguaje
They have changed their crops
They used to plant corn
But those times are gone
Today, you can see the green tops
Of that very expensive grass
There are many who criticize us
I am going to give them some advice
If this was an easy business
Everyone would be involved in it
It is not a matter of having pants
One has to wear them well
With these lines, I say goodbye
17
They are expecting me in Tijuana
As I finishing delivering this parcel
And I am back in La Ruana
To prepare another load for some friends in Atlanta
Despite this and other popular culture valorizations of drug trafficking (cf. Edberg, 2004),
many Buenavisteños were both disgusted and frightened by the blossoming of the narcoeconomy
in the late 1980s and 1990s. The level of anger and frustration, though perhaps not surprising, is
interesting when compared to other cases. In Michoacán’s tierra caliente (hot, semi-tropical
lowlands), local “insiders” distinguish themselves from narco-traffickers, who are largely
“outsiders” and who have moved into their community and altered it. Those who are local
frequently attain the label of “good narcos” who are said to exhibit greater support and concern
for the community (Malkin, 2001). In contrast, Buenavista has no such convenient scheme for
differentiation. Participants in the narcoeconomy come from families with long histories in the
region and robust kinship and friendship networks within the community. To heighten local
frustration even more, this is a highly conservative community, a former stronghold of the
Cristero movement, which pitted devout Catholics against the federal government’s anti-clerical
reforms during the mid 1920s into the early 1930s. Strong religious conviction and the
accompanying values of hard work, thrift, and moral living conflict directly with the
narcoeconomy and its associated lifestyle.
In the early to mid 2000s, there had been relatively little violence in Buenavista, unlike
the bloody drama occurring along the U.S.-Mexico border. Indeed, people could recite the
relatively few violent or threatening events that people felt were narco related. For the most part,
then, violence or its fear was part of the local imagination far more than a regular experience.
Those occasions of violence that had occurred in Buenavista were part of local lore. For
example, there was an oft-told story about the owner of high-profile business who was gunned
down in broad daylight a number of years ago by men carrying cuernos de chivo (goat’s horns),
as AK-47 automatic assault rifles are known. Everyone knows that AK-47s—illegal in
Mexico—are the weapons of choice for drug traffickers.
In Buenavista, the rare spectacle became inserted into the ongoing flow of events
sporadically punctuated with less immediately dramatic occurrences: a drug-related arrest; a
murder; or the kidnapping of a local businessman in order to extort money. Taken as a whole,
these cumulative events created a constant, low-intensity anxiety that lurked just below the
surface of daily life.
This has changed dramatically with the militarization of Michoacán in 2007. Levels of
violence throughout the state have escalated rapidly. A former lawyer from Michoacán laid out
the basic outline of events (personal communications, 1 May and 7 June 2009) La Familia was
formerly a home-grown cartel operating within Michoacán only. In 2006, they extended their
operations into the nearby states of Guerrero, Jalisco, and Mexico. The Gulf and Sinoloa Cartels,
whose turf was now challenged, pushed back violently. This set off a wave of inter-cartel
18
violence that still rages. When the military made its bold move against the cartels, that aggression
was turned against the government as well. He argues that violence was formerly contained
within a small subset of politicians and cartels, which rarely involved the public at large. Today,
cartels, politicians, corrupt security forces, caciques, and paramilitaries are all involved in
complex ways. For the average citizen, this is especially frightening because the sources of
violence are so varied and unpredictable.
In Buenavista, a son from one of the town’s wealthiest and most influential families was
shot to death in Guadalajara several years ago. More recently, one of the new narco-farmers in
town was the subject of a failed assassination attempt in 2007. He was seriously injured, but
survived. In 2008, a former municipal police officer, having left her job only months previously,
was arrested as part of a regional kidnapping ring, one of whose victims was from Buenavista
(Alertaperiodista 2008). In a nearby community, gunmen killed the town’s mayor, perhaps in
retaliation for his recent firing of the police commander and an officer (CNN, 2009). What was
once a low-intensity anxiety, has now blossomed as the threat of violence takes on a new, far
more immediate reality. As Lacey (2009b) observes:
These days…those offering the biggest mordidas [bribes]…are the traffickers, who Mr.
Calderón’s administrations acknowledges have thousands of police officers, small-town
mayors, and even high-level government officials across the country on their payroll,
something now regarded as a full-fledged national crisis.
One unnamed government official noted ominously, “Anyone could be a narco” (Lacey, 2009a).
Conclusion
Consider the following scene from an 18 February 2009 video report from the border city
of Reynosa, which had erupted in a firestorm of violence that day (El Universal, 2009b). A
reporter and his cameraman are atop a bridge where they are taping Mexican troops in what
appears to be fierce street fighting. Both are crouched and suddenly gunfire escalates from all
sides. The two men dive to the ground but keep taping. Finally the gunfire subsides. The
reporting crew descends to the scene of the crime. What is left are numerous dead cartel soldiers,
similarly dressed in white shirts and khaki pants, their AK-47s and AR-15s at their sides. Troop
carriers and patrol cars speed off to the next engagement in what looks like pure chaos.
Michael Whiteford’s (2002) essay on Colombia captures the essence of a world turned
culturally upside down by an entrenched civil war in which the abnormal is normal people live in
a cloak of fear and everyday threat. It is a world of mimetic fragments in which the large and
small details of life’s scenes are constantly askew. I would argue that trends in Mexico are
following suit. The scene from Reynosa is now being repeated regularly across the country.
Thus, in the Mexican version, violence is now part of daily life with casualties on all
sides, including the innocent. The death toll mounts to nearly 10,000 since 2007 as drug
traffickers battle each other and government security forces with impunity. That the violence is
associated with all sides, including shadowy paramilitary groups, further erodes any confidence
19
in the possibility for public security and civil authority. Troops are met with heavily armed cartel
members, 80% or more of whose weapons come from the U.S. (McKinley, 2009; McLemore,
2008). It is a world where in which is also a rapidly collapsing political authority structure—
congressman-elect from Michoacán, Julio Cesar Godoy (half brother to the state’s governor) is
on the run and accused of providing protection to La Familia; Saul Solis, a failed Green Party
candidate in Michoacán is also accused of aiding and abetting the same cartel. Others are
mentioned regularly as having narco ties, including gubernatorial candidate from Colima, Mario
Anguiano (banner from drug hitmen endorsing his candidacy); Michoacán Governor Leonel
Godoy (evidence that he may have received Gulf Cartel money in support of his 2007 campaign);
Mauricio Fernandez, who ran for mayor of a wealthy suburb of Monterrey (on tape saying that
town security is controlled by a cartel); Governor Fidel Herrera of Veracruz (allegations he cut a
deal with the Gulf Cartel to lower violence); a Senator from Zacatecas, Ricardo Monreal
temporarily stepped down after 14.5 tons of marijuana was found on property owned by two of
his brothers. Even former President Fox (2000-2006) has entered the fray, accusing former
Sonoran governor and current senator, Manlio Fabio Beltrones, of links to the cartels. Regardless
of the truth to these claims, the claims themselves create a resonating chamber of fear, mistrust,
and a crisis of faith in the political system.
The May 2009 arrests of 30 politicians and state functionaries in Michoacán is the de
facto admission by the federal government that the narcopolitica (narcopolitics) is, in fact,
deeply rooted in Mexico. Corruption, in sum, seems to be riddled throughout the system. “While
Mr. Calderón dismisses suggestions that Mexico is a failed state, he and his aids have spoken
frankly of the cartels’ attempts to set up a state within a state, levying taxes, throwing up
roadblocks, and enforcing their own perverse code of behavior. Across the country, the Mexican
government has identified 233 ‘zones of impunity’ in which crime is largely uncontrolled, a
figure that is down from 2,204 zones a year ago” (Lacey, 2009c). One can only hope the
government is making the progress that is claimed.
The view from Michoacán renders a grim picture. The coordinated attack on security
forces and facilities in eight communities across Michoacán and two communities in neighboring
states on 11 July 2009 sent a clear message to the nation. La Familia had conducted a highly
coordinated offensive against the government and exacted the highest single-day death toll in
Mexico’s drug war. This has led some journalists to call this “El Tet michoacano” (Michoacán’s
Tet) after the 1968 communist offensive in Vietnam (Gómez Leyva, 2009). While the
comparison is considerably overextended, the intention is clear. Mexico’s drug war is looking
increasingly like a civil war. Indeed, cartels are fighting it with furious impunity and
coordination. The invocation of the “Tet” signifier underscores, on one level, the perception that
the cartels are fighting with fearless impunity and coordination. Far more importantly, however,
it suggests that (1) an active civil war is now being acknowledged and (2) there is a profound loss
of faith in the government’s ability to stop the cartels (Llana, 2009). While President Calderón
forcefully proclaims, “We cannot, we should not, we will not take one step backward in this
matter,” a recent poll shows that only 23% of the Mexican public feel that the government is
20
winning, and 56% feel that they are losing the war against the cartels and that President
Calderón’s popularity is eroding (Iliff & Corchado, 2009). A reasonable reading of these data
suggests a broad-based social exhaustion with the worsening civil war violence, and the everyday
fear and dis-ease that accompanies it. This is more than just perception. The federal government
admits that the cartels control an estimated 62% of the country’s police officers, at least a portion
of whom are grouped into 200 cartel-loyal “brotherhoods,” along with heavy penetration of
federal, state, and municipal governments (Castillo García, 2009). Together these data signal a
rapidly advancing legitimacy crisis for the government. Perversely, it would appear that cartels
have gotten the upper hand in the dystopian world they have created.
Groups such as La Familia do not just control through fear and violence. They have
established a parallel system of governance. They provide the social services and support in poor
communities that the government and the Catholic Church do not. In other words, they are
creating a popular social network of support. One supporter of La Familia summarized the
situation: “I know they [La Familia] are really crazy. In fact, I think they are really sick
sometimes, but they are the only people in town who can help you if you get in trouble, so that’s
why I joined the group” (Tuckman & Vulliamy, 2009). As Samuel González, Mexico’s former
top anti-drug prosecutor in the mid-1990s, stated prophetically: “These attacks show La Familia
has a social base. They are warning the government that if it doesn’t change its strategy, there
could be a social revolt” (Tuckman & Vulliamy, 2009). Thus, the rapidly devolving political
situation and looming legitimacy crisis finds disturbing parallels with Colombia (despite the
more ideological bent to the struggle in Colombia), or the efforts of the Taliban in Central Asia.
The view from Buenavista is equally disheartening. The cultural changes going on
there—founded on the cultural effects of the narcoeconomy—will eventually have an indelible
impact on thought and practice, though how and in what form remains unclear. It is certainly
difficult for narco-elites to convert their cultural capital into other forms of capital because of
their distant juxtaposition with poorer ranchers and farmers. However, La Familia has made
some inroads by claiming divine and Revolutionary legitimacy powerful forms of symbolic
capital. They have further used their economic power to develop a parallel government and a
social base. In Buenavista, narcos have, to some extent, pulled together cultural and social
capital in ways that have fortified their efforts. For the average citizen, confronting violence and
its threat, new forms of cultural and economic domination, and the on-going erosion of state
authority does not suggest any reconciliation of these various forms of capital in the near future,
if it at all. What of a world in which there is a normalized abnormal and where regular citizens
are relegated to the status of bystander to and consumer of the cultural spectacle of the
narcoeconomy yet are otherwise rendered silent as they embody the tragedy of Mexico?
Acknowledgements
This article is dedicated to the hard-working people of Buenavista who confront the fear
of violence on a daily basis, and must today live in a world largely not of their creation. That
they endure is testimony to their courage and character. Thanks go to a number of readers whose
efforts are greatly appreciated: Donald Kurtz, Barry Isaac, Dion Dennis, and Randle Hart. Thanks
21
are also due to Ray Scupin for his encouragement and support in further developing this analysis,
as well as those who served as anonymous reviewers for the journal. This essay has benefitted
from these reviewers’ insights and suggestions.
22
1
Indeed, Raul Salinas, brother of former President Carlos Salinas (1988-1994), was charged with masterminding the
plot to kill Francisco Ruiz Massieu, the Secretary General of the Institutional Revolutionary Party. He remains in
jail.
2
La Familia appears to combine an extreme form of evangelical Christianity in combination with sloganeering
reminiscent of the 1910 Revolution and such iconic figures as Emilio Zapata and Pancho Villa (Grillo, 2009;
Grayson, 2009a, 2009b). This is not some facile devotion to “Santa Muerte” (Saint Death). This powerful
ideological framework should not be underestimated, for it trades on two simulacra that resonate deeply with
Mexicans: the divine and the Revolution (cf. McDonald, 1993). As such, it also serves to expose the class war being
waged between the cartels and the government. They were initially the local gang in an evangelical Catholic
community of Nueva Jerusalen, Michoacán (cf. Quinones, 2001, Chapter 10). They were then taken into the Beltran
Leyva organization. From that humble origin, they have moved quickly since the mid 2000s to marginalize the other
cartels that formerly controlled the state.
3
In a macabre statistic, from 1 January 2007 to 29 May 2009, Chihuahua state leads in the number of narco-related
deaths (2,502), followed by Sinaloa (1,257), Baja California (894), Guererro (779), Durango (679), Michoacán
(629), Mexico (620), Federal District (364), and Jalisco (312), Sonora (305)—in all 9,903 deaths (Los Angeles
Times 2009). It is important to recall, however, that the running tab on deaths stops just before the major upsurge of
violence in summer 2009 (see, for example, El Universal, 2009c).
4
In the early 2000s, it was estimated that as much as US$14 billion dollars flowed into the Mexican economy
through migrant remittances (Rosemberg, 2003).
5
Merton’s (1968) classic “strain theory” long ago argued that social forces cause crime. The working poor are most
vulnerable to the strain caused by the disjunction between economic aspirations and their legitimate ability to meet
them. Crime, then, flourishes in that gap.
6
The intermittent construction of homes is seen as a highly legitimate process because everyone knows that money,
especially money that comes through migrant remittances, is highly variable in amount and timing. ColloredoMansfeld (1999) notes something similar in his field site of Otovalo, Ecuador. Otavalo is a tourist town where
successful merchants and artisans slowly renovate their houses in a process that demonstrates their entrpeneurial
skills and prowess; thus legitimizing them as successful entrepreneurs.
7
Payan (2006:49-50) makes a similar observation about the lavish “narco-mansions” of Juárez.
8
His comment is reminiscent of some of James C. Scott’s observations in his classic ethnography, Weapons of the
Weak (1985). In this case, the use of rumor and innuendo could be seen a kind of resistance and a form of social
critique.
9
While it might be argued that all businesses need to be successful, if a money laundering scheme is set up solely to
provide its owner with a front of legitimacy, they may not be under the same economic pressure to produce a profit
as a legal, legitimate business.
10
A contrasting example will further clarify the power of the traditional status system. Another community member,
who had done serious time in a U.S. jail for his illicit activities returned to Buenavista, lived quite well, but had no
visible means of support. He, like most everyone else, lived in a dense web of kinship and so went about his
business (whatever it was) fluidly and amicably. It is worth noting that he was very likeable and had a rather serious
interest in organic farming. We would occasionally get together over coffee and discuss what was happening with
the organic movement in the U.S. Again reminiscent of Scott (1985), I would later hear hushed scornful sidebar
comments about him, along with the suggestion that it was best not to be seen socializing with him.
11
In this very conservative area, women were under the strong control of their parents. I came across a number of
examples of young women who were eager to go off to the university in the nearest big city. Few ever got the
chance. Many ended up working in the local wedding ornament industry or take on farming duties.
12
It is worth noting that multi-dimensional concept of “Banda Fuego” is not done justice when translated into
English. While the more literal translation of the term is “fire” or “fiery,” what is also alluded to is the notion of
combustion, gunfire, and violence.
23
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Planning for Internationalization By Investing in Faculty
Lisa K. Childress, Ed.D.
The George Washington University
[email protected]
Abstract
Over the last half century, major world events have prompted higher education institutions
to develop internationalization plans. In order engage faculty in internationalization, higher
education scholars and practitioners have recommended that internationalization plans
include allocated resources, such as budgets for academic exchanges, faculty development
workshops, and international curricular development and research grants (Olson, Green, &
Hill, 2006; Paige, 2005; Siaya & Hayward, 2003). Yet, a frequently cited reason obstacle to
faculty engagement in internationalization plans is lack of funding (Backman, 1984; Bond,
2003; Ellingboe, 1998; Green & Olson, 2003; Steers & Ungsen, 1992; Woolston, 1983). A
cross-case analysis reveals that differential investment leads to faculty engagement in
internationalization plans. This article discusses how two institutions developed funds from a
variety of sources and institutional levels to engage faculty in an institutional planning
process. This study offers implications for institutional planning, resource dependency
theory, and internationalization.
31
Introduction
Over the last half century, major world events have prompted higher education
institutions to develop internationalization plans. As historian Frederick Rudolph (1977) noted,
after World War II, higher education leaders turned their attention to the importance of
internationalization when “the American Council on Education, the President’s Commission on
Higher Education, the philanthropic foundations, and the Congress joined forces to counteract
the exclusively Western orientation of the curriculum” (p. 264). Since then, numerous higher
education associations, e.g. Education and World Affairs (1965), American Association of State
Colleges and Universities (Harari, 1981), Association of American Colleges (1985), American
Council on Education (Olson, Green, & Hill, 2005), have developed plans for
internationalization, which is the process of integrating an international or intercultural
perspective into the teaching, research, and service functions of a college or university (Knight,
1994, 1999, 2004).
In the decades following World War II, Education and World Affairs, a nonprofit
organization created to study and assist in strengthening the international teaching, research, and
service dimensions of U.S. colleges and universities, advocated the importance of both
institutional and individual approaches to planning for international education. Education and
World Affairs (1965) asserted that a strategic, intentional, institution-wide plan was critical in
order to integrate an international dimension into a higher education institution in a meaningful
way. In addition to this institutional approach, an individual approach was recommended in order
to strategically reach out to individual faculty, disciplines, and colleges to encourage their
engagement in international education.
Two decades later, the American Association of State Colleges and Universities
(AASCU) conducted a study in which the AASCU vice president for international programs,
Maurice Harari (1981), surveyed AASCU institutional members about their internationalization
efforts. Based on analysis of the data collected from 77% of the AASCU membership (264
institutions), Harari (1981) concluded that “the degree of internationalization of a campus is not
a function of size, location, or overall budget. In the last analysis, it is a function of faculty
competence and commitment and of institutional leadership” (p. 29). Harari’s (1981) report
underscored that in order to implement the strategic internationalization plan advocated by
Education and World Affairs (1965), an intentional process to engage faculty is critical.
The need to develop faculty engagement in internationalization was affirmed by the
Association of American Colleges (1985), which asserted that it is faculty who ultimately have
the authority to foster students’ international education, as they control the curriculum. Thus,
faculty should be encouraged to consider whether their curricula are designed to advance
students’ understanding of foreign nations and cultures. The report acknowledged, however, that
although calls for international education had become prevalent, such intentional, systematic
efforts to develop faculty support remained rare. Moreover, the Association of American
Colleges (1985) noted the existence of “obstacles to faculty responsibility that are embedded in
academic practice” (p. 9). This report confirmed that despite the importance and challenges of
developing faculty engagement in internationalization, little is known empirically about
strategies to advance such faculty involvement.
In response to these calls, many institutional leaders have expressed intentions to
develop internationalization plans (Childress, in press). As such, Green and Schoenberg (2006)
noted that “it would be difficult to find a college or university today that is not making some
effort to internationalize” (p. 1). In order to engage faculty in the implementation of
32
internationalization plans, internationalization scholars and practitioners recommend that such
plans require dedicated resources, such as budgets for academic exchanges, faculty development
workshops, international curricular development grants, and international research grants (Olson
et al., 2006; Paige, 2005; Siaya & Hayward, 2003). Yet, a frequently cited reason for lack of
faculty engagement in internationalization plans is deficient funding (Backman, 1984; Bond,
2003; Ellingboe, 1998; Green & Olson, 2003; Steers & Ungsen, 1992; Woolston, 1983). This
study seeks to shed light on this problem through its investigation of the strategies used by two
higher education institutions to overcome these barriers and effectively engage faculty in
internationalization plans through differential investment.
Literature Review
Research indicates that lack of financial resources prevents the development of incentives
for faculty to engage in international activities, in general, and internationalization plans, in
particular (Backman, 1984; Bond, 2003; Ellingboe, 1998; Green & Olson, 2003; Steers &
Ungsen, 1992; Woolston, 1983). Engberg and Green (2002) noted that “the most frequently cited
reason for inaction in higher education is lack of funding” (p. 16). A review of the literature
indicates that internationalization is no exception to this tendency. Financial constraints preclude
faculty from participating in teaching, research, and consulting projects overseas for meaningful
periods of time (Ellingboe, 1998) due to the significant costs embedded in traveling and working
overseas, as well as those associated with filling teaching vacancies on the home campus
precipitated by a faculty member’s work overseas. Therefore, without financial support, faculty
lack the resources necessary to promote their involvement in international teaching, research, and
service activities.
A prevalent rationale for the lack of financial resources for internationalization includes
the increase of financial constraints placed upon institutions despite increasing expectations that
those same institutions internationalize their curricula; these financial constraints often ultimately
turn internationalization into “yet another undervalued, unfunded initiative” (Bond, 2003, p. 9).
In addition, Ellingboe (1998) emphasized that some senior institutional administrators perceive
“faculty development [as the] responsibility of individual faculty and their departments, and will
consequently not allocate any central funds to internationalize the faculty” (p. 211). Hence, due
to increasing institutional financial cutbacks combined with dissension about the locus of
responsibility for faculty development, lack of financial resources constrains the development of
widespread faculty engagement in internationalization.
Furthermore, organizational learning and human behavior scholars note that individuals
participate in activities for which they are rewarded (Armstrong & Brown, 2006; Brown, 2001;
Herzberg, 2003; Lerner, 1999). A synthesis of these scholars’ recommendations reveals that
financial resources allocated at the institutional and subunit levels can harness the faculty
participation required to implement an institution’s internationalization plan (Armstrong &
Brown, 2006; Bean & Kuh, 1984; Bond, 2003; Lerner, 1999; Peterson, 1999).
Essentially, the gap in the literature addressed by this study is that although research
indicates that (a) financial resources are critical to faculty engagement in internationalization and
(b) lack of financial resources impedes faculty from participating in international initiatives, no
studies have examined how differential investment strategies have been used to facilitate faculty
involvement in internationalization plans.
33
Theoretical Framework and Research Question
This study is based theoretically on Knight’s (1994) internationalization cycle, which
indicates that institutions proceed through six phases of internationalization, including (a)
awareness, (b) commitment, (c) planning, (d) operationalization, (e) review, and (f)
reinforcement. Although the literature to date addresses all six phases individually, a gap exists
in understanding the transition from the planning phase to the operationalization phase. An
umbrella study conducted by the researcher on faculty engagement in internationalization
suggests that a critical organizational principle that can help institutions engage faculty in
internationalization plans is differential investment (Childress, forthcoming). As such, the
current study examines the following research question: How does differential investment serve
as a catalyst for faculty engagement in internationalization plans at two higher education
institutions? For the purpose of this study, differential investment is defined as the strategic
allocation of funds from a variety of sources that are distributed at a variety of institutional levels
in order to increase involvement in a particular institutional priority, i.e. internationalization.
Methodology
A qualitative, multiple-case study was selected as the research design for this study to
shed light on a poorly understood phenomenon and discover thus far unspecified contextual
variables (Marshall & Rossman, 1995; Merriam, 2002). A multiple-case study design enabled
the researcher to (a) understand the complexities of each case and (b) identify components that
can be compared and contrasted across cases. By addressing the same research question in
multiple settings and using the same data collection and analysis procedures, this design allowed
the researcher to consciously seek cross-site comparison without necessarily sacrificing withinsite understanding (Herriott & Firestone, 1983).
Population and Sampling Strategy
The population for this study included the 194 institutional members of the Association
of International Education Administrators (AIEA) (Association of International Education
Administrators, 2006). AIEA was selected as the population for investigation in this study due to
these institutions’ demonstrated commitments to internationalization through their AIEA
membership. Expert-driven, maximum variation, and criterion-based sampling methods
comprised the sampling strategy for this study (see Table 1).
34
TABLE 1.
Sampling Methods
______________________________________________________________________________
Sampling method
Description
______________________________________________________________________________
Expert-driven
Expert-driven sampling involved consulting with internationalization
expert Madeleine Green, ACE vice president, for a previous study the
researcher conducted with ACE. Green selected 32 out of 194 total
AIEA-member institutions, based upon knowledge of their
internationalization efforts and participation in ACE’s
internationalization programs.
Maximum variation
Maximum variation sampling was employed for the current study to
select two institutions from the 31 responding institutions that
collectively represented all three types of internationalization plans,
based upon an internationalization plan typology, which the
researcher developed in a previous study conducted with ACE and
included (a) institutional strategic plans, (b) distinct documents, and
(c) unit plans for internationalization (Childress, 2009).
Criterion-based
Criterion-based sampling was used to select institutions that had
internationalization committees and plans. Among the 31 responding
institutions, 18 institutions had such committees. Among those 18
institutions, five institutions had internationalization plans.
Thus, five institutions in total met the criteria for inclusion in the
study. After invitations were extended to all five institutions to
participate in the study, two universities accepted the invitation. These
institutions were Duke University and University of Richmond, which
collectively represented all three types of internationalization plans on
the researcher’s internationalization plan typology.
______________________________________________________________________________
Data Collection
Data collection methods included document analysis, interviews, and focus groups.
During document analysis, the researcher reviewed internationalization plans and related
documents, e.g. internationalization committee charges, meeting minutes, agendas, and reports;
mission statements and capital campaign case statements; institutional leader speeches; and
tenure, promotion, and hiring policies. The researcher triangulated data obtained in document
analysis through interviews and focus groups. Interviews were conducted with the AIEA
representatives and two non-committee senior administrative leaders at each of the two
institutions examined in this study. Focus groups were conducted with internationalization
committee members at each of the two institutions examined in this study. The strength of
35
interviews and focus groups in providing in-depth insight into the perspectives of key actors in
the phenomenon under investigation complemented the strength of documents in their provision
of exact details. The weakness of focus groups in terms of participants’ potential political
concerns about how their perspectives might be perceived by fellow group members was
compensated for through the use of one-on-one interviews. Overall, multiple methods of data
collection allowed the researcher to triangulate to maximize the strengths and minimize the
limitations of each.
Data Analysis
The constant comparative method served as the primary analytical method used to
systematically and continually categorize, compare, synthesize, and interpret the data collected
(McMillan & Schumacher, 1997; Merriam, 2002; Strauss & Corbin, 1998). Particular to
multiple-case studies, two stages of data analysis were involved: within-case and cross-case
analysis (Merriam, 1998).
Within-case analysis. In the within-case analysis phase, the researcher examined the data
of each individual case. Data were gathered so that the researcher could learn as much about the
contextual variables affecting each case as possible (Merriam, 1998). After each document was
imported into the qualitative data analysis software MAXqda, codes were assigned to segments
of text based upon similar key words, phrases, and issues identified in the documents. In firstlevel coding, the researcher identified codes for emergent themes and text segments that related
to each code. As much as possible, the researcher used “in vivo” codes (Creswell, 2005, p. 238),
which are codes that reflect participants’ actual wording. In second-level coding, the researcher
conducted pattern coding in order to group initial codes into a smaller number of themes
(Merriam, 1998; Miles & Huberman, 1994). Pattern coding was particularly important for this
multiple-case study, as it led to the development of key themes, which laid the groundwork for
cross-case analysis.
Cross-case analysis. In the cross-case analysis phase, abstractions were built across cases
to generate a theory that fit the cases examined, although the cases varied in individual details
(Merriam, 1998; Yin, 1994). To analyze data across cases, the researcher first relied upon the
data collected and organized in the within-case analysis. By conducting “pattern clarification”
(Miles & Huberman, 1994, p. 175), comparisons and contrasts across the two cases were
generated. Conceptually, clustered matrices were employed in order to further clarify patterns
and draw conclusions across cases. Such matrices enabled the researcher to organize and analyze
convergent and divergent findings.
To ensure that emergent findings matched reality, and to further enhance the credibility
and dependability of the study, the researcher engaged in member checks (Janesick, 2000;
Lincoln & Guba, 1981; Merriam, 1998) through follow-up interviews with key participants at
each institution. Through this process, participants assisted the researcher in fine-tuning her
interpretations to better capture their perspectives, and in so doing, further establish the
credibility and dependability of the findings.
Limitations
There are limitations, however, to this study’s findings. Although the research design
included the collection of data from each institution’s AIEA representative, two senior
administrative leaders (who were not members of the internationalization committee), and
36
several internationalization committee members (six at Duke and four at Richmond), the number
of faculty and administrator perspectives included in this study was limited. Interviews and focus
groups with additional faculty and administrators would have likely elicited a greater range of
perspectives on how support for faculty to engage in the two institutions’ internationalization
was developed.
Moreover, the qualitative nature of this study posed some restrictions on the data analysis
process. In particular, it is possible that participant responses were subject to issues of social and
political desirability, as well as others beyond the control of the researcher. Participants may
have been concerned with portraying their institutions in the most favorable light through the
interviews and focus groups conducted and documents shared. The researcher, however, sought
to minimize this problem through triangulation of the data collected in interviews and focus
groups with a diverse array of documentation from institutional and departmental Web sites,
internationalization committee and faculty senate meeting minutes, agendas, and reports,
institutional leader speeches and presentations, and external publications.
Findings
Differential investment emerged as an organizational practice that encouraged faculty to
participate in internationalization plans at Duke University and the University of Richmond. This
practice stimulated faculty engagement in internationalization by providing critical
infrastructure, incentives, and communication mechanisms to support faculty in integrating
international dimensions into their teaching, research, and service. Findings of how differential
investment served as an avenue through which faculty engaged in internationalization at Duke
and Richmond will be discussed in turn.
Duke University
Differential investment in faculty engagement in internationalization plans was
implemented at Duke through a five-pronged process, which included the following components:
(a) development of a strategic investment plan, (b) incentives provided by schools and centers,
(c) distinguished international scholar endowments, (d) curriculum internationalization grants,
and (e) central international office matching grants.
Development of a Strategic Investment Plan
As Duke’s (2006) institutional strategic plan identified internationalization as one of its
six university-wide priorities, a strategic investment plan was created to allocate resources
throughout the institution so as to permit faculty to engage in the process. In essence, the
strategic investment plan underwrote and targeted resources to ensure the implementation of the
internationalization priorities indicated in the institutional strategic plan. Notably, this strategic
investment plan built in the expectation that while financial support would be initially allocated
from central university administrative funds, after five years, the source of funding would shift to
external grants, new endowment income, or the budgets of individual schools (Duke University,
2006). Thus, responsibility for funding faculty engagement in internationalization plans was
spread throughout the institution, which disseminated ownership among multiple institutional
units.
37
Incentives Provided by Schools and Centers
Furthermore, faculty at Duke are given incentives by schools and institutional centers to
pursue research and teaching initiatives that promote internationalization themes. A senior
administrative leader shed light onto how differential investment has affected faculty
involvement in the internationalization of Duke’s Trinity College of Arts & Sciences:
As we were thinking about major [internationalization] themes that we wanted
to invest in differentially, [two themes] emerged . . . . Global health is one.
Given our medical center, given our social sciences, the combination does
make great sense that we would make a major investment in global
health . . . . The second is something that affects humanities and the social
sciences and that is “transcultural perspectives”. . . . How [is] it that cultures
connect and how [is] it they evolve? So, we can have a number of disciplines
with faculty looking at that question from different perspectives. (personal
communication, interview, May 8, 2007)
For example, to encourage faculty involvement in Duke’s internationalization themes, faculty are
eligible for $5,000 travel awards from Duke’s Center for International Studies and Global Health
Institute to conduct research that addresses global health through the lens of any disciplinary
framework (Duke University Center for International Studies, 2007). Faculty from a variety of
disciplines, including public policy, nursing, and environmental sciences have received these
awards to conduct research respectively on orphanhood in India, cardiovascular disease
management in the Caribbean, and social factors in malaria control in Tanzania (administrator,
personal communication, November 1, 2007). Thus, Duke has allocated special funding through
individual schools and centers to support faculty engagement in internationalization initiatives.
Distinguished International Scholar Endowments
Through the multiple university endowments intended to bring distinguished
international scholars to Duke, faculty have developed communications with leading scholars
from other countries. Such endowments have enabled faculty to gain insight into their disciplines
from a variety of national and regional perspectives. These endowments include the Karl von der
Heyden International Fellows Program Endowment, Semans Professorship for Distinguished
International Visiting Scholars Endowment, and the Bernstein Memorial International and
Comparative Law Endowment (Duke University Office of the Vice Provost for International
Affairs & Development, 2005; Duke University School of Law, 2002). Thus, by connecting
alumni, who had been (a) international students, (b) participants in study abroad, or (c)
participants in international degree programs with meaningful, personal opportunities to
contribute to their alma mater, Duke solicited funds from private donors to support faculty
engagement in internationalization plans.
Curriculum Internationalization Grants
Duke used both internal and external sources to offer curriculum internationalization
grants to faculty. Internally, Duke’s Office of Study Abroad’s “Curriculum Integration Initiative”
has provided incentives for faculty to integrate study abroad into their courses, including
38
financial awards to departments for course developments and to individual faculty members for
their site visits to overseas partner institutions and their attendance at conferences (administrator,
personal communication, electronic mail, July 27, 2007). Externally, Duke has solicited funds
through the U.S. Department of Education Title VI, which funds international and area studies
centers to support faculty engagement in international scholarship. Duke’s Title VI Centers
served the dual function of providing (a) support for faculty who were already interested in
internationalizing their courses and (b) incentives for faculty had not yet integrated international
components into their curricula (Asian/Pacific Studies Institute at Duke University, 2007; Duke
Center for Latin American and Caribbean Studies, 2007). For example, Duke’s Asian/Pacific
Studies Institute has provided $3,000 grants for faculty to develop courses that have at least 35%
East Asian (i.e. Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Taiwanese) content and will be taught at least
twice in the next five years (Asian/Pacific Studies Institute at Duke University, 2007). As such,
Duke has used both internal departments and external government funds to augment the financial
resources available for faculty to internationalize their curricula.
Central International Office Matching Research and Travel Grants
Duke’s central international office has not served as the sole provider of funds for faculty
involvement in internationalization, but rather has matched funds provided by other sources. This
central office, Duke’s Office of the Vice Provost for International Affairs, has functioned like an
“internal foundation,” which supports faculty involvement in international activities (G. W.
Merkx, personal communication, interview, May 8, 2007). Through the vice provost’s office,
faculty have received matching grants for international research proposals. Moreover, the
international travel grants provided by this office have afforded faculty opportunities to attend
conferences, conduct research, and pursue service projects overseas (G. W. Merkx, personal
communication, interview, May 8, 2007). Thus, Duke’s central international office has
strategically increased the number of sources investing in faculty participation in international
scholarship, and has thereby spread the responsibility for funding faculty engagement in
internationalization plans among multiple institutional stakeholders.
Duke Summary
As indicated, through a strategic investment plan, Duke has targeted investments in
internationalization plans from a variety of sources that have been distributed at a variety of
institutional levels to support faculty involvement in international activities. Individual schools
and centers have provided support for faculty to integrate international perspectives into their
personal scholarly agendas based on their regional and disciplinary interests. Multiple
distinguished international scholar endowments have provided avenues through which faculty
have gained insights into various national and regional perspectives on their disciplines.
Curriculum internationalization grants from internal and external stakeholders have provided
financial incentives for faculty to internationalize their courses. Finally, Duke’s central
international office has matched the funds received from a variety of sources, spread the
responsibility of providing support for faculty to engage in international scholarship among a
variety of parties, and thereby increased the amount of funds available for faculty to participate
in internationalization.
39
University of Richmond
Differential investment has similarly served as an organizational principle that opened the
doors to faculty engagement in internationalization plans at the University of Richmond. As
such, Richmond has used a four-pronged process to strategically allocate financial investments to
support faculty engagement in international initiatives throughout the institution. This process
has included the following components: (a) “Quest International” faculty programming and
course development grants, (b) curriculum internationalization grants, (c) Weinstein summer
international project grants, and (d) School of Arts & Sciences overseas conference travel grants.
As the first three grant programs emerged as particularly significant sources of funding for
faculty to participate in international scholarship, they will be addressed in further detail.
Quest International Faculty Programming and Course Development Grants
The university’s signature program, “The Richmond Quest,” which was launched by the
president in 2000, has provided significant funding for faculty to internationalize their courses
and research (University of Richmond, 2007a). The Richmond Quest is a unique program
through which, for periods of two years, faculty, students, and administrators collectively explore
a single pervasive question, submitted by a student (University of Richmond, 2007a). Through
its parallel program, “Quest International,” the offices of the president, provost, and dean of
international education provide support for faculty to create internationally focused courses and
research projects related to the current Quest theme (University of Richmond, 2007e).
Specifically, “Quest International” has offered faculty (a) programming grants, of up to
approximately $10,000, to support internationally focused research, curricular, and co-curricular
endeavors, (b) course development grants of up to $3,500 to support the creation of new
internationally focused courses, and (c) course revision grants of up to $1,500 to support the
integration of international components into existing courses (University of Richmond, 2007b,
2007c, 2007d). For example, in 2004, Quest grants enabled two English department faculty to
take ten students to Bombay, India to conduct research for a study on "Negotiating Change:
Twenty-First Century Indian Identity in Mumbai” (University of Richmond International
Education Committee, 2004). As such, the Quest program has served as an innovative
mechanism through which a variety of administrative offices collaborate to provide resources
with which faculty members can integrate international components into their teaching and
research.
Curriculum Internationalization Grants
Apart from the Quest program, curriculum internationalization grants funded by the
office of international education have encouraged faculty to develop new courses with significant
international content and to substantially infuse international perspectives into existing courses.
Faculty applications to this grant program have increased by 40% since the program’s inception
in 2003 (University of Richmond International Education Committee, 2004, 2007). Awards of
$3,000 to $3,500 for the development of new courses and $1,500 to $2,000 for revised courses
have been granted to faculty as incentives to internationalize their curricula (University of
Richmond Office of International Education, 2007b). In illustration of the effect of curriculum
internationalization grants, in 2006, a law school professor received a curriculum
internationalization grant to create an international intellectual property course and a psychology
40
professor received a grant to create a cross-cultural psychopathology course (University of
Richmond Office of International Education, 2007b). Although awards were granted to only 17%
of the faculty who submitted grant applications in 2007, this funding program has promoted
widespread faculty engagement in internationalization, as all applicants have developed
foundations for internationalizing their courses through the grant application process (U. F.
Gabara, personal communication, interview, May 3, 2007, University of Richmond International
Education Committee, 2007b). Thus, Richmond’s office of international education has allocated
funds that are specifically targeted to increase faculty involvement in internationalization plans.
Endowed Grants for Summer International Projects
Furthermore, Richmond alumni have also been tapped to provide additional resources
with which to encourage faculty involvement in internationalization. In particular, Richmond
alumna and former trustee Carole Weinstein, a longtime advocate of internationalization, has
endowed summer international project grants to support faculty engagement in innovative,
international teaching, research, and service endeavors (Gabara, 2005; University of Richmond
Communications, 2003; University of Richmond Office of International Education, 2007a). For
example, in 2006, a faculty member received funding to work with women and children from the
Mixtecan, southwestern region of Mexico who reside in the Richmond community (University of
Richmond International Education Committee, 2006; University of Richmond Office of
International Education, 2007a). Like the curriculum internationalization grant program, faculty
interest in the Weinstein international grants has continued to rise. In fact, from 2006 to 2007,
faculty applications to this grant program increased by 20% (University of Richmond
International Education Committee, 2007). Thus, the Weinstein summer international grant
program has served as a unique mechanism through which an alumna passionate about
international education has been enabled to make a meaningful contribution to the institution
and, in so doing, has provided an additional pool of resources with which faculty have explored
international dimensions in their scholarship and service.
Richmond Summary
Akin to Duke, Richmond has solicited funds from a variety of sources in order to (a)
make targeted investments in internationalization plans and (b) offer faculty a variety of
programs through which to connect their scholarly agendas with their institution’s
internationalization agenda. Specifically, through Richmond’s unique Quest program, the
president, provost, and dean of international education provide resources for faculty to
internationalize their teaching, research, and service. Because of the institutional emphases on
teaching and internationalization, the office of international education offers additional
curriculum internationalization grants to encourage faculty to internationalize existing courses
and develop new courses infused with international perspectives. Finally, Richmond alumni have
complemented the funds provided by internal institutional stakeholders by providing grants for
faculty to participate in international initiatives and have thereby augmented the types and
amount of support for faculty engagement in internationalization plans.
41
Discussion
As previous research indicated that lack of financial resources prevents the development
of incentives for faculty to engage in international activities (e.g. Backman, 1984; Bond, 2003;
Ellingboe, 1998; Green & Olson, 2003; Steers & Ungsen, 1992), Duke and Richmond have
planned for this institutional challenge by distributing responsibility for financial support of
faculty engagement through multiple institutional levels and through soliciting support from a
variety of types of sources (e.g. federal, private, and institutional).
At Duke and Richmond, funding to support faculty engagement in internationalization
plans has not been the responsibility of only the central international office (see Table 2). Rather
the responsibility for supporting faculty engagement in internationalization has been
disseminated among various institutional units (e.g. president’s office, provost’s office, central
international office, and individual schools and centers). Funding has been solicited from a
variety of sources, including U.S. Department of Education programs (e.g. Duke’s Title VI
faculty international research and conference travel grants) and alumni endowed contributions
(e.g. Duke’s “Bernstein Memorial International and Comparative Law Endowment” and
Richmond’s “Weinstein Summer International Project Grants”). Moreover, the alignment of
internationalization with other institution-wide initiatives (e.g. Richmond’s “Quest International”
and Duke’s “Global Health” initiatives) has also promoted the dispersement of international
resources to faculty. For example, Duke’s “Global Health” initiative has provided $5,000 travel
awards for faculty pursuing global health research. Thus, through the alignment of
internationalization plans with other institution-wide initiatives, various sources of funding, and
dispersement of resources at multiple institutional levels, differential investment has enabled
Duke and Richmond faculty to engage in the implementation of their institutions’
internationalization plans.
42
TABLE 2
Differential Investments in Faculty Engagement in Internationalization Plans
________________________________________________________________________
Institutional level
Example
Amount
________________________________________________________________________
President
Richmond’s “Quest”
Program
$10,000 for international research,
curricular, and co-curricular endeavors
$1,500 for existing course revisions
$3,500 for new course developments
Provost
Richmond’s Faculty
Seminar Abroad
$50,000 (every two years for 10-12
faculty members)
School
Richmond’s School of
Arts & Sciences
$1,200 for overseas conference travel
grants
Central
International
Office
Richmond’s Weinstein
Grants for Summer
International Projects
$1,500 for existing course revisions
$3,000 for new course developments
International
Centers
Duke’s Office of Study
Abroad
$500 for exchange university site visits
and international conference attendance
$4,000 for development of new courses
that integrate study abroad
Duke’s Title VI Faculty
Research and
Conference
International Travel
Grants
$500 for presentation on Latin
American topics at U.S. conferences
$750 for presentation on Latin
American topics at overseas conferences
$2,500 for research on Asian theme
$3,000 for development of course on
Asian theme
$5,000 for development of conference
on Asian theme
________________________________________________________________________
43
Implications for Practice
To develop a strong financial foundation from which to support faculty engagement in
international plans, internationalization leaders should assess current funding sources, types, and
allocations that support faculty involvement in international initiatives. These leaders must ask:
Are there additional sources of federal, state, local, private, and institutional funds (e.g. U.S.
Department of Education Title IV, president’s and provost’s office, interdisciplinary centers,
school research committees, alumni donors) that could be solicited to develop faculty
engagement in international teaching, research, and service? If an institution has made a
commitment to internationalization through the development of its internationalization plans, it is
important to consider the following: How could funds be reallocated internally to operationalize
those plans? The answers to these questions can help institutional leaders recognize opportunities
and resources for differential investment in internationalization and, thereby, engage faculty in
the operationalization of their internationalization plans. By spreading the responsibility for
funding faculty participation in international initiatives throughout the institution, institutional
leaders can increase ownership and reinforce support for the operationalization of the plan.
When institutions develop an internationalization plan, it is critical to develop a
corresponding strategic investment plan to ensure that resources are allocated to enable faculty to
engage in the implementation of the plan. In particular, to ensure the long-term
operationalization of an institution’s internationalization plans, internationalization leaders
should solicit financial support from a diversity of sources, such as those aforementioned, to
create a global initiatives fund to support faculty members’ international initiatives. This fund
could provide seed grants for a limited period of time (e.g. one to two years) to get projects off
the ground, after which time the responsibility for supporting such projects would shift to the
departments so that the responsibility for funding faculty members’ international initiatives is
shared between central institutional offices and disciplinary units. In addition to providing longterm support for faculty initiatives, the global initiatives fund could provide travel support for
faculty to travel with colleagues or students for periods of time, ranging from one or two weeks
to an entire semester, for courses or research overseas.
Moreover, institutions can advance faculty engagement in internationalization by
incorporating international, transnational, and cross-cultural scholarship as priority funding areas
in institution-wide and unit-wide research grant competitions. This prioritization would spread
the responsibility for funding faculty involvement in international research among central
institutional offices and academic subunits, as well as reinforce the importance of international
research to the institution.
Although Duke and Richmond rely heavily on internal sources of funding, public
institutions may find it beneficial to focus attention on external funding sources, so as not to
strain or deplete already limited funds. Specifically, developing a solid database of alumni who
participated in study abroad programs and international degree programs may help institutions to
target alumni who have a genuine concern for promoting the internationalization of their alma
maters. The U.S. Department of Education’s Title VI international education resources may also
help institutions secure funding to strengthen faculty involvement in international scholarship.
Ultimately, differential investments can enable institutions to create and sustain the
resources necessary for widespread and long-term faculty engagement in internationalization. As
such, the allocation of funds from a variety of internal and external sources and distribution at a
variety of institutional levels can ensure that faculty have access to resources that will encourage
their participation in the implementation of their institution’s internationalization plans.
44
Implications for Theory
Resource dependence theory indicates that individuals and institutions are dependent
upon resources to implement their goals (Dooris & Lozier, 1990). Yet, previous research has
indicated the tendency for internationalization plans to become yet another undervalued,
underfunded initiative, which precludes faculty involvement in internationalization (Bond, 2003;
Ellingboe 1998). Through the process of differential investment, Duke and Richmond
demonstrate that it is possible to strategically allocate various types and amounts of financial
resources throughout the institution so that ownership and implementation of strategies to engage
faculty in internationalization are dispersed to all corners of the institution. In other words, how
and where funds are dispersed throughout the institution is more influential than how many funds
are dispersed. Thus, if funds are allocated strategically at a variety of institutional levels,
including through the offices of senior institutional leaders (e.g. offices of the president and
provost), chief international education administrators, individual centers (i.e. international, area
studies, and interdisciplinary centers), and individual schools or departments, the importance and
support for faculty engagement in internationalization is reinforced throughout the institution.
This study confirms the contentions of institutional planning and internationalization
scholars that even relatively small financial grants can yield significant benefits (Eckel, Green,
Hill, & Mallon, 1999; Green & Olson, 2003). For example, stipends of $1,500 for curricular
integration at Richmond and $750 for international travel at Duke energized faculty to engage in
the operationalization of their institutions’ internationalization plans. Overall, this study indicates
that by developing funds to support faculty engagement in internationalization through
differential investment, institutions can multiply the development and operationalization of their
resources.
Conclusion
Duke and Richmond support faculty to engage in internationalization plans through
investments from diverse external and internal sources (i.e. federal, private, and institutional),
which are distributed at various institutional levels (i.e. central international offices,
interdisciplinary and area studies centers, individual schools). For example, through the federal
government’s Title VI program, Duke has provided grants for international research and
conference attendance to faculty. Through endowed alumni funds, Richmond has provided funds
for faculty to conduct international research and service projects. Through institutional funds,
both Duke and Richmond have provided faculty with financial and symbolic support to
internationalize existing and new curricula. Importantly, the symbolism of institutional support
for internationalization provided by differential investments plays a critical role in increasing
faculty engagement in international activities. As a small but powerful example of the
institution’s willingness to invest in faculty members’ readiness to engage in international
scholarly activities, Richmond offers to cover faculty members’ passport application fees.
Moreover, internationalization funds at the institutions have not been restricted to one unit;
rather, funds have been allocated through numerous institutional units, e.g. Duke’s Trinity
College of Arts and Sciences, Duke’s Office of the Vice Provost for International Affairs,
Duke’s Office of Study Abroad, Richmond’s College of Arts and Sciences, and Richmond’s
Office of International Education, which has increased faculty awareness of and access to
resources with which to engage in international initiatives.
45
As such, it can be postulated that through differential investment, institutional leaders can
signify to faculty that their institutions are committed to enabling faculty involvement in
international scholarship and service. Thus, through the process of differential investment in
internationalization plans, institutions can provide financial resources from a variety of sources,
in a variety of increments, dispersed at a variety of locations throughout the institution, which
thereby grant faculty the resources necessary to engage in the implementation of their
institutions’ internationalization plans.
46
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Population, Rural Development, and Land Use Among Settler Households in an
Agricultural Frontier in Guatemala’s Maya Biosphere Reserve
David Carr Ph.D.
University of California, Santa Barbara
[email protected]
Abstract
Guatemala was among the world’s leaders in deforestation during the 1990s at a rate
of 2% per annum. Much of Guatemala’s recent forest loss has occurred in the
emerging agricultural frontiers of the Maya Biosphere Reserve (MBR), the heart of
the largest contiguous tropical forest in Central America—La Selva Maya. This paper
presents data from 241 heads of households and 219 partners of household heads from
a geographically stratified sample of eight (of 28) communities in the Sierra de
Lacandón National Park (SLNP), the most ecologically biodiverse region in La Selva
Maya and a core conservation zone of the MBR. Settler households are examined
relative to a host of factors relating land use and land cover change. Specifically,
demographic trends, political and socio-economic development, and ecological factors
are described in this first detailed statistically-representative sample probing human
population and environment interactions in an emerging agricultural frontier in
Central America.
51
Introduction
Achieving a balance between human welfare and environmental integrity is a
sustainable development conundrum worldwide. In order to meet food demand over time,
the world is faced with important trade-offs relative to rural development and forest
conservation. Increasing agricultural output on dwindling available lands suitable for
cultivation while limiting this expansion in critical forest ecosystems is of central
importance in a world of over 6 billion and growing.
The success with which food production versus forest conservation is achieved
has manifold human and environmental consequences. As the majority of the best
agricultural land has been in production for decades and even millennia, deforestation
increasingly occurs on impoverished soils (Carr, Barbieri et al., 2006). Agricultural
frontier 1 are among the most sociologically and ecologically dynamic landscapes on the
earth. These are places where human demographic and socio-economic processes and
environmental change interact in dramatic fashion. Most deforestation on the planet has
occurred along agricultural frontiers during recent decades (Achard, Gallego, et al., 2002;
Houghton, 1994; Myers 1994). This is especially true in Latin America (Rudel & Roper
1996; Carr & Bilsborrow, 2001).
Political, economic, demographic, and ecological factors all impact forest
conversion on the frontier (Geist and Lambdin 2001; Turner II, Geoghegan et al. 2001).
Researching household demographic, socio-economic characteristics, and land
management strategies is therefore of dual importance. First, farmers in remote,
economically and environmentally impoverished regions are among the planet’s most
destitute inhabitants (Leonard et al., 1989; Barbier, 2004), countenancing difficult market
access and a dearth of potable water, schools, and health care (Carr 2006; Murphy et al.,
1997). Second, relative to ecological concerns, deforestation has led to soil degradation
(Ehui and Hertel 1992; Lal 1996) —ultimately reducing agricultural yields. Problems
associated with forest conversion in tropical agricultural frontiers are not limited to the
frontier; the phenomenon has global consequences as well. The elimination of tropical
forests threatens scientific advances in medicine and food security with the diminution of
genetic stores of diversity (Smith & Schultes, 1990). Forest conversion to agriculture,
particularly pasture, has also been linked to global climate change (Fearnside, 2004).
Perhaps no place else on earth are the competing demands between humans and
forests more volatile than in Central America (Carr, Barbieri et al 2006). Central America
has destroyed a great percentage of its forests, most of it ultimately for livestock
production, than any major world region during recent decades. While agricultural land
expansion and food output exceeded population growth during recent decades, most
agricultural expansion has been concentrated on lands that are only marginally adequate
for cultivation but that are often, nonetheless, rich in ecological diversity. Meanwhile,
virtually all food production increases have come from capital-intensive farms yoked
largely for foreign export. Further, capital-intensive farming has pushed many thousands
of small farm families to marginally cultivatable lands in forest frontiers rich in
biodiversity (Carr, Barbieri et al., 2006).
This paper examines several key factors relating to demography, politicaleconomic development, land use, and forest conversion at the household level in the
52
Sierra de Lacandón National Park (SLNP), the most ecologically biodiverse region in La
Selva Maya and a core conservation zone of the Maya Biosphere Reserve (MBR). What
is the relationship between farm families’ demographic, political, social, economic, and
ecological characteristics, food production patterns and subsequent impacts on the
SLNP’s “protected” forests? The survey represents the first detailed statisticallyrepresentative sample probing human population and environmental interactions in an
emerging agricultural frontier in Central America. The following section introduces the
study site. The field research methods are then described, followed by descriptive results
of household land use and demographic, social, economic, political, and ecological
characteristics of the households and their farms. The paper concludes with a summary of
the results and implications for future research and for policy.
The Study Site: The Sierra de Lacandón National Park
The vast northern departamento of Petén (Map 1) was virtually depopulated by
A.D. 900, as it was widely deforested by Maya agriculturists from 1500 B.C. to A.D. 900
(West 1964; Turner II, et al. 2002). Spanish colonizers and early republican governments
largely ignored the sparsely inhabited territory and old growth forests returned to cover
the region (Schwartz 1990). By the late 1960s, mounting population and land pressures,
civil unrest, and a national policy to stimulate export agriculture led to a rapid
colonization of the region. Since the 1960s, the population of Petén has risen from a
handful of itinerant rubber tappers to over 600,000 mostly rural inhabitants (Instituto
Nacional de Estadistica [INE] 1999) and is projected to exceed one million by 2020
(Grandia 2000). Concomitantly, from the 1960s to the mid-1990s, half of Petén's forests
were eliminated (Valenzuela 1996)—a process documented by a number of scholars
(e.g., Jones 1990; Colchester 1991; Schwartz 1995; Sader, Reining et al. 1997; Grunberg.
J. ed. 2000). At the recent rate of 40,000 ha cleared per annum, the departamento's last
forests will be erased by 2015.
53
Belize
Mexico
Honduras
El Salvador
With heightened concern about the region’s ecological conversion, the United
Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), working jointly
with a host of institutes from donor nations, established the MBR in 1989. The MBR
forms the heart of the Selva Maya (the largest lowland tropical forest in Central America)
and comprises 60% of the departamento of Petén. The MBR also serves as a pancontinental biological bridge, a cardinal repository of biodiversity and archeological sites,
including the remains of the magnificent ancient Mayan city, Tikal (The Nature
Conservancy [TNC] 1997). The Nature Conservancy and Conservation International and
Guatemalan conservation institutions Defensores de la Naturaleza and the Consejo
Nacional de Areas Protegidas (CONAP) all work in the region with the goal of
conserving the SLNP’s remaining forest. However, these organizations are hampered by
government reticence to enforce conservation policy given the contentious land history of
Guatemala and the resulting protracted civil war that lasted into the mid 1990s.
The SLNP dates from 1990 as a core conservation zone within the MBR. It is
Guatemala’s second largest national park and the sole biological corridor linking the
MBR and the Montes Azules Biosphere Reserve—the largest protected humid lowland
tropical forest in Mexico—and with the maximum relief and greatest rainfall in the MBR,
54
the SLNP has the highest biodiversity in the Selva Maya (TNC 1997). Despite its
biological importance and its designation as a core conservation zone, the SLNP suffers
from some of the fastest population growth and largest agricultural expansion in Petén.
More than 10% of its forest canopy has been eliminated since 1990, during which time
most of the park’s 3,000 families settled in the area (Carr 2008a; Sader Martinez et al.,
2000) (Map 2). As in the rest of Petén, the proximate cause of the deforestation has been
agricultural extensification by swidden corn farmers (Figure 1). All land use in the park is
used for agricultural purposes except for small plots used for home construction. Settlers
acquired farms through land invasion and squatting following the construction of a road
by oil interests in the early 1980s (Schwartz, 1990). There is modest non-timber
extraction and some hunting. Forest timber extraction occurs in cooperatives to the south
and north of the park. A prerequisite to deforestation in the park was the decision of these
farm families to migrate from their origin communities to the frontier.
Figure 1.
1998 Average Land Use in Hectares.
Farm Size = 34.38 hectares
7.1
19.2
4.9
0.4
0.51.0 1.3
forest
fallow
corn
frijol
pasture
other
abandoned
The most marginalized of frontier farmers are those that have settled within the
core zone of the SLNP. These farmers have few options available to them. They are
constrained by unfavorable market conditions, as well as lack of technology and training
in alternative farm management strategies. The SLNP farmer relies on great land
endowments and a small amount of labor and technology. Within this general context,
how resources are managed will depend on the balance between minimizing risk in
securing food for the household and maximizing surplus produced for market. This
balance will be constrained by labor capacity, land quality and availability, security of
ownership, land use, and production costs.
Sample design and data
55
Because of its rich biological diversity coupled with the rapidity of population
growth and forest clearing since the 1980s, the SLNP is an appropriate study site for
conducting research on small farmer colonization and tropical deforestation. Such a study
contrasts with the vast majority of land use and land cover change (LUCC) research,
which is either conducted at a macro-scale, on which complex causal processes operating
at the local scale are concealed by data aggregation, or at a micro-scale, on which true
frontier research is rare and is commonly a misnomer for post-frontier environments.
The data presented here are from a survey collected by the author in the SLNP in 1998
and supplemented with qualitative research conducted from 1997 to 2000. A detailed
description of the survey is beyond the scope of this paper (see Carr, 2003), but several
aspects are worth mentioning. First, a two-stage probability sample of approximately
10% (279 households in 8 of the 28 communities that farm in the park) of the SLNP
settler population was achieved. Sample stage one was the random selection of
communities; stage two was the random selection of households within selected
communities by choosing a random fraction of houses equivalent to approximately 25-45
households per community. The farmers with agricultural fields within the park, with the
exception of cooperative farmers in two communities and a cluster of farmers with
private land in one community, were squatters that followed newly opened roads to settle
the vast public lands of the reserve. Separate questionnaires were administered to the
household heads and their partners. For the purpose of this analysis, the sample was
reduced to 241 heads of household by excluding a community of returned refugees, an
anomaly in the park.
The survey collected information on variables selected from literature reviews and
from surveys in the Ecuadorian Amazon (e.g., Bilsborrow and Pan 2001) and the
Mexican Yucatán (Turner II et al, 2004). Building on these and other previous studies,
the survey was crafted in content and expression to fit the cultural mores of the SLNP
region. Assistance in this effort came from several sources, most important among them
were (a) Norman Schwartz of the Pro-Petén-Conservation International (Corzo-Márquez
and Obando 2000), (b) Jorge Grunberg, formerly of the CARE (Macz and Grunberg
1999), (c) Edgar Calderón Rudy Herrera and Edgar Calderón of The Nature Conservancy
(The Nature Conservancy 1997), and (d) members of the Guatemalan agro-forestry aid
institute, Centro Maya. Lastly, variables were derived from additions and modifications
of earlier instruments with the help of my Peténero interview team and from many long
discussions with community leaders in the SLNP.
Eight forestry students from the Centro Universitario de Petén and a Q’eqchi
Maya interpreter (approximately 13% of the sample is Q’eqchi) comprised the Peténero
interview team. Before implementing the survey, the author lived among the
communities for several months conducting informal interviews and making observations
in order to improve questionnaire content and design and to gain the trust of local
households to ensure data fidelity.
The fieldwork was more successful than planned. Hard work and patience were
necessary, as well as a good bit of luck. The socio-political climate at the time augured
poorly for successful data collection. Farmers were wary of government-backed attempts
to relocate them off parkland. Indeed, the very organization that supported this study,
56
The Nature Conservancy, was spearheading negotiations with community leaders to
relocate several communities from the core zone of the park. Farmers prepared to fight
The Nature Conservancy for their land, as some stated “over our dead bodies.” Vigilante
justice in the SLNP has filled the lacuna left by the virtual absence of a governmentsponsored police force.
The natural conditions were also less than propitious for carrying out fieldwork. A
drought stoked severe forest fires in the SLNP region during the spring of 1998. Flames
engulfed significant portions of the park’s lower forest canopy and destroyed farmers’
crops. A thick haze of smoke completely absorbed the tropical sun’s rays during all but
the last month of fieldwork and trees felled from forest fires obstructed our advance on
several occasions.
In some communities, a large portion of the harvest was burned to ashes, and
locals were surviving on carefully measured rations of maize in the form of tortillas and
atol (maize gruel). I enjoyed a thrice-daily meal consisting only of corn tortillas and corn
mush for weeks several weeks at a time. Rare exceptions to the maize monotony
included the delicacy of cooked tepescuintle (a large jungle rat), and the occasional
(perhaps once a week) serving of chile, squash, or lemon grass to accompany the meal.
Still, all of the interviewees completed the fieldwork and only one person, of the more
than 500 total interviewed, declined participation in the survey.
Based on collected data from surveys at the farm level in the SLNP, this paper
seeks to understand the impact of colonization on forest clearing based on the land use of
settler farmers. The next section examines descriptive results on household farm land
use, followed by a discussion of family composition and demographic structure and
socioeconomic, political, and ecological background characteristics.
Results
Land Use
Most farmers cultivated 4–8 ha of maizewhich was sometimes supplemented
by frijól (Phaseolus vulgaris) or pepitoria (Cucurbita. pepo)and had approximately the
same amount of land in fallow land (Figure 1). One-quarter of the households (all nonrenters and many with some degree of legal claim to their farm) owned some cattle,
usually only a few head. Because settlement occurred in recent years, most farms, except
the small plots of renters, had yet to complete their crop rotations, to adopt or increase
land in pasture, or to develop their farms in other ways to fully realize household needs
and aspirations. Therefore, on most farms—typically 25–45 ha in size—substantial tracts
of forestland remained.
Since SLNP farmers, as is typical in a frontier environment, enjoy land abundance
and suffer labor and capital scarcity, shifting agriculture is a desirable strategy. Farmers
cultivate maize (Zea mays) according to household subsistence needs but also work long
hours to produce surpluses for sale to earn cash to buy household goods such as cooking
oil, coffee, salt, sugar, and soap. Maize is the sole crop grown by many farmers. A
minority rotate maize seasonally with frijol. After two years, a second agricultural plot is
usually established on recently cleared land.
57
FIGURE 2. CLEARING A MILPA FROM THE FOREST, FAMERS DISCOVER
MAYA RUINS
After a period of at least two years, and usually four or more, is preferred before
returning to the initial plot. This “bush fallow” rotation is very common in the Maya
Biosphere Reserve (Schwartz, 1995; Corzo-Márquez & Obando, 2000; Fagan, 2000;
Grunberg. J. Ed., 2000) and the buffer zone areas of the reserve (Shriar, 2000) and is
consistent with the short-fallow farming system centered predominantly on subsistence
maize found throughout the Maya forests during the initial years of colonization; such
practices were present, for example, in the Mexican Yucatán (Ewell & Merril-Sands,
1987; Humphries, 1993; Klepeis et al., 2004; Faust & Bilsborrow, 1999) and other
sparsely populated areas of Guatemala (Orellana & Castro, 1983; McCreery, 1994;
Valenzuela, 1996).
Nevertheless, since the fieldwork was conducted in 1998, the principle road
running adjacent to the SLNP has been paved, with plans to build a road that will connect
the region to markets in Mexico. This has enabled improved connections with the
departmental capital, Flores, which in turn is now better connected with Belize and
Guatemala City due to recent road improvements. With improved transportation links
connecting the region to domestic markets as well as to those in Mexico and Belize, the
expansive maize-dominated farming system could become more diverse, intensive, and
market oriented, as has happened with the shift to chile among neighboring Mexican
farmers (Keys, 2005). Such a process is well-documented in other regions of Guatemala
and Latin America in general. For example, in the Sierra de las Minas National Park in
Guatemala, migrant Q’eqchí farmers maintained a traditional bush fallow maize system
but also adopted more intensive cardamom production as a cash crop following shrinking
land availability and increasing international market demands for the crop (Castellon,
1996). Similarly, in the Ecuadorian Oriente, Pichón (1997) describes more market-
58
oriented farmers with large areas in perennials (e.g., coffee) once subsistence became
secure following several years of successful production of crops for home consumption.
Despite substantial potential for further agricultural extensification (i.e., farms
still have substantial amounts of forest remaining), two intensification techniques are
employed by nearly half the farmers in the sampled communities: the cropping of velvet
bean and the use of herbicides. The use of velvet bean (Mucuna pruriens) as a green
manure is being rapidly adopted. Velvet bean is a nitrogen-fixing legume grown in the
milpa that can nearly double maize yields during the second harvest, at which time
farmers can fetch double the revenues from their yield (Mausolff & Ferber, 1995; Shriar,
2000). Mucuna plots or aboneras (these are separate from the plots used for the primera)
are planted with maize shortly after planting the primera. Nitrogen is fixed in the soil
over time by these legumes such that the soil is enriched for the development of the
segunda harvest. This cycle is repeated yearly on the same milpa, thus reducing the need
to clear more forest. Secondly, herbicides are sometimes sprayed (by approximately half
the farmers), particularly on plots that have been farmed more than once.
As in other parts of Latin America, it is the dream of many farmers to become
cattle ranchers whose cattle is used to occupy land with no further economical benefit or
is consumed by elites (DeWalt, 1985; Carr, 2004). Yet cattle require capital beyond the
means of many farmers, and therefore only “wealthier” farmers can convert this dream to
reality. Cattle are also typically held as an insurance to be sold locally in times of need.
Cattle ranching is extensive, and pastures are usually managed without rotations on
existing fallow land but rather through further forest clearing.
I have discussed the principle land uses and land management strategies of
farmers in the SLNP frontier. Agricultural production represents the means to survival
and the dreams of household improvement in the years to come. Household farm land use
is also the primary driver of deforestation in the SLNP, just as it is in other frontiers
throughout the Maya forest and the Latin American tropics. Demographic, politicaleconomic, socio-economic, and ecological factors are hypothesized to relate to land use
and forest conversion on these frontier farms. The following section is a first exploration
of some of these factors.
Demographic Characteristics
Demographic dynamics on the frontier are intimately related to land use and
forest conversion patterns (Carr et al, 2006). Life cycle effects are of particular
importance to land use on the frontier. Forest conversion is usually high following
settlement with young families clearing forest for subsistence production (Pichón 1997).
Some years later, children increasingly add to the household labor supply, and perennials
and/or livestock tend to diversify farm holdings while older children may out-migrate to
establish new farms or search for employment elsewhere (Barbieri and Carr 2005).
Whether lifecycle development on the farm increases or decreases forest conversion will
depend on the relative emphasis placed on each land use and on family food and capital
demands (Carr, Suter, et al 2006; Perz 2001; McCracken, Siqueira et al. 2002; Walker,
Perz et al., 2002). In the SLNP, most families remain in the early stage of the life cycle,
and their first deforestation pulse is evident in the relatively small amount of land in
maize and fallow relative to forest (Figure 1).
59
Most population growth in agricultural frontiers is due to in-migration (Carr
2009). However, fertility is particularly high in remote rural regions and has been
correlated with more expansive land use (Carr, Pan et al 2006; Sutherland et al., 2004;
Pichón, 1997; Rosero-Bixby & Palloni, 1998). In Petén, the total fertility rate remained at
6.8 births per woman in the most recent Demographic and Health Survey (Sutherland et
al., 2004). Unlike most other studies from more developed agricultural frontiers,
descriptive results from the survey underscore the homogeneity of land use and socioeconomic and ecological characteristics of the region and its settlers. Such uniformity
belies the diversity of settler origins. The southeast region of the country, particularly
Izabal, is the most represented area of migrant origin (Table 1). Most settlers had lived in
areas other than their village of birth, many residing in southern Petén (39%) or Izabal
before migrating to the SLNP (Carr, 2008b). Most of the settlers arrived in the park after
1988, mostly from diverse rural regions of Guatemala. The average residence duration
on the farm was nine years. Some farmers arrived as early as the late 1960s and early
1970s, usually as rubber tappers (Schwartz, 1990). Prior to 1987, only a handful of
farmers had established settlement in the area. Migration began in earnest following the
completion of a road from Flores (the departmental capital in the center of Petén) to El
Naranjo (to the west on the Mexican border) in the mid-1980s with a large wave of
colonists arriving between 1987 and 1993. This period coincides with waves of intense
violence in rural areas of Guatemala. Although few colonists cited the war as the primary
reason for migration, many mentioned that it served as a catalyst, if not a direct cause, for
land and wage-deprived rural households to migrate to the SLNP.
Table 1. Demographic Characteristics
Migration and Migrant Characteristics
Duration in current residence (years)
N
241
Region of origin
Previous Residence (other than origin)
241
241
Reason for Migration
241
Peten
9%
39%
Mean
9.2
Median
8.0
Standard
Deviation
5.9
Southeast
48%
12%
Verapaces
10%
2%
Highlands
9%
0%
Pacific Littoral
24%
5%
To own land
5%
Family
9%
Other
10%
Acquire more Acquire better
land
land
68%
8%
Intention to Remain in Origin
241
Wished to
remain
71%
Household Demographics
Household Size (years)
Age of Household head (years)
Age of partner (years)
Household Population Density (a)
Sex ratio(b)
Adult Sex Ratio(c)
Child Dependency*(d)
N
241
241
229
241
241
239
241
Mean
6.5
40.0
34.4
8.6
1.2
1.3
1.6
Wished to
migrate
29%
Median
6.0
39.0
33.0
8.0
1.0
1.0
0.8
Standard
Deviation
3.1
13.5
12.2
57.3
1.1
0.6
0.9
a) Household Population Density is the number of members of a household relative to one caballeria of land (45 ha.).
This is the size of the plurality of farms.
b) Sex Ratio equals all males/all females.
c) Adult Sex Ratio is the same as Sex Ratio but for people 18 or older.
d) Child Dependency Ratio equals Children <12 / Adults > 12.
60
All but a few of the households were nuclear. (DHS, 1998). The mean household
size of 6.5 persons per household was higher than the national mean (5.3), the national
rural mean (5.6), and Petén’s average of 5.7 (INE, 1999). Given the young age that was
found for the household heads and their partners (40 and 34, respectively), the large
number of children suggests that fertility was notably higher than in other rural regions of
Guatemala—the nation with the highest rural fertility in Latin America While most men
and women claimed to want fewer children, less than one-quarter of all households was
using contraception of any form. Given the apparently high fertility rate and the large
number of young women in the area, natural population growth, even with unusually high
mortality, likely exceeded 3% annually, and the young population portends continued
high growth into the near future. At almost nine persons per caballería (45 ha), the
household population density (measured as household members per caballería of land
occupied by the household) exceeded what local farmers would consider the region’s
carrying capacity. A caballería is commonly and ubiquitously cited as the standard
amount of land that is needed to support a family over time with minimal technical inputs
(Carr, 2006). The male-dominated adult sex ratio in the SLNP (129 men per 100 women)
was similar to other frontier regions and is explained by the fact that men often settle
frontier regions first and are followed by their spouses and young children after secure
settlement has been established (Martine, 1981). There were approximately one and one
half children under 12 years of age relative to adults twelve years or older in the average
household. This is a proxy measure for the consumer to producer ratio for the household
and suggests a surplus of producers to consumers.2
Political-economic Characteristics
Table 2 describes political-economic characteristics of the sample households.
Nearly 70% of the households were homesteaders squatting illegally on park land or were
renting land. Nevertheless, these farmers were generally recognized to enjoy full access
rights to their farmland within their respective communities (if not always externally as
witnessed by continued land invasion attempts) (Carr, 2006). Almost a third of the
farmers reported having some legal claim to their farm (approximately half of which had
legal claim through membership in an agricultural cooperative). A large body of
literature debates the role of land tenure in influencing farmer land-use decisions, with
most investigators agreeing that secure land title impels farmers to manage resources
more sustainably (Southgate, et al., 1990; Barbier, 2004). However, in the SLNP, farmers
were usually only in the preliminary stages of legally claiming their land. Specifically,
farmers had typically already applied for land ownership to the National Institute for
Agrarian Transformation (INTA) or possessed documents showing measurement of the
plot (usually performed by a private surveying agency, as INTA was overwhelmed with
requests for farm measurements), a required step in the legalization process (Carr and
Barbieri, 2006). Only farms adjacent to the road (on the southeast side) or, most recently,
in the southern portion of the park that had been rezoned as a “multiple use zone” may
credibly make a claim to legal title.
61
Table 2. Political-economic Characteristics
Squatter
Some Legal Claim to the Farm
Received Credit - previous 12 Months
Contact with NGO or GO - previous 12 Months
Knowledge of the Park's Existence
N
241
241
241
241
241
Percent
affirmative
69%
31%
5%
41%
66%
Mean Farm
Size (ha.)
29.9
45.5
Standard
Deviation
20.9
23.5
Good
Bad
No opinion
Opinion Only
of SLNP
a handful
68% credit from
18%a credit lending
16%
(5%) of all households241
had received
agency, usually for developing cattle activities. However, many households had also
incurred debt from credit loans provided by middlemen who stored or transported crops.
Middlemen lent money to farmers for help in hiring labor for cutting trees, planting, or
harvesting, in exchange for a portion of their crop or for a low price at harvest time.
Consistent with reports from community leaders, fewer than half the survey
respondents claimed to have had contact with a conservation or development agent.
Astoundingly, and consistent with reports from community leaders, a full third of the
respondents claimed to have never heard of the park. Virtually all agreed that
conservation efforts should not be developed to the detriment of farming “their” land.
Socio-economic Characteristics
Several recent studies from agricultural frontiers in South America point to the
importance of household-level socio-economic and individual characteristics relating to
land use, forest conversion, and economic development (Pan et al, 2004; Brondizio, et al,
2002). Three-quarters of the sample were Ladinos (Table 3), about 13% were Q’eqchí
Maya, and the remaining belonged to various other Maya groups. Although some
authors argue that the Q’eqchí Maya are more expansive in their swidden rotation and
less crop diverse than other indigenous groups and Ladinos, and thus more destructive of
the tropical forests in the region (e.g., Atran, 1999), the two groups appear to have had
similar impacts on the park’s forests at the farm level (Carr, 2004). Almost half the
sample was Catholic; the other half was divided fairly evenly between Evangelicals and
Agnostics (non-believers). Most households remained poor following settlement in the
region. The average household had little more than a room, a palm leaf roof, walls of
sticks, and dirt floors. In a measure of some basic assets (e.g., radio, automobile,
chainsaw, horse/burro, automobile), the average number of assets per family was one;
usually a radio was the sole item owned. Only a few local commercial “middlemen”
owned a truck. Typically, one or two (at most) possessed a chainsaw per community.
Horses and burros were owned by only a small fraction of households, a strong indication
of the extreme shortage of capital among the households since, for the majority, these
beasts of burden represented the only source of transportation (besides the farmer’s own
backs) to haul maize to middlemen on the road. Another source of income, in addition to
selling maize or renting out chainsaws or animals, was working on neighboring farms for
a modest daily wage. Almost half of the household heads worked as a wage laborer at
least once during the year previous to data collection, usually during times of great labor
62
demand, such as harvest season. A further socio-economic indication that the sample was
at a clear disadvantage relative to other regions in the country was educational
achievement. None of the surveyed had an education beyond primary school. These
education levels were below the national average, as almost half the population had
finished primary school (INE, 1999). One-third of school-age children attended classes,
but attendance was usually quite irregular.
Table 3. Ethnicity and Religion N
Ethnicity
241
Ladino Q'eqchi Other Maya
76%
13%
10%
Catholic Evangelical Agnostic Other
42%
24%
28%
5%
Percentage
affirmative Mean
Median MaximumMinimum
100%
1.2
1.0
4.0
0.0
100%
6.0
5.0
12.0
3.0
43%
43%
Religion
241
Household SES Characteristics
Assets
House Conditions
Participation in off-farm labor
N
241
241
241
Education
N Percent of total
241
57%
241
11%
241
32%
Household head began primary school
Household head finished primary school
School-aged children in primary school
Size of total farm holdings according to farm statusPercentage
(in ha.)
affirmative Mean ha. Median ha.Maximum ha. Minimum ha.
Size of total holdings (ha.)
100%
34.8
42.3
135.2
0.7
Renter
7%
41.8
41.6
67.6
19.7
12.1
2.8
90.1
0.7
Rentee
23%
Percent inheriting farm
28.7
30.3
60.6
2.8
7%
17%
Has additional agricultural fields
32.5
33.8
90.1
1.4
Farm Distance to Road (in km.)
Farm Distance to Road (km.)
Mean km. Median km.Maximum km.Minimum km.
20.0
5.9
4.0
0.0
Early arrivals to the region typically claimed squatter farms of one caballería in
size, though some earlier arrivals claimed two or more additional caballerías for friends
and family. By 1998, the average farm size had shrunk to several hectares smaller than a
caballería. As children become adults and further colonists seek land, farm fragmentation
is likely to increase dramatically in the coming years, a pattern consistent with the
evolution of frontier development observed in the Amazon and elsewhere in Latin
America (Moran 1985; Pan, Walsh et al. 2004). It is notable that many more farmers in
the sample rented land (42%) compared to those that rented it out to others (13%),
suggesting that some of the larger farms had multiple renters farming portions of their
63
farm. Nearly one-fifth of the farmers in the sample worked on more than one farm
parcel. The mean distance of farm plots to a road was 6 km, but most had farms within 5
km of the road. Those arriving during the first wave of colonization in the 1980s and
early 1990s enjoyed squatters’ rights to land closer to the road. Subsequent colonists
either claimed land further into the park, or they purchased or rented land closer to the
road.
Ecological Characteristics
An understudied aspect of frontier societies and land use is the role of ecological
endowments and environmental change in shaping land use and land cover outcomes.
However, compelling evidence exists of soil degradation fanning further forest
conversion in South American frontiers (e.g., Hecht and Cockburn, 1989). In the SLNP,
farm plots generally shared flat to slightly hilly slopes. Only a quarter of the informants
complained that they endured poor soils; 40% opined that their soil was highly fertile,
and the remainder (35%) claimed to have average soils (Table 4). Virtually all farmers in
the sample claimed that compared to migrant origin areas, the recently farmed soils of the
SLNP were a significant improvement over the soils of their origin areas, which they
frequently described as “burned” or “very poor.” Slightly less than half of the farmers
reported having hilly land on their farm. This is notable, considering that the SLNP
region is characterized by jagged karstic terrain and is another indicator of the relatively
low population density that makes cropping on steep slopes unnecessary (Figure 3).
Nevertheless, in interior communities confined between the valleys of the sharp ridges of
the Lacandón mountain chains, such as Poza Azul and Nueva Jerusalén II, agricultural
expansion on hillsides is becoming more common and is expected to increase over time
and is associated with acceleration in erosion rates. A caveat to these findings is that
these measurements were provided by farmer responses rather than direct measurement.
Table 4. Farm Soil and Topography
Very fertile
Average soil
Poor soil
Hilly topography
Flat topography
N
241
241
241
241
241
Percent
affirmative
40%
35%
24%
45%
55%
64
FIGURE 3: JAGGED TERRAIN ON STEEP SLOPES IN SLNP
Conclusion
This paper presented data on farm-level land use as well as demographic, socioeconomic, political-economic, and ecological characteristics of households and their
farms in the Sierra de Lacandón National Park, Guatemala. The sample is the first
detailed survey of human population and environment interactions in an emerging
agricultural frontier in Central America. Land use was extensive, suggesting low levels of
agricultural technology, an abundance of available land, and a scarcity of labor.
Households were large, indicating a lack of health and family planning services.
Education levels were well below the national rural average, auguring poorly for
alternative employment opportunities for settlers and for widening the career horizons of
65
settler children. Development aid for conservation and development was scarcely
apparent. Lastly, ecological conditions, while generally favorable, appear to be worsening
with farm fragmentation and farmland expansion to more marginal lands.
Future research will need to explore how these variables interact at multiple scales
relative to land use/land cover change and other socio-economic and demographic
outcomes. There is an urgent need for such research to influence policy aimed at
improving settler household wellbeing and ameliorating farming impacts on the precious
ecosystems of the Maya Forest. A follow up visit in the spring of 2009 indicated that over
the 10 year time period since this research was conducted, dramatic deforestation has
occurred, with much of the land converted to pasture. The SLNP frontier is effectively
closed unless new roads are built to provide access to the interior of the park; currently
the frontier is several kilometers from the main road. Follow up surveys in the region will
help document changes over time of potential benefit to both conservation and
development communities. Such research promises to improve our understanding of
human-environment interactions in tropical frontier environments, where much of the
world’s forests have been converted to agriculture by some of the world’s most
economically marginalized people.
Acknowledgements
This research was conducted thanks to the generous support of the following
sources: National Aeronautics and Space Administration, the National Institutes of
Health, the National Science Foundation, Latané Center for the Human Sciences, the
Mellon Foundation Social Science Research Council, Association of American
Geographers, and the University of North Carolina Institute of Latin American Studies,
Department of Biostatistics, Carolina Population Center, and Royster Society of Fellows.
1
Agricultural frontier is defined here borrowing from Almeida’s (1992) definition as an area that
“experienced rapid increase in population and land appropriation…[and the] geographical boundary
between ‘directly productive’ and ‘usury-mercantile’ capital…[that]…lasts as long as landed property does
not consolidate.”
2
The traditional Child Dependency Ratio employs the formula (Children<15 / Adults 15-64). However,
since most adults in the sample commence farm work at age 12, I have adjusted this measure to the more
faithfully capture the concept of child dependency.
66
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Nuclear Proliferation and Authority in World Politics
Brian Frederking, Ph.D.
Kaitlyne Motl
Nishant Timilsina
McKendree University
[email protected]
Abstract
We apply the “security-hierarchy paradox” to nuclear proliferation. Global security requires
a certain amount of hierarchy. A world in which no nuclear proliferation rules exist to
constrain states, for example, would not be secure. Global security requires legitimate and
authoritative rules, which we define as rules that are mutually negotiated, binding to all and
which provide a stable social order. Too much hierarchy, however, amounts to coercion and
undermines global security. Rules that are not mutually negotiated, binding to all or do not
provide a stable social order are not authoritative. We argue that North Korea and Iran have
attempted to build nuclear weapons because they interpret the proliferation rules to lack
authority. The coercive U.S. approaches to enforcing proliferation rules – including
diplomatic isolation, preemption, and regime change – have undermined the legitimacy of
those rules. When the U.S. pursues less hierarchical policies, as it has recently toward North
Korea, the ensuing negotiations have facilitated progress toward an agreement. When the
U.S. pursues a consistently hierarchical approach, as it has toward Iran, no progress is made.
Our analysis suggests that it is worth attempting a less hierarchical approach toward Iran and
encourage it to accept a deal similar to the one negotiated with North Korea.
73
Introduction
Efforts by North Korea and Iran to acquire nuclear weapons threaten the authority of
global nonproliferation rules. A nuclear North Korea could trigger further nuclear proliferation in
South Korea and Japan. A nuclear Iran might encourage not only Israel to be less ambiguous
about its nuclear status but also Sunni states in the region to consider nuclear weapons. Both
North Korea and Iran might also sell its weapons to others. The unraveling of global
nonproliferation rules is widely considered to be harmful to global security. Whether the
international community can maintain the legitimacy and authority of global nonproliferation
rules, given attempts by North Korea and Iran to violate those rules, is an urgent contemporary
global security issue.
We will analyze these cases using a rule-oriented constructivist approach to the concepts
of authority, hierarchy, and legitimacy in world politics. This approach argues that contemporary
global security threats require intermediate levels of hierarchy or legitimate authority constituted
by rules mutually negotiated and binding to all. Both too little hierarchy and too much hierarchy
are harmful to global security. We argue that both Iran and North Korea are challenging the
proliferation rules because they claim that the U.S. has been pursuing too much hierarchy –
polices of regime change, diplomatic isolation and preemption – to enforce those rules. We also
argue that a less hierarchical U.S. approach toward North Korea has helped ameliorate that
particular conflict and that the U.S. should attempt a similarly less hierarchical approach toward
Iran.
We proceed in three steps. First, we develop a rule-oriented constructivist approach to the
concepts of authority, hierarchy and legitimacy in world politics. We connect these concepts to
the “security hierarchy paradox,” which argues that both too little and too much hierarchy is
harmful to world politics (Frederking, 2007). Second, we summarize the global nonproliferation
rules and apply the rule-oriented constructivist framework to global efforts to enforce those rules
in North Korea and Iran. Finally, we conclude that these cases support the argument that
nonproliferation efforts are more likely to fail when powerful countries pursue “too much”
hierarchy and are more likely to succeed when powerful countries invoke legitimate,
authoritative rules.
Rule-Oriented Constructivism, Authority, and Hierarchy
Lake (2007) argues that both authority and hierarchy are central to world politics.
Mainstream approaches to international relations, however, use a formal conception of authority
that precludes the possibility of hierarchy in world politics. The modern conception of authority,
following Max Weber, is based on law: authority comes from one’s lawful position or office.
This notion, together with the anarchy assumption, leads to the conclusion that international
politics lacks authority. Since there is no lawful institution above the state, there is no authority
above the state and therefore no hierarchy in world politics.
Lake posits “an alternative, relational conception of authority that uncovers hierarchical
relationships between states” (2007, 49). Authority is a contract between the ruler and the ruled:
the ruler provides a stable social order, and the ruled accept a certain loss of freedom. Authority
is constituted by social acceptance of the legitimacy of the rules. Authority is distinct from, but
closely related to, coercion. Coercion is a necessary component of authority given the incentives
to flout (even legitimate) rules. Lake laments the difficulty of distinguishing authority from
coercion in empirical cases:
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Despite their clear analytic differences, political authority and coercion are hard to
distinguish in practice. They are deeply intertwined, making it difficult for
analysts to conclude whether, in any given instance, a subordinate state follows a
dominant state’s command out of obligation or force (2007, 53).
Lake concludes the core problem is that “obligation, central to the difference between authority
and other forms of power, is inherently unobservable” (2007, 61).
We argue that interpretive, linguistic methods are helpful in analyzing social concepts
like authority, hierarchy, and legitimacy. Whether an act stems from obligation or force may be
inferred through language. The key distinction between authority and coercion is whether or not
the ruled interprets the ruler to be invoking a legitimate rule, which we define as a rule that is
mutually negotiated and binding to all. Whether a hierarchical act is a legitimate use of political
authority or an illegitimate act of coercion depends on social acts of collective interpretation:
language, deliberation, and judgment. Authority, hierarchy, and legitimacy are socially
constructed categories and are thus amenable to interpretive analysis.
One type of interpretive analysis relies on rule-oriented constructivism (Onuf 1989, 1998;
Frederking, 2003; Duffy and Frederking, 2008). There are two main arguments of rule-oriented
constructivism. The first argument, shared by all constructivists, is that the structures governing
world politics are primarily social. The second argument, which characterizes rule-oriented
constructivism, is that communicatively rational agents use speech acts to construct the social
rules governing world politics. The first argument distinguishes constructivism from mainstream
IR theories that rely primarily on material factors of power (realism) and wealth (neoliberalism).
The second argument distinguishes constructivism from mainstream approaches that rely on a
rationalist understanding of social interaction in which actors engage in utility maximization and
cost-benefit calculations.
The first argument – that structures governing world politics are primarily social – asserts
the primacy of social facts, or facts that exist because all the relevant agents agree they exist
(Searle 1995). Rule-oriented constructivists consider Searle’s social facts to be rules, arguing that
social facts like sovereignty, property, human rights, deterrence, and collective security are the
rules governing world politics. Rules are both constitutive and regulative. Rules are constitutive
because they tell us what is possible. Rules are regulative because they tell us what is
permissible. Rules enable agents to act; they tell us the nature of the situation we are in, who we
and others are, and what goals are appropriate. The regulative nature of rules is straightforward:
rules tell us what to do. The constitutive nature of rules is less easy to see: rules constitute our
shared social reality by defining agents and contexts. They make action possible by telling agents
how to understand themselves, their situation, and their choices within that situation. Global
security rules make security policies possible just as the rules of tennis make double faults
possible or the rules of chess make castling possible. They constitute our shared social reality.
We would not be able to understand the meaning of actions that influence our security – e.g.,
troop movements, weapons deployments, or peace negotiations – without them.
There are three different types of rules: beliefs, norms, and identities. Beliefs are shared
understandings of the world. Shared beliefs make truth claims about the world; to criticize a
belief is to say that it is untrue. Shared beliefs make action possible because agents agree on the
nature of the situation. Shared beliefs about how the world works (markets, security, terrorism,
the environment) are fundamental rules of world politics (Adler & Haas, 1992). For example,
shared beliefs about whether security is based on military capability or political relationships tell
states what is possible and permissible regarding arms control policies (Frederking, 2000).
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Norms are shared understandings of appropriate action. Norms make appropriateness
claims about relationships; to criticize a norm is to say that it is inappropriate. Norms both guide
action and make action possible, enabling agents to criticize assertions and justify actions.
Norms about how we should treat others (human rights, democracy, equality, hierarchy,
colonialism) are fundamental rules of world politics (Kratochwil, 1989). For example, norms
about the appropriateness of weapons of mass destruction influence the range of possible warfighting and deterrence policies (Price & Tannewald, 1996).
Identities are shared understandings of our selves and others. Identities make sincerity
claims about agents; to criticize a conveyed identity is to say that it is insincere. Identities enable
us to make sense of our actions and the actions of others. Identities about who we are and who
others are (enemies, allies, friends, “rogue” states, etc.) are fundamental rules of world politics
(Wendt, 1999). For example, identities about racial superiority influence decolonization policies
and humanitarian interventions (Crawford, 2002).
Rule-oriented constructivists ask: what are the rules? What are shared beliefs about how
the world works? What are shared norms about how to treat each other? What are shared
identities about who the agents are? Of course, agents often contest the rules. Much of world
politics are disputes over beliefs, norms, and identities. Rule-oriented constructivists explain
conflict by stating the competing rules preferred by different agents. For rule-oriented
constructivists the essence of world politics is the construction of politically contested rules.
The second rule-oriented constructivist argument is that communicatively rational agents
use speech acts to construct social rules. This argument distinguishes rule-oriented
constructivism from other forms of constructivism. It relies on speech act theory, which asserts
that language constitutes social action by invoking mutually recognized social rules (Austin,
1962; Searle, 1969). For example, saying “I do” in a marriage ceremony is a meaningful act
because it invokes the rules of marriage. A touchdown creates six points and a promise creates an
obligation because those acts invoke the rules of football and promising. In the same way, states’
security policies invoke the rules of global security.
Four major types of speech acts are assertions, directives, commitments, and expressions.
Assertions convey knowledge about the world. Examples include common arguments like
“democratic governments do not go to war with each other” and “free trade maximizes economic
efficiency.” Directives tell us what we must or should do and often include consequences for
disregarding them. Examples include domestic laws, Security Council resolutions, and uses of
force. Commitments are promises to act in a particular way. Examples include treaties, contracts,
and international trade. Expressions convey a psychological state. Examples include apologizing,
boasting, criticizing, or welcoming.
Kulbalkova (2001) summarizes how rule-oriented constructivists understand the relationship
between speech acts and rules:
Rules derive from, work like, and depend on speech acts, and language and rules
together (they can never be separated) are the medium through which agents and
structures may be said to constitute each other….To study international relations,
or any other aspect of human existence, is to study language and rules (p. 64).
Language connects agents (speech acts) and structure (rules). When we speak, we (re)create the
world. Rules – shared beliefs, norms, and identities – have the form of speech acts. Shared beliefs
take the form of assertions that make truth claims about the world. Norms take the form of
directives and commitments that make appropriateness claims about how we should treat each
other. And identities take the form of expressions that make sincerity claims about who we and
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others are. These connections show that when agents perform speech acts, they necessarily invoke
social rules. Speech acts have meaning only within an already existing structure of social rules.
For rule-oriented constructivists, agents perform speech acts, convey claims, interpret and
evaluate the claims of others, and act on the basis of shared claims. Agents are communicatively
rational. Communicative rationality defines a rational act as one that effectively conveys claims
and invokes rules so that others correctly interpret it (Habermas, 1984 & 1987; Risse, 2000).
Communicatively rational speech acts convey implicit claims of truth (beliefs), appropriateness
(norms), and sincerity (identity). This dialogic process of agents conveying and evaluating the
claims of each other’s speech acts constructs and reconstructs social rules.
Rule-oriented constructivists take rules and language seriously. Rules make agents, and
agents make rules through language: “Constructivism challenges the positivist view that
language serves only to represent the world as it is. Language also serves a constitutive function.
By speaking, we make the world what it is” (Onuf, 2002, p 126). Language is not a neutral
medium; language is itself action. Rule-oriented constructivists thus have an interpretive view of
social science (Alker, 1996). To understand an act, one must know an agent’s contextual
understanding of the situation. One must know the reason for the action. One must know which
social rule the agent is invoking with the act. To explain an action, one refers to the rule the
agent is following.
This rule-oriented constructivist approach to world politics relies on a social, linguistic
understanding of hierarchy, authority, and legitimacy. For rule-oriented constructivists, hierarchy
exists when one or more states can issue directives to the majority of states, but the majority of
states cannot issue directives to the more powerful states. For rule-oriented constructivists,
authority exists when the directives issued by powerful states are interpreted as legitimate
because they invoke mutually negotiated and binding rules that provide for a social order. One
can then combine these concepts into the “security hierarchy paradox.”
A certain amount of hierarchy is necessary for global security. Consider the issue of
weapons of mass destruction (WMD). Dealing with this transnational security threat requires
agreed upon rules in treaty language and Security Council resolutions; global bureaucrats to
monitor, inspect, and verify compliance; and enforcement mechanisms for those who fail to
comply. A lack of hierarchy – and legitimate authority – would exist in a world where states
assert a sovereign right to accumulate whatever weapons they want. If we agree that preventing
the proliferation of these weapons is necessary for global security, then global security requires a
certain amount of hierarchy in which powerful states issue directives to all states. Such directives
must invoke rules that are fair and legitimate (Tannenwald, 2004). The security hierarchy
paradox also asserts that too much hierarchy – coercion – harms global security. Powerful
countries generally assert too much hierarchy in three ways: (1) relying on the unilateral use of
force (invoking rules that are not mutually negotiated); (2) asserting that certain rules do not
apply to them (invoking rules that are not binding to all); and (3) advocating a harsh approach
toward suspected rule violators, including diplomatic isolation and even regime change
(invoking rules that do not lead to a stable social order).
Global security thus requires political authority, or an intermediate level of hierarchy.
This condition is constituted by legitimate rules – mutually negotiated and binding rules that
provide a stable social order (Kegley & Raymond 2007; Jervis, 2005). If powerful countries
follow global security rules, then others will acknowledge their leadership as legitimate. If
powerful countries assert exceptions to the rules and pursue too much hierarchy, then they
undermine their own authority, reduce the legitimacy of the international order, and thus fail to
live up to their end of the bargain.
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Global Proliferation Rules
The rule-oriented constructivist question is: what are the rules? What are the global rules
of nuclear proliferation? Many of the rules are in the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT).
The NPT established different rules for nuclear and non-nuclear states. The NPT prohibits nonnuclear states from developing nuclear weapons and obligates them to accept regular inspections
by the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) to monitor compliance. The NPT obligates
the nuclear powers in three ways: (1) to make good faith efforts to reduce their nuclear stockpiles
and make progress toward nuclear disarmament; (2) to provide nuclear technology, with
safeguards monitored by the IAEA, to non-nuclear states; and (3) to extend nuclear deterrence
policies to any NPT member threatened by nuclear weapons.
We presume that these rules constitute “legitimate political authority.” That is, they are
mutually negotiated rules, they are binding to all, and they provide for a stable social order. Their
authority is constituted by a bargain between nuclear and non-nuclear states: the latter agree not
to build nuclear weapons, and in return the former agree to provide peaceful nuclear technology,
offer security guarantees, and negotiate reductions in their nuclear arsenals. The nuclear states
provide for a stable social order, and the non-nuclear states agree to a reduced, non-nuclear
status. By the mid 1990s the vast majority of states had ratified the NPT. There were significant
holdouts – including countries like India, Pakistan and Israel, greatly influenced by a local
rivalry – but overall the world had agreed to a set of nuclear non-proliferation rules. The IAEA
had safeguard agreements to inspect nuclear facilities with over 150 states. The IAEA now
annually carries out over 2,000 inspections at over 600 facilities.
The authority of these rules, though, was tested at the 1995 NPT review conference when
the state parties discussed whether to permanently extend the treaty. The nuclear states favored a
permanent extension, and to achieve this they agreed to three demands by the non-nuclear states:
(1) complete negotiations on the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT), (2) seriously discuss
nuclear disarmament as mandated by the NPT, and (3) accept strengthened IAEA review
processes for nuclear states. At both the 2000 and 2005 reviews the non-nuclear states continued
to demand that the nuclear states adhere to the CTBT and begin good faith negotiations toward
nuclear disarmament. Many non-nuclear states believe that nuclear states have reneged on these
NPT commitments (Graham & Lavera, 2002).
If authority in world politics is based on a bargain between the rulers and the ruled, then
the authority of the nuclear proliferation rules is jeopardized if the rulers do not keep their end of
the bargain. The U.S. has received the most criticism, particularly due to its abandonment of the
Anti- Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty and rejection of the CTBT. Both actions suggest that U.S.
intentions are to build the next generation of nuclear weapons and risk an arms race with the
other nuclear states, the opposite of its NPT obligation to negotiate steady reductions (Bajpai,
2003). With these acts, and others, including selling nuclear related materials to India, the U.S.
has undermined the authority of nuclear proliferation rules. The continued authority of nuclear
proliferation rules is based on a bargain: non-proliferation in exchange for technology assistance,
security guarantees and steady reductions of nuclear weapons. At some point the ruled might
start asking why they should continue to comply with the bargain if the rulers do not.
In the next section, we make two arguments. First, we rely on the rule-oriented
constructivist concepts of rules, hierarchy, and authority to argue that both North Korea and Iran
dispute the authority of the nuclear proliferation rules. For rules to be authoritative, they must be
binding to all. However, the U.S. has insisted that Iran and North Korea comply with the NPT
rules for non-nuclear states without agreeing to be bound by the NPT rules obligating nuclear
states. The U.S. has not supported resolutions to the conflicts consistent with NPT rules: non-
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proliferation in exchange for technology assistance, security guarantees, and steady reductions of
nuclear weapons. The U.S. has also attempted to enforce such one-sided rules in coercive and
overly hierarchical ways, including diplomatic isolation, preemption, and regime change. The
U.S. has not succeeded in enforcing nonproliferation rules because it has pursued too much
hierarchy.
Second, we argue that a less hierarchical approach by the U.S. toward North Korea and
Iran is a necessary condition for those countries to accept the authority of nonproliferation rules.
In recent years the U.S. has made more progress toward achieving an agreement with North
Korea than Iran because it has recently pursued less hierarchical policies toward North Korea
and has suggested possible agreements more consistent with NPT rules. Our analysis suggests
the possibility that a similarly less hierarchical approach toward Iran could yield similar results.
Nonproliferation Rules, North Korea, and Iran
U.S. and global efforts to prevent nuclear proliferation in North Korea can be categorized
as a three-step process: (1) an initial step of intermediate hierarchy that culminated in the 1994
Agreed Framework, (2) an extended step lasting over a decade and across two different
administrations categorized by high levels of hierarchy, and (3) declining levels of hierarchy and
movement toward an agreement that looks very much like both the 1994 Agreed Framework and
the NPT rules. We argue that this pattern of hierarchy explains whether North Korea considered
the nonproliferation rules to be authoritative throughout the interaction.
Step One
North Korea had embarked on a nuclear program throughout the cold war (Kerr, 2005;
Moon & Bae, 2005; Van Ness, 2005). Although North Korea signed the NPT in 1985 under
pressure from Mikhail Gorbachev, it resurrected and accelerated its nuclear program when China
normalized relations with South Korea in 1992. When IAEA inspectors found evidence of this in
March 1993, North Korea ended the inspections and said that it intended to withdraw from the
NPT. In April 1993 the IAEA declared that North Korea had violated its NPT obligations. The
Security Council responded with a May 11, 1993 resolution reaffirming the importance of
nonproliferation to the maintenance of international peace and security, urging North Korea to
remain a party to the NPT, and calling on North Korea to comply with the IAEA inspections
(SCR 825).
The international pressure, together with negotiations between the U.S. and North Korea
in Geneva, paid some dividends. On June 11, 1993 a joint North Korea-U.S. statement
announced that North Korea would not withdraw from the NPT, and in February 1994 North
Korea agreed to resume IAEA inspections. However, when inspectors arrived in March, North
Korea denied them complete access to seven nuclear sites. This led to a March 31 presidential
statement declaring that North Korea’s NPT obligations included allowing IAEA inspectors
complete access to the seven nuclear sites (S/PRST/1994/28). The U.S. urged the Security
Council to authorize economic sanctions for this breach of the NPT. China, however, would not
support sanctions. While it did not want nuclear weapons on the Korean peninsula, it also did not
want the Council to intervene in the North’s affairs.
Given the deadlock on the Council, Clinton came very close to ordering a military strike
against North Korea in May 1994, but the U.S. resisted a hierarchical, unilateral use of force and
instead continued to advocate sanctions. On June 15, 1994, Madeline Albright said sanctions
were “a tool to show the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea that it needs to correct its past
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behavior and be careful about its future behavior.” The threat of economic sanctions kept North
Korea at the bargaining table, and negotiations continued throughout 1994. On October 21 the
U.S. and North Korea signed an “Agreed Framework.” In return for North Korea freezing its
nuclear program, the United States would help the North install light water reactors, supply fuel
oil, begin to normalize diplomatic relations, and not use or threaten to use nuclear weapons
against North Korea. The North traded nuclear ambitions for technology and a security guarantee
– an arrangement very similar to the authoritative bargain established by the NPT.
Both parties hailed the agreement. North Korea’s chief negotiator described it as “a very
important milestone document of historic significance” that would resolve his country's nuclear
dispute with the United States “once and for all.” Clinton (1994) said the agreement was “a good
deal for the United States…The United States and international inspectors will carefully monitor
North Korea to make sure it keeps its commitments. Only as it does so will North Korea fully
join the community of nations.” However, the agreement did not resolve the dispute, and the
North did not accept the authority of the nonproliferation rules.
Step Two
Neither side kept its part of the bargain. The U.S. did not keep its commitment to install
light water reactors or normalize diplomatic relations. North Korea did not fully comply with
IAEA inspections, and it began selling ballistic missiles to Pakistan and Iran. Still, U.S. relations
with the North improved in the late 1990s due to a major South Korean engagement policy. By
2000, the two were close to an agreement in which the North would end its nuclear program and
stop its missile exports, and in return the United States would normalize diplomatic relations,
guarantee the North’s security, and (together with Japan) provide billions in economic aid.
Again, there were many similarities to the larger NPT bargain, but no agreement was signed as
the Clinton administration left office.
The Bush administration was more suspicious of the North and contemptuous of the 1994
deal negotiated by Clinton. US policy toward North Korea then drastically changed after the 9/11
terrorist attacks. During the January 2002 State of the Union address, Bush included North Korea
in the “axis of evil” with Iran and Iraq. U.S. policies were now highly hierarchical. The Bush
doctrine of preemption limited the US to two options: military invasion or regime change. In
March 2002 the U.S. asserted that the North had violated the 1994 agreement. It then relied on
South Korean intelligence and asserted that the North was enriching uranium as part of a secret
nuclear weapons program (DiFilippo, 2006, p. 108-109). In October 2002 a U.S. delegation
confronted North Korea and, while the details are disputed, left the meeting claiming that the
North had admitted that it had such a program. Vice President Cheney, Secretary of State Powell
and Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld all said they believed that North Korea possessed one or two
nuclear weapons. Despite North Korean denials and the lack of verifying evidence, the U.S.
suspended the supply of heavy oil, part of the US commitment from the 1994 agreement.
North Korea responded by saying the 1994 agreement was no longer valid. In January
2003, it reactivated a nuclear facility, removed IAEA monitoring cameras, expelled IAEA
inspectors, and again announced its intention to withdraw from the NPT. The U.S. turned up the
rhetoric. Just two months prior to the invasion of Iraq, Bush said: “We expect this issue to be
resolved peacefully, and we expect them to disarm…We expect them not to develop nuclear
weapons. And if they choose to do so, their choice, then I will reconsider whether or not we will
start the bold initiative that I talked to Secretary Powell about” (Sanger, 2003). As in Iraq after
1998, the US advocacy of regime change led to a situation in which there were no weapons
inspections to verify compliance with proliferation rules. Renewed American hostility
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encouraged the North to pursue nuclear weapons in order to deter a U.S. invasion. The March
2003 invasion of Iraq confirmed North Korean beliefs about American intentions.
In April, China convened negotiations between North Korea and the U.S. (Denisov,
2007). The North told the U.S. that it had nuclear weapons. It wanted a bilateral agreement
similar to the 2000 deal almost completed by the Clinton administration: in return for a
nonaggression treaty with the U.S., normal diplomatic relations, and economic ties, it would
agree to abandon its nuclear program, allow inspections, and stop missile exports. For North
Korea, this was a bilateral issue between it and the U.S. It would adhere to the NPT if the United
States would guarantee its security – again, demands consistent with NPT treaty language
requiring nuclear states to extend nuclear deterrence to non-nuclear states. North Korea wanted
the United States to follow the NPT rules. The U.S. rejected this, arguing that North Korea must
agree to IAEA inspections without any preconditions.
The April 2003 talks produced no agreement. North Korea demanded bilateral talks to
focus on American obligations under the NPT and the 1994 agreement. The U.S. wanted
multilateral talks to minimize its own obligations and bring global pressure on North Korea to
rejoin the NPT. China continued to be more aggressive throughout the summer of 2003
(Medeiros, 2003). It suspended oil shipments to North Korea, sent high level envoys, and shifted
troops around the Sino-Korean border. China eventually strong armed North Korea into
attending six-way talks in August 2003, February 2004, and July 2004 (also including Russia,
Japan, and South Korea). However, these talks were also unsuccessful. The U.S. continued to
invoke regime change policies by saying that all options were on the table and to make unproven
accusations about North Korea possessing nuclear weapons. Given the growing awareness that
the U.S. selectively used its intelligence to justify the invasion of Iraq, such statements took a
more ominous tone, and North Korea blamed the U.S. for the failure of the talks (DiFilippo,
2006).
China, Russia, and the U.S. struggled to maintain a common position. The U.S. wanted a
tough approach, advocating sanctions and the use of military force to cut off exports of nuclear
materials and missile components to other countries. China and Russia would not agree to
inspect North Korean ships because they did not want to escalate the crisis. A second dispute
occurred when the U.S. in February 2005 refused to recognize North Korea’s right to peaceful
nuclear activities, a right recognized in the NPT rules. China and Russia, citing the NPT,
disagreed with the U.S. position.
A third dispute occurred in September 2005 when China proposed an agreement offering
economic incentives and an American statement that it had no intention of attacking North Korea
if it dismantled its nuclear weapons. The U.S. initially rejected the deal, but South Korea and
Russia supported it, and China would not alter the proposal. Faced with the prospect of isolation
and being blamed for the breakdown of talks, the U.S. accepted the Chinese proposal. North
Korea, however, rejected this offer. It wanted the U.S. to perform its obligations under the 1994
agreement and build the light water reactors, facilitate normal diplomatic relations, and provide a
stronger American security guarantee.
Step Three
With diplomatic talks stalled and the use of force not an option, the U.S. was left with a
policy of isolation and regime change. North Korea again fell into its pattern of using
provocative actions to get the world’s attention. On October 9, 2006 North Korea conducted an
underground test of a nuclear weapon, telling the world that it was a nuclear power. Five days
later the Security Council unanimously authorized financial sanctions and an arms embargo
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against North Korea for the nuclear test. The resolution prohibited North Korea from conducting
further tests or launching ballistic missiles and required it to dismantle its nuclear, chemical, and
biological weapons programs under international supervision.
It took these nuclear tests to encourage China and Russia to support economic sanctions.
A Chinese representative said:
In ignoring the protests of the international community, the DPRK arrogantly held
a nuclear test. The Chinese side resolutely demands that the DPRK should
unconditionally observe the nonproliferation regime, discontinue all such actions
as are capable of leading to the worsening of the situation, and rejoin without
delay the process of the six-party negotiations (quoted in Denisov, 2007, p. 38).
A Russian delegate said: “Pyongyang’s test is a huge blow to the non-proliferation regime. The
fact of the test is causing apprehensions and indignation” (quoted in Denisov 2007, p. 39). It also
took the tests for the U.S. to realize that its hierarchical policies had failed.
The six party talks resumed in 2007, and those talks produced a tentative agreement
broadly consistent with NPT rules: North Korea agreed to seal its nuclear facilities and invite
IAEA inspectors; the U.S. agreed to send shipments of heavy fuel oil and begin the process of
normalizing relations, including taking North Korea off its list of sponsors of terrorism. The U.S.
abandoned its hierarchical approach and accepted North Korea’s insistence on an “action in
exchange for action” principle. The U.S. agreed to send a shipment of heavy fuel oil, and then
North Korea agreed to accept IAEA inspectors, and then the U.S. agreed to take North Korea off
its terrorist list. Throughout 2008, with multiple bumps along the way, the countries were
implementing these agreements. It seemed that a less hierarchical approach by the U.S.
encouraged North Korea to begin to accept the authoritative nature of the NPT rules.
In April 2009 North Korea asked for more, however, promising to start a uranium
enrichment program unless the Security Council ended the sanctions passed after the 2006
nuclear tests. The Security Council refused to do so and instead urged North Korea to continue to
implement its recent agreements as a means to end the sanctions. North Korea, however, defied
the Security Council and announced a test of an underground nuclear device on May 25, 2009.
The Security Council responded in kind and authorized harsher sanctions against North Korea.
As of this writing, there are no six-party talks and no negotiations between the U.S. and North
Korea. This recent negative turn in relations is not consistent with the overall trend. The
downward spiral began with North Korea demanding an end to Security Council sanctions, a
collective security enforcement tool that is not generally considered an overly hierarchical act
(Frederking, 2007). North Korea has overreached in its demands that the international
community reduce the hierarchical nature of its enforcement of nonproliferation rules.
Iran
Efforts to prevent nuclear proliferation in Iran have not gone through a similar three step
process. Instead, U.S. policies toward Iran have been consistently hierarchical throughout the
crisis. They have not wavered from policies of regime change, preemption, unilateral economic
sanctions, and diplomatic isolation. Similar to the sustained response by North Korea during step
two above, Iran has refused to accept the legitimacy of the NPT rules.
The Iranian crisis began in August 2002 when an Iranian dissident exile told the IAEA
that Iran had two undeclared nuclear facilities (Chubin, 2006). In December 2002, the U.S.
released satellite images of these two facilities and asserted that Iran was actively developing
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nuclear weapons capabilities. Iranian President Khatami denied this claim, saying that Iran was
not in violation of the NPT and was not seeking nuclear arms. A series of IAEA inspections
beginning in February 2003 at those two facilities, however, uncovered hidden nuclear programs
and led the IAEA to conclude by June 2003 that Iran was in violation of the NPT by not
declaring all relevant nuclear facilities (Rajaee, 2004; Takeyh, 2003; Baghat, 2003). Iran
admitted that it had concealed some of its nuclear activities for almost two decades but claimed
that it was pursuing nuclear energy for commercial purposes rather than military uses.
In September 2003, the IAEA called for cessation of all enrichment activities and for Iran
to sign an agreement allowing random inspections. In November, Iran did indeed sign an
additional protocol agreeing to such inspections and also agreed to voluntarily suspend its
uranium enrichment programs. However, IAEA reports in February and June 2004 concluded
that Iran had failed to resolve the agency’s concerns about its nuclear program. In response to
these reports, Iran ended its voluntary suspension of uranium enrichment. The U.S. reacted to
these IAEA reports by demanding that the Security Council authorize sanctions on Iran
(Amuzegar, 2006; Saikal, 2006). In August, Bush said: “Iran must comply with the demands of
the free world…And my attitude is that we've got to keep pressure on the government, and help
others keep pressure on the government, so there’s kind of a universal condemnation of illegal
weapons activities” (Bumiller, 2004). However, when Russia and China refused sanctions, the
U.S. agreed to European-led negotiations with Iran.
France, Germany and the United Kingdom began direct talks with Iran, and in November
2004 Iran again agreed to voluntarily suspend all uranium enrichment during those negotiations.
The “Paris Agreement” included an Iranian agreement to unscheduled IAEA inspections of its
nuclear facilities. Subsequent IAEA reports, however, stated that Iran had not cooperated with
inspectors, that the IAEA had no direct evidence of a nuclear weapons program, but that it did
not know if other undeclared sites existed. Iran clearly stated that it would not allow the
negotiations to indefinitely postpone its uranium enrichment programs. On May 13, 2005, the
supreme religious leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, warned Western countries against “bullying”
Iran.
In August 2005 the Europeans offered their own security assurances, economic
cooperation, and fuel for electricity reactors in return for Iran permanently ending production of
fissile material. Iran, with its newly elected President Ahmadinejad, rejected the offer. In
response, the Europeans canceled the talks. Iran then continued its uranium enrichment
programs. On August 30, French President Jacques Chirac warned that Iran would Security
Council action if it did not reinstate a freeze on sensitive nuclear activities.
There is room for dialogue and negotiation. We call on Iran’s spirit of
responsibility to restore cooperation and confidence, failing which the Security
Council will have no choice but to take up the issue…The use of civilian nuclear
energy, which is perfectly legitimate, must not serve as a pretext for pursuing
activities that could actually be aimed at building up a military nuclear arsenal
(Sciolino, 2005, p. 6).
Iran did not do so. Indeed, Ahmadinejad addressed the U.N. General Assembly on
September 17 and condemned the global nonproliferation rules as “nuclear apartheid” because
the U.S. and its allies would allow countries like Israel, India and Pakistan to develop nuclear
capabilities but not others. One week later the IAEA found that Iran’s obstruction of weapons
inspections was in violation of the NPT and voted to refer the situation to the Security Council.
83
This IAEA vote was 21-1 with 12 abstentions, including Russia and China. In an attempt to
avoid Security Council action, Iran again agreed to resume negotiations with the Europeans.
In January 2006, Iran resumed research on the nuclear fuel cycle at a facility in Natanz,
leading to an end to the EU negotiations. In February 2006, the IAEA reported sixteen specific
NPT violations to the Security Council. The Security Council was to take no action, however,
until the IAEA director general issued an assessment report due thirty days later. This vote was
27-3 with five abstentions, and both Russia and China voted in favor. On February 17, French
foreign minister Philippe Douste-Blazy put the matter simply: “No civilian nuclear program can
explain the Iranian nuclear program. So, it’s an Iranian clandestine military nuclear program”
(Bernard 2006).
Iran continued to reject the authority of the nonproliferation rules. Consistent with
previous threats, Iran announced that it would resume its uranium enrichment program and
would no longer agree to any IAEA inspections. Ahmadinejad also hinted at the possibility of
Iran withdrawing from the NPT. When the thirty days elapsed, the Security Council called on
Iran to suspend its uranium enrichment within 30 days. Again Iran did not comply. On April 11,
2006, Iran announced that it successfully enriched uranium. On May 2, it asked the U.N. to
respond to the continued vague threats from U.S. officials about possible nuclear strikes against
Iran that were “in total contempt of international law.” On May 11, Ahmadinejad said that Iran
would “defend and never give up its rights.” Yet in May 2006 Ahmadinejad sent an 18-page
letter to President Bush suggesting new talks, the first direct communication between an Iranian
and U.S. head of state since 1979. The U.S. rejected the offer because Iran did not agree to end
its nuclear program.
By this time, Iran had continued its nuclear programs and evaded genuine IAEA
inspections for three years, and the Security Council slowly began to take a greater enforcement
role. In July 2006, it demanded that Iran suspend its enrichment programs within 30 days or face
possible economic and diplomatic sanctions (SCR 1696). Iran responded by saying that it would
negotiate with the U.S., but that it would not suspend enrichment as a precondition to
negotiations. The 30 days elapsed with only minimal Iranian cooperation, but the U.S. and its
allies could not yet convince China and Russia to support sanctions. Only after another series of
IAEA reports outlining Iranian noncooperation did the Council in January 2007 authorize
financial sanctions against Iran (SCR 1737) for refusing to suspend its uranium enrichment
programs. In March 2007, the Security Council passed further sanctions and reaffirmed that Iran
must cooperate with the IAEA (SCR 1747).
Iran and the IAEA then agreed that the former would meet a series of deadlines
throughout 2007 and resolve suspicions about its nuclear activities. The U.S. remained dubious.
On Oct 22, 2007 Vice President Cheney warned that “the Iranian regime needs to know that if it
stays on its present course, the international community is prepared to impose serious
consequences…Our country, and the entire international community, cannot stand by as a terrorsupporting state fulfills its most aggressive ambitions” (Stolberg, 2007, p.8). That same week
President Bush said: “If you're interested in avoiding World War III, it seems like you ought to
be interested in preventing them (Iran) from having the knowledge necessary to make a nuclear
weapon.” Bush said that he intended to continue to pursue a policy of isolating Iran with the
hope that “at some point in time, somebody else shows up and says it's not worth the isolation”
(Stolberg, 2007, p.8).
A November 2007 IAEA report concluded that Iran had made “incomplete disclosures”
about its nuclear program and that Iran had continued to ignore the Council’s demand that it stop
enriching uranium (Sciolino& Broad, 2007, p.10). While Iran did provide access to top nuclear
officials and new documentation, the IAEA did not have the unfettered access to facilities
84
needed to confirm such information. While Russia and China again were hesitant to impose more
sanctions, they eventually relented and in March 2008 the Council imposed a third round of
sanctions (SCR 1803). Iran continued to defy Security Council demands throughout 2008 despite
a June offer by the five veto powers and Germany of a package of economic and security
incentives in return for Iran freezing its uranium enrichment efforts.
The Obama administration has offered direct talks with Iran, a concrete step in the
direction of less hierarchy. On March 21, 2009, Obama said: “My administration is now
committed to diplomacy that addresses the full range of issues before us, and to pursuing
constructive ties among the United States, Iran and the international community. This process
will not be advanced by threats” (Cooper & Sanger, 2009, p.4). Iran, perhaps preoccupied with
the domestic turmoil surrounding its recent elections, has yet to respond in a positive way to this
overture. As of this writing, the U.S. is waiting for an Iranian response to its offer of talks, and
the most recent IAEA conclusions are that it has reached a “stalemate” with Iran regarding its
nuclear program. There continues to be widespread agreement in Western states that Iran is
simply stalling while it continues its uranium enrichment programs.
Conclusion
These two cases suggest a pattern: U.S. policies pursuing too much hierarchy encourage
states to reject the authority of global nonproliferation rules. Why should a non-nuclear state
accept nonproliferation rules when a nuclear power is threatening it? The NPT bargain is that in
return for security guarantees and technology transfer, non-nuclear states agree not to proliferate.
North Korea wanted an agreement within the parameters of those authoritative NPT rules. For
such an agreement to be legitimate, however, the rules had to bind the U.S. as well. The U.S. had
to agree to its end of the NPT bargain – a security guarantee (plus normal diplomatic relations)
and technology transfer (and some economic carrots) – before North Korea would consider
recognizing the authority of the nonproliferation rules. Despite the recent setbacks, an agreement
similar to these NPT rules can be reached if the U.S. does not demand too much hierarchy and
North Korea does not demand too little.
Would a less hierarchical approach toward Iran also yield similar possibilities? Some
argue that a North Korea deal is possible for Iran (Amuzegar, 2006). The parameters of such an
agreement would include: (1) Iran ends its enrichment programs, agrees to IAEA inspections,
and ends support of terrorist groups, and (2) the U.S. ends sanctions, supports Iran’s entry into
the World Trade Organization, assists the peaceful use of nuclear energy, agrees to a bilateral
nonaggression pact, and begins normal diplomatic relations. Iran fears that the U.S. is using the
nuclear issue as a pretext to achieve wider regional objectives, such as pursuing regime change in
Tehran, regaining the strategic position the US had under the shah, preventing the dominance of
an Iraqi Shia majority, and securing Israel’s supremacy in the region (Saikal, 2006). What we do
not know is whether Iran intends to counter these perceived US goals by building nuclear
weapons or trading those nuclear weapons for a security guarantee.
Some analysts do not believe that Iran wants a deal consistent with NPT rules. Schake
(2007) argues that a nuclear weapons program would enhance Iran’s security objectives: to be
the dominant power in the Persian Gulf, to deter US military power, to gain leverage against
regional rivals (Israel, Pakistan) and to export revolutionary Shia Islam. Dueck and Takeyh
(2007) argue that Iran wants nuclear weapons for deterrence and power projection, not because
they want an “Islamic bomb” to hand over to terrorist groups. For example, Iran has had
chemical weapons for decades and has not handed them over to terrorist groups. Dueck and
Takeyh claim, “The often-contemplated notion of offering Iran security guarantees in return for
85
its disarmament has limited utility since Tehran’s drive for the bomb transcends mere deterrence
and is rooted in opportunism and a quest for hegemony” (Dueck & Takeyh, 2007, p. 194).
The question is whether Iran accepts the authority of the proliferation rules, interprets
U.S. hostility toward it as a violation of those rules, has primarily defensive motives for building
nuclear weapons, and would be amenable to an NPT agreement if the U.S. pursued a less
hierarchical approach; or whether Iran is rejecting the authority of the nonproliferation rules, has
primarily offensive motives for building nuclear weapons, and only a more coercive approach
toward Iran would prevent nuclear proliferation. U.S. policy to this point has largely assumed the
latter and has yet to seriously explore the former. Given the eminently foreseeable harm to
regional and global security of a unilateral military strike by either the U.S. or Israel against Iran,
this analysis suggests that perhaps the U.S. should attempt a less hierarchical approach and
seriously offer an NPT deal to Iran. At minimum, such an approach would encourage the
necessary multilateral action to prevent nuclear proliferation if Iran clearly rejects such an offer
and thus the authority of global proliferation rules.
86
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Islam, Cultural Hybridity and Cosmopolitanism: New Muslim Intellectuals on
Globalization
Carool Kersten, Ph.D.
Kings College London
[email protected]
Abstract
This essay explores those Muslim discourses on the phenomenon of globalization
which distinguish themselves by not succumbing to the antagonism guiding
Huntington’s ‘clash of civilization’ thesis (1996) or Benjamin Barber’s account of
‘Jihad vs. McWorld’ (1995), either through the ‘blind imitation’(taqlid)
characterising the unquestioned preservation of the classical Islamic heritage by
traditionalist Muslims or through the atavistic return to the supposed pristine
Islam of the ‘Pious Ancestors’ (salaf) of revivalist (fundamentalist) respondents.
Combining an intimate familiarity with the heritage of Muslim civilization with a
solid knowledge of recent achievements of the Western academe in the human
sciences, the ‘new Muslim intellectuals’ disseminating these alternative discourses
exhibit a cultural hybridity which enables them to develop a cosmopolitan
attitude and competence necessary to transform binary positions into a new
synthesis. To illustrate that this new Muslim intellectualism is itself a global
phenomenon, the present essay traces these qualities in the work of scholars and
thinkers from various parts of the Muslim world, with particular focus on
Indonesia.
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Introduction: New Muslim intellectuals
Since the late 1960s, the cultural-religious heritage of the Islamic world has
witnessed a growing re-appreciation among its inhabitants. Rapidly spreading
disenchantment with secular political ideologies in the wake of dramatic events such
as the disastrous outcome of the Arab-Israeli war of 1967, the atrocities against
alleged communists in Indonesia in the wake of the 1965 military coup against
Soekarno, and clashes between Malays and Chinese in Malaysia drove many Muslims
back to their own religious tradition for comfort and inspiration. The most vocal
proponents of this trend advocate a return to the perceived pristine Islam of the first
generations of Muslims, the so-called ‘pious ancestors’ or al-salaf al-salih – hence the
designation ‘Salafi’ Islam. 1 Their often very literalist interpretation of the primary
sources of the Islamic heritage, the Qur’an and so-called Sunna or ‘Traditions of the
Prophet’, is not only intended to counter the incursions of Western philosophies and
ideologies. It also challenges the system of traditionalist Islamic learning, which had
evolved over centuries and, according to the Salafis, had atrophied into what they call
taqlid or ‘blind imitation’.
However, a third alternative has emerged within Muslim discourse which
seeks to navigate between outright secularism, bland traditionalism, and
uncompromisingly literalist reinterpretations of the Islamic teachings. Exponents of
this strand of thought conceive of Islam as a civilization, an inclusivist concept
encompassing a much broader, religious, cultural, and intellectual legacy. Using the
concept of ‘heritage’ or turath, they are referred to as the turathiyun judud or ‘new
partisans of the heritage’ (Flores, 1988). Combining an intimate familiarity with the
Islamic tradition with an equally solid knowledge of recent achievements of the
Western academe in the human sciences, this new Muslim intelligentsia has been
producing a rich and varied ‘turath literature’ (Binder, 1988, p. 298). Since this new
Muslim intellectualism has representatives throughout the Muslim world, it can be
considered a global phenomenon in its own right.2 At the same time, their position is
still liminal or marginal in the sense that such innovative and progressive
reinterpretations of the Islamic heritage are only possible in the interstices of society
harboring an ‘avant-garde’ of progressive thinkers, more often than not concentrated
at academic institutions. Consequently the audiences of these new Muslim
intellectuals also tend to be confined to those in the highest-educated echelons of
Muslim societies, who are equipped to engage in what I suggest calling the
cosmopolitan vision(s) exhibited in these alternative discourses (Bagader, 1994, pp.
119-20).3 With demographic trends such as the expansion of urban middle classes in
the Muslim world and the concomitant increase in numbers of students attending
higher education, this particular discourse should be expected to grow in significance.
‘Good to think with’: cosmopolitanism and cultural hybridity
In the last decade and a half, the notion of cosmopolitanism has been used
with increasing frequency in the Western human sciences. ‘Embodying middle-path
alternatives between ethnocentric nationalism and particularistic multiculturalism’
(Vertovec & Cohen, 2002, p. 1), it has been employed by political scientists, legal
scholars, anthropologists, historians, theorists of postcolonial studies, philosophers,
and literary critics. Two sociologists, Ulrich Beck and Pascal Bruckner, have even
launched ‘ringing cosmopolitan manifestos’ (Hollinger, 2002, p. 227). It is important
to clarify from the outset that this ‘new cosmopolitanism’ has expanded into an
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exploration of other possibilities than those of classical cosmopolitanism, the modern
variant of which is generally associated with Kant (Vertovec & Cohen, 2002, p. 10)
but which actually draws on the ancient Hellenic legacy.4
In applying the concept to the current investigation, I take my cue from two
perspectives identified by Vertovec and Cohen, presenting cosmopolitanism as an
‘attitude or disposition’ and as ‘a practice or competence’ (13), which are in turn
informed by Ulf Hannerz’s seminal text on this resurgent cosmopolitanism (1990).
Aside from underscoring the individual agency underlying this particular
understanding of the concept, reflecting both a ‘state of readiness’ and ‘built-up skill’
(239), Hannerz’s essay has the additional attraction of singling out intellectuals as an
apt illustration of what it means to be cosmopolitan.5 The stress on the role of the
individual in conceiving this more open attitude and versatile competence is also
reflected in Chan Kwok-Bun’s dialectics of cultural contact. He argues that
cosmopolitanism’s hybridizing and innovating aspects enable people to be less
tenaciously attached to their ‘cultures of origin’ and explore instead the new
possibilities cosmopolitanism opens up (Chan, 2002, p. 194).
These aspects connect the new thinking about cosmopolitanism not only with
the recent theorizing of cultural hybridity but also with its role in managing or
producing meaning (Chan, 2002, p. 207; Hannerz, 1990, p. 238; Tomlinson, 2002, p.
252).6 In my view, the new cosmopolitanism can be regarded as a further
sophistication of the ‘processual theory of hybridity’ (Werbner, 1997, p. 21), which
moves beyond the inadequacy of modernist insights associating cultural hybridity
with liminality, marginality, and the interstitial – allocations of space that renders
such modernist understanding of hybridity static. Instead, Werbner’s theory provides
broader postmodernist and postcolonial contours along the lines of Stuart Hall’s
‘constant process of differentiation and exchange’ between the centre and the
periphery and between different peripheries as suggested by Papstergiadis (1997, p.
274), rather than Homi Bhabha’s ‘third space’ (279) while at the same time avoiding
throwing away the baby of modernity with the bathwater.
Inspired by Bakhtin’s distinction between the historicity of unconscious or
organic hybridity and the subversive agency implied by intentional conscious
hybridity (Werbner, 1997, pp. 4-5), and Hannerz’s parallel differentiation of
transnational (unconscious) hybridity from cosmopolitan (conscious) hybridity
(Werbner, 1997, p.11-12), Werbner resists the nihilism that has marred many
postmodernist discourses, the focus of which on ‘power’ or ‘text’ can be considered
essentialist. Instead, she wants to preserve the heuristic gains of select modernist
social scientists such as Durkheim, Lévi-Strauss, and Douglas. The intentional
hybridity of the new cosmopolitans, argues Werbner, ‘creates an ironic double
consciousness’ operating dialogically in its search for an openness to new meanings
(Hannerz, 1990, p. 239; Patell, 1999, p. 176).7
Symptomatic of these developments is the reassessment of the connection
between modernity and secularization argued by political and social theorists in the
1960s. In the face of overwhelming empirical evidence to the contrary, the resulting
modernization-secularization thesis has been seriously called into question – even by
some of its early advocates – from the 1990s onwards. Instead, there is a more acute
need to explain this Western European phenomenon of secularization, which
increasingly appears as an exception rather than the rule. When considered from a
world-historical and long durée perspective, the case could be made that the anomaly
even extends to the entire western notion of modernity – something that has hitherto
92
escaped the myopic gaze of hegemonic western intellectual and political discourses.
This confirms the plausibility of what Ulrich Beck has characterised as the second age
of modernity, the most important characteristic of which -- for the present account -is that ‘the guiding ideas, the foundations, and ultimately, the claim to a monopoly on
modernity by an originally western European modernism is shattered’ (Beck 2002, p.
70).
This paradigmatic shift in the understanding of modernity emerging in the
post-cold world order, breaking down ‘boundaries and assumed dichotomies’ (TajiFarouki, 2004, p. 3), including the ‘binary opposition of tradition versus modernity’
(Feener, 2007, p. 273), also gained momentum in the Muslim world thanks to the
efforts of the new Muslim intellectuals (Sharify-Funk, 2006).
I submit that cosmopolitanism and cultural hybridity are therefore useful
heuristic tools for analyzing the ways in which contemporary Muslim intellectuals are
trying to come to terms with globalization. Borrowing eclectically from the Western
human sciences, representatives of new cosmopolitanism in the Muslim world
appropriate, decontextualize, and reconstitute hybrid forms of an array of concepts
and notions in their own constituencies. As exercises of individual agency, these
intentional hybridities also preserve a degree of ‘rootedness’ in -- at one and the same
time -- the global ecumene of the Muslim Umma and regional cultural specificities.
This acute awareness that ‘culture is always sited and negotiated’ (Werbner, 1997, p.
16) sets these cosmopolitan Muslims apart from postcolonial theorists such as, for
example, Homi Bhabha and Stuart Hall (12).
I will show how elements from Papastergiadis’ condensed account of the
theories of hybridity (1997) recur in the work of the earlier identified new Muslim
intellectuals. Thus the Lusotropicology developed by the Brazilian sociologist
Gilberto Freyre, reached the Algerian-French historian of Islam Mohammed Arkoun
via the works of Roger Bastide. Its ‘baroque inclusiveness’ (Patell, 1999) represents a
departure from the ‘shadowy status of the hybrid’ (Papastergiadis, 1997, p. 260)
towards a ‘new social order through the principle of synthesis and combination of
differences’ (261). A key figure in Brazilian modernism, Freyre in turn owed a
‘methodological debt to Picasso’ (262):
By privileging the role of mixture, Freyre’s account of cultural
development clearly distances itself from the nineteenth-century theories
of natural law, evolution and racial purity that dominated the Romantic
constructions of nationhood. Hybridity succeeds not in its blind
conformity to the European model but in the application of European
systems and ideals in a ‘New World’. Progress in the ‘New World’ is
marked by the dialectic of adaptation and transformation (Papastergiadis,
1997).
Others, such as the Egyptian philosopher Hasan Hanafi, can be said to have
problematized the hybrid as ‘a sign for the extension of the European spirit’
(Papastergiadis, 1997, p. 261). Recalling Don Miller’s rejection of ‘simple modernity’
as ‘a blatant contradiction’ and Max Raphael’s observation that the West’s material
successes came at ‘the expense of hollowing out Western spiritual values’, Hanafi’s
critique foreshadows Papastergiadis’ acute awareness of unresolved paradoxes,
dualities, centrifugal, and centripetal forces underlying the synergies that produce
cultural hybridity and cosmopolitanism. His writings reflect what Papastergiadis says
about modern art in that they foreground that ‘non-European forms were assimilated
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back into the European tradition through the mediation of historically prior traditions’
(Papastergiadis, 1997, p. 263). However, this new Muslim intelligentsia is also
symptomatic of the shadowy side to this cultural hybridism, namely that: ‘if the nonWestern is to enter the West, it must do so in the guise of the cultural hybrid: the nonwestern-Westerner’ (264).
The remarkable parallels between theories of hybridity and Muslim
cosmopolitanism do not end here. One of Hanafi’s students, Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd,
took up his teacher’s suggestion to embark on a hermeneutical analysis of Scripture
(Abu Zayd, 2002, p. 100) moving from Heidegger, Gadamer, and Ricoeur to the
structural linguists and semioticians like Yuri Lotman, whose identification of a fivestage interaction between interpreter, text, and context is used by Papastergiadis to
come to a semiotic reading of cultural hybridity (1997, pp. 268-71).
Aside from the fact that notions like cosmopolitanism and cultural hybridity
are – to borrow Lévi-Strauss’ canonical formulation – ‘good to think with’ (Knecht
and Feuchter 2008: 11), another reason for using them here is that these terms, as well
as the adjective ‘cosmopolitan’, also have made their entry in contemporary Muslim
discourses, most notably in Indonesia (Abegebriel, 2007; Madjid, 2003 & 2005; Salim
& Ridwan, 1999; Wahid, 2007a; Wahid, 2007b), but also in Iranian and Turkish
settings (Masaeli 2008, Yilmaz 2008). The fact that they appear to be in conversation
with each other further affirms the global character of this discourse.
Learning from the Periphery: Southeast Asia as a site of cosmopolitan Islam
Within the Muslim world, some of the most original attempts of cosmopolitan
non-binary ways of rethinking modernity are not taking place at the center but on the
geographical periphery. Since the beginning of the twentieth-first century, there is
evidence of an unabashed assertiveness on the part of Southeast Asian Muslims. In a
2002 interview with Newsweek editor Fareed Zakaria, Surin Pitsuwan, the current
secretary-general of ASEAN, at the time serving as foreign minister of Thailand8,
confidently stated that: ‘For all Islam’s history, Southeast Asia was considered a
backwater. But the flows of globalization now need to be reversed. Islam must learn
not from the center but rather the periphery’ (Zakariya, 2002). Two years later, the
Malaysian Arts, Culture, and Heritage Minister, Datu Seri Rais Yatim, came out
against the ‘Arabisation’ of Malay culture, encouraging his countrymen to ‘challenge
those who condemn deep-rooted practices of the Malay community as unIslamic
[sic]’ (Wong, 2004).
In the case of Indonesia (incidentally, the largest Muslim nation in the world),
the beginnings of this discourse can be traced back to the late 1960s, when Soeharto’s
Orde Baru or ‘New Order’ regime effectively continued the policy of its predecessor
by keeping Islamic parties out of active politics. However, on closer inspection, it
becomes clear it is also firmly rooted in the country’s centuries-old Javanese and
Malay-Muslim heritage. When taking power in 1965, the new government’s first
priority was to improve Indonesia’s economic situation, and this required the
involvement of a ‘new type of intellectual who could be expected to participate in
government-directed development efforts’ (Abdullah 1996: 49, cf. also Federspiel
1992). This policy appeared to allow a certain space for the development of what was
later dubbed Islam Kultural (cultural Islam), or alternatively, Islam Sipil (civil Islam).
Two elements were instrumental in the development of this discourse. First of
the two elements is Indonesia’s rather unique system of state-run higher Islamic
94
education and the overhaul of that system by progressive Muslim intellectuals taking
up leading positions in academia and the administration of religious affairs under the
new government. The other one is the rethinking of the role of Islam in contemporary
Muslim societies, suggested by an upcoming generation of young scholars and
technocrats.
Although during the Soekarno years Muslim political parties had failed in
realizing their political objectives, their leaders had been more successful in
developing an Islamic education system for the young republican government. As
early as the summer of 1945, Vice President-designate Hatta, Masyumi party leader
Natsir, and Wahid Hasjim of the traditionalist mass organization Nahdlatul Ulama
(NU) had launched the initiative for a ‘Higher Islam School’ or Sekolah Islam Tinggi
(SIT), renamed in 1948 as Universitas Islam Indonesia (UII). Following the elevation
of Yogyakarta’s secular Universitas Gadjah Mada (UGM) to state university level,
the Islamic bloc was appeased with the establishment of a ‘State Islamic Higher
Learning Institute’ or Perguruan Tinggi Agama Islam Negeri (PTAIN). In 1960,
PTAIN merged with the Ministry of Religious Affairs’ own ‘State Academy for
Religious Officials’ or Akademi Dinas Ilmu Agama (ADIA) into the first two State
Institutes for Islamic Studies or Institut Agama Islam Negeri (IAIN), located in
Jakarta and Yogyakarta (Saeed, 1999, pp. 182-3). Reflecting the influence of what
Fazlur Rahman calls ‘classical Islamic modernism’ (Fazlur Rahman, 1982, p. 85)
three of its five faculties were modeled after the reformed al-Azhar University in
Cairo (Meuleman, 2002, p. 284).
With the new government policies requiring a different type of Muslim
intellectual, by the early 1970s, the IAIN curriculum was in urgent need of major
updating. The initiative for this overhaul was the brainchild of the incoming minister
or religious affairs, Mukti Ali, whose personal profile already foreshadowed the
emergence of a new type of Muslim intellectual. Before independence, Mukti Ali had
received a combined Dutch-language secular and traditionalist Islamic education. In
the 1950s, he expanded his horizons with studies in Pakistan and Canada, where he
obtained a PhD in the comparative study of religion at the Institute of Islamic Studies
IIS) at McGill University (Munhanif, 1996)
After his return in Indonesia, Mukti Ali was charged with introducing
comparative religious studies at the IAINs, a measure envisaged to give Muslim
students not just a better understanding of the study of religion as an academic field,
but also instill a greater tolerance towards other traditions (Munhanif, 1996, p. 97 &
99; Steenbrink, 1999, pp. 284-5), thereby setting a first step towards the
cosmopolitanization of Indonesia’s intellectual elite. To counter the negative effects
of the dualism caused by Dutch colonial educational policies, leading either to a
wholesale adoption or outright rejection of Western learning, he advocated the
development of a new discipline called ‘Occidentalism’ or ‘Western studies’ to better
prepare Indonesian Muslims for engaging in a dialogue with the West (Boland 1971,
p. 208). Aside from his academic work, between 1967 and 1971, Mukti Ali hosted a
special study circle at his home in Yogyakarta, called ‘The Limited Group’
(Lingkaran Diskusi). Two core participants, Djohan Effendi and Dawam Rahardjo
would rise to become leading Muslim intellectuals and activists (Munhanif, 1996, p.
100).
As minister (1971-78), Mukti Ali began defining a ‘Weberian’ religious policy
in which all religions would become involved in socioeconomic development
(Steenbrink, 1999, p. 285). In the face of a spectacular growth in conversions to
Christianity during the 1950s and 1960s, he also initiated an interfaith dialogue by
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95
establishing a Musyawarah Antar-Umat-Beragama or ‘Forum for Inter-Religious
Consultation’ in 1972 (Munhanif, 1996, pp. 106-7). His educational reform policy,
meanwhile, foresaw in a revamping of the values underlying the traditional Islamic
boarding schools or pesantren. This way these schools too could become agents of
social change in Indonesia (Effendy, 2003, pp. 89-90). This reformed traditionalist
Islamic education system has indeed proved to be a seedbed for a new ‘hybrid’
Muslim intelligentsia (Baso, 2006; Rahardjo, 1985; Rumadi, 2008).
Mukti Ali delegated the hands-on implementation of reforming Islamic higher
education to the newly appointed rector of IAIN Jakarta, Harun Nasution. After his
education in Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt, Nasution had served as a diplomat
but returned to academia when his career fell victim to the increased antagonism
between Soekarno and Muslim politicians. After a brief exile in Egypt, Nasution too
went to McGill, obtaining an MA with a thesis on the place of the Islamic Masyumi
party in Indonesian politics and a PhD on the theology of the great Islamic reformer
Muhammad Abduh, in which Nasution claims that he should be considered a neoMu‘tazila or Islamic rationalist (Nasution, 1987).
In redrafting the IAIN curriculum, Nasution worked from an integral concept
of Islam as a culture and civilization. His historicist and ethical approach stressed the
importance of distinguishing between absolute and relative Islam (Nasution, 2002,
2005, 2006). The new programme comprised not only the study of the core sources of
Qur’an and Hadith, or ‘Traditions of the Prophet’ (representing absolute Islam), the
various legal and theological schools but also philosophy and Sufism, including the
‘deviant’ works of the Mu‘tazila and Ibn al-‘Arabi (Muzani, 1994; Saeed, 1999).
IAIN’s home-grown and Middle Eastern modes of Islamic education were further
augmented with aspects of Western learning, affecting both the contents and the ways
of instruction (Meuleman, 2002, pp. 285-6). These included new reading lists
containing the works of Western philosophers, Orientalists, and Muslim scholars of
Islam drawing on Western scholarship in the human sciences, such as the PakistaniAmerican Islamicist Fazlur Rahman, the French-Algerian historian Mohammed
Arkoun, and philosophers like the Egyptian Hasan Hanafi, and Morocco’s
Muhammad Abid al-Jabiri (Saeed, 1999, p. 185).
The other factor in the genesis of Indonesian cultural or civil Islam was the
budding Muslim intellectuals of the first generation to reach maturity in the
postcolonial age associated with the Gerakan Pembaruan Pemikiran Islam or
‘Renewal of Islamic Thinking Movement’.9 The central figure of this group was the
chairman of the leading Muslim student organization (HMI)10 during the early years
of ‘New Order’ (1967-71), Nurcholish Madjid – also known by the nickname Cak
Nur.
In his first publication, entitled ‘Modernization is Rationalization not
Westernization’ (1968), Cak Nur argued that the rational methodology needed to
modernize Indonesian society was not incompatible with Islam because it did not
necessarily mean traversing the same intellectual trajectories as the West. However,
many Muslims were alienated by his so-called ‘paradigmatic speeches’ (Kull 2005, p.
106), which Cak Nur gave in 1970 and 1972, following two trips to America and the
Middle East. Aside from launching the provocative slogan, ‘Islam Yes! Islamic Party
No!’ (Madjid, 1970, p. 2), during his travels he also become acquainted with the
writings of Western sociologists of religion and revisionist theologians and followed
their example in employing controversial terms like ‘secularization’ and
‘desacralization’.
96
Taking as its cue Harvey Cox’s distinction between ‘secularization’ as a
process separating transcendental from temporal values, which effectuates the full
consummation of humankind’s role as God’s Vicegerent (khalīfa) on earth, and
‘secularism’ as ‘the name for an ideology, a new, closed world view that functions
very much like a new religion’, Cak Nur thought it possible to safeguard the integrity
of the core tenet of tawhid: the belief in the One God as absolutely transcendent. At
the same time, this imposes an inescapable need for the desacralization of thisworldly existence, divesting it from all divine connotations, because failing to do so
would constitute a violation of tawhid (Madjid, 1970, pp. 4-5). In a clever inversion of
the argument used by his opponents to condemn secularization, Cak Nur retorted that
sacralizing the Islamic state is not only a ‘distortion of the proportional relationship
between state and religion’, but such preoccupation with the political also leads to
‘fiqhism’ or a conception of Islam as merely ‘a structure and collection of laws’
(Madjid, 1987, pp. 255-6).
Critics dismissed this argumentation in favor of the secularization and
desacralization of politics as sophistry, ignoring the fact that what was now known as
a plea for a drastic ‘Renewal of Islamic Thinking’ consisting of a subtle framework in
which political and theological ideas were grounded in a new epistemology (Rasjidi,
1972; Anshari, 1973).
Cak Nur made a distinction between a human’s ‘transcendental life’
(kehidupan uchrawi), represented by the vertical axis of an individual connection with
God and the horizontal relations maintained with nature and fellow human beings in
his or her this-worldly existence (kehidupan duniawi). Notwithstanding the fact that
these two aspects of human existence merge in individual lives, they require different
epistemological approaches (Madjid, 1987, pp. 245-8). The horizontal domain of
temporal matters or the realm of the secular (duniawi) is namely inaccessible to the
spiritual methods drawing on revealed knowledge, while the eschatological law
(hukum uchrawi) governing the vertical spiritual dimension of humankind’s relation
with God cannot be comprehended in a rational manner (Madjid, 1972, pp. 40-42).
Moreover, if the ‘absolutely transcendent’ were not beyond ‘this worldly’ (rational)
human comprehension, but could be brought into the realm of human understanding,
it would imply that God can be relativized, which contradicts tawhid (Madjid, 1987,
pp. 242-3).
After his days as student leader, Nurcholish Madjid again went to America to
pursue a postgraduate degree at the University of Chicago, writing a PhD thesis on the
medieval reformist thinker Ibn Taymiyya (Madjid, 1984a). Influenced by the ideas of
his supervisor Fazlur Rahman on the importance of a thematic engagement with the
Qur’an and developing a contextualized understanding of the Islamic teachings, Cak
Nur also gained a more sophisticated appreciation for the Islamic tradition as a whole.
He also admitted having second thoughts about his use of provocative terminology,
regretting not having employed a ‘technically more correct and neutral terminology’
(Madjid, 1987, p. 160). Elsewhere, he even stated: ‘If I were able to go back in time,
I would follow my previous method, i.e., pénétration pacifique, the “smuggling
method” of introducing new ideas’ (Madjid, 1979, p.152).
During Cak Nur’s absence, vast changes were set in motion in Indonesian
society, which were partly the ‘fruits’ of his own Renewal Thinking. In contrast with
the political turmoil which began to affect the wider Muslim world between 1978 and
1988, Indonesia witnessed a retreat of Islamic political parties, combined with a
‘great leap forward in the social and intellectual vitality of the community’ (Hefner,
1997b, p. 86). Improved socio-economic conditions enabled a energetic new minister
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97
of religion, Munawir Sjadzali (1983-1993), to drive what he called a ‘reactualization
agenda’, giving the country’s development policies a new theological underpinning
by emphasizing ‘the holistic nature of Islam’ and the ‘dynamism and vitality of
Islamic law’, while at the same time taking account of ‘Indonesia’s own local and
temporal particularities’ (Effendy, 1995, pp. 110-1).
The policy was also a response to the emergence of a relatively prosperous
urban Muslim middle class, which had become uncomfortable with what they
regarded as the narrowing or ‘privatisation’ (pribadisasi) of moral concerns in the
1970s. Searching for a new anchoring in religion, they brought about a broad Islamic
resurgence in civil society (Hefner, 1997, pp. 90-2; Hefner, 2000). It was in these
circles that Islam Kultural began to manifest itself most spectacularly. Not
surprisingly, a further expansion of the country’s Islamic higher education system
formed an important part of the government’s response to that trend. By the late
1980s, the number of young scholars sent overseas to obtain advanced degrees in
Islamic or Religious Studies was surging, creating a new Muslim intellectual elite
mainly concentrated at the IAINs in Jakarta and Yogyakarta (Hefner, 1997, pp. 86-9;
Vatikiotis, 1994, p. 127).
When returning to Indonesia, Cak Nur quickly developed into one of the
country’s leading public intellectuals. He not only rejoined the faculty at IAIN Jakarta
but also established his own think tank, the Paramadina Foundation (1986), which
was later expanded into a private university (1994). As a member of the ‘Association
of Indonesian Muslim Intellectuals’11 – he also occupied a senior advisory position to
the government. He used these platforms to influence the increasingly affluent and
well-educated urban Muslim middle classes working as professionals and government
technocrats.
Cak Nur’s writings of this period also evinced a growing preoccupation with
ways to navigate between the universality of the Islamic message and the
cosmopolitanism of Islam’s civilizational outlook, enabling it to accommodate the
particularities of the Muslim world’s vastly different cultures (Madjid, 2003, pp. 113129). Aside from a substantive engagement with aspects of the Islamic heritage,12 this
approach was also informed by the global-historical treatment of the world of Islam
developed by Chicago historian Marshall Hodgson (1974), conceiving of ‘Islamdom’
as a geographical domain and oikoumene of complex of social relations, composed of
an aggregate of ‘Islamicate’ cultures. This humanist outlook, which Cak Nur shared
with Hodgson, was also inspired by the Renaissance thinker Pico della Mirandola,
who is frequently mentioned in his post-1984 writings (Madjid, 1997, p. 36; Madjid,
1999: 149-50; Madjid, 2003, p. 108).13
It must be stressed that catering to the needs of Indonesia’s increasingly better
educated and sophisticated Muslims was no solo exercise by Cak Nur. In the 1980s
and 1990, he developed an alliance with the leader of the NU, Abdurrahman Wahid
(a.k.a. Gus Dur). The biographies and views of Nurcholish Madjid and Abdurrahman
Wahid have a number of similarities (Aziz, 1999; Bakri & Mudhofir, 2004). Both
had been exposed to a dual Islamic and secular education, and drew inspiration from
the Western humanities and social sciences.14 Aside from sharing a similar humanist
outlook, they were both also acutely aware of the need for reviving the spiritual
aspects of the religious life of modern Muslims (Ali & Effendy, 1986, p. 171 & 185).
The parallel also extends to adaptation of the Islamic teachings to the specific
Indonesian setting, called ‘Indonesianization’ (keindonesiaan) by Madjid and
‘indigenization’ (pribumisasi) by Wahid. This mode of cultural hybridization,
98
described by Peter Burke as a ‘double movement of decontextualization and
recontextualization’ (2009, p. 93) also points to Cak Nur’s mentor Fazlur Rahman,
who introduced ‘double movement’ as a method for contemporalizing the
interpretation of the Qur’an (Rahman, 1982, pp. 5-7). Consequently, the latter’s
approach has often been lumped together with those of Nurcholish Madjid and
Abdurrahman Wahid as ‘neomodernism’ (neo-modernism) (Aziz ,1999; Azra, 2006a,
p. 184; Barton, 1995). As I argue elsewhere, this designation is not entirely accurate
(Kersten, 2009, p. 124-33).
Aside from a distinct change in accent in Cak Nur’s thought before and after
his Chicago experience, there are also differences between Cak Nur and Gus Dur in
regards to their intellectual outlook and concerns. In contrast to the urbane Cak Nur,
Gus Dur remained much closer to his roots in the East-Javanese district of Jombang,
where his family’s Islamic boarding school or pesantren is located, and he was
actively involved in the pesantren reforms initiated by Mukti Ali in the 1970s (Barton
2002, p. 102-116). This is also reflected in his intellectual outlook; while sharing Cak
Nur’s ‘universal spirit of humankind’, Gus Dur’s concerns are more pragmatic and
contemporary than the theoretical and historical interests of Cak Nur. His
interpretations have therefore been described as an ‘intellectual improvisation of
traditional doctrine’. And where Nurcholish Madjid had some hesitation in drawing
parallels, Abdurrahman Wahid’s concern with issues of poverty and justice were
directly influenced by Latin American liberation theology (Ali & Effendy, 1986, p.
186-7). For that reason, Gus Dur’s eclectic intellectualism and vast erudition in
Islamic studies literature, as well as less obvious fields such as French cinema has
even been explicitly coined the Mazhab Islam Kosmopolitan Gus Dur (Abegebriel
2007, p. v-xxxiv). Moreover, as a member of the NU aristocracy -- succeeding his
father and grandfather as the organization’s leader in 1984 -- Gus Dur eventually
appeared to have a better pedigree than Cak Nur for the highest office in the land,
even though both their names had been mentioned as possible candidates for the
presidency (Azra, 2006a, p. 34).15
The views, ideas, and propositions of cosmopolitan Muslim intellectuals like
Nurcholish Madjid and Abdurrahman Wahid are not uncontroversial and have been
the subject of attacks by ‘counter-cosmopolitans’ (Appiah, 2006, p. 137ff.; Robinson
2008, p. 124). During the so-called Keterbukaan or ‘Opening Up’ of the later ‘New
Order’ period, proponents of Islamic revivalism underwritten by scripturalism or
literal interpretations of the Qur’an and Hadith were also jockeying for an
advantageous position (Liddle ,1996). In the often chaotic post-Soeharto situation
(1998), Indonesian offshoots of a ‘global Islamism’ originating in the Middle East and
embracing a ‘generic transnational Islamic identity’ were able to come back with a
vengeance (Robinson, 2008, p. 112).
The area of gender equality constitutes one of the fiercest battlegrounds. A
draft revision of the marriage law along the lines of a ‘fiqh [Islamic jurisprudence] of
a uniquely Indonesian character’ Robinson, 2008, p. 121), incorporating universal
principles of democracy and equality as well as contemporary Indonesian social
practice, issued in 2004 by Siti Musdah Mulia, a former student of Nurcholish Madjid
and herself a faculty member at IAIN Jakarta and a senior bureaucrat at the ministry
of religious affairs (122) and the measures proposed by Kholifah Indar Parawansa,
leader of the women’s branch of the NU and Minister for Women’s Empowerment in
Abdurrahman Wahid’s administration, were challenged on grounds that the
underlying ‘cosmopolitan vision of international governance’ was nothing more than
a ‘sinister plot’ to uphold the existing world order (124). Ridha Salamah, ‘the highest
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ranking woman in Hizb ut-Tahrir (HT) and member of the Commission for Research
and Development of the Majelis Ulama Islam (MUI)’ (Ibid) ominously announced
that ‘‘genderism’ is being considered, along with ‘secularism’, ‘pluralism’, and
‘liberalism’ (identified as a complex through the acronym ‘sipilis’) as the subject of a
fatwa by the MUI.
Aside from these intellectual debates, initiatives originating in NU circles to
extend the cosmopolitan vision beyond the elite and urban spheres into support for a
vernacular Islam in line with Abdurrahman Wahid’s advocacy of a pribumisasi or
‘indigenization’ of Indonesian Islam were also not immune to this kind of criticism.
For example, acculturated forms of Islam incorporating local musical traditions were
branded as un-Islamic by the Islamist camp, while the proponents considered them
just as important to stemming the flow of ideas from the Middle East as the fact that
‘Indonesian scholars do not all position themselves in textual exegesis as passive
recipients of textual interpretations and authoritative positions from the Arabspeaking [sic] Middle East’ (Robinson, 2008, p. 128).
Perhaps the most convincing testimony to the role of figures such as Mukti Ali
and Harun Nasution, Nurcholish Madjid and Abdurrahman Wahid in creating an
academic environment and an intellectual climate that is conducive to breeding the
cultural hybridity that seems to be the sine qua non for a cosmopolitan engagement
with the Islamic legacy is their multifarious intellectual offspring.
Based in the metropolis of Jakarta, Cak Nur developed a following among a
slightly younger cohort of intellectuals also working at IAIN Jakarta, which is
referred to as Mazhab Ciputat or ‘Ciputat School’, named after the district where the
IAIN is located. It consists of fourteen ‘members’ -- including two of its rectors: the
Columbia-educated historian Azyumardi Azra and the philosopher Komaruddin
Hidayat, who obtained his doctorate in Turkey, (Kull, 2005, p. 210-2).16 At the
beginning of the new millennium, an upcoming generation of young intellectuals born
in the 1960s and early 1970s, with profiles not dissimilar to the slightly older Mazhab
Ciputat, began organizing themselves in internet-dependent set-ups such as the
‘Liberal Islam Network’ or Jaringan Islam Liberal (JIL). This initiative of Ulil
Abshar-Abdalla, a former staff member of NU’s human resources development arm
(Lembaga Kajian dan Pengembangan Sumberdaya Manusia or LAKPESDAM) and
now a PhD student at Harvard, and Dr. Luthfi Assyaukanie, who teaches at
Paramadina University, remains intellectually indebted to Nurcholish Madjid (Kull,
2005, p. 223).17
On the other hand, there are the ‘Young NU Members’ (Anak Muda NU),
sometimes also referred to as Postra or ‘Post-Traditionalists’ (Baso, 2006; Salim &
Ridwan, 1999; Rumadi, 2008). These are the exponents of the new hybrid culture
prevailing among young NU activist-intellectuals; the outcome of a moving back and
forth between their often rural NU roots in reformed pesantren, exposure to the
academic Islamic education at IAINs in the country’s major cities, and their
subsequent employment in NGO’s and think tanks active in the interstices of urban
and rural Indonesia. Often originating from smaller towns in rural areas, they readily
identify with the eclectic outlook of Gus Dur. Mentored by the scholar and politician
Muhammad A.S. Hikam, in these circles, too, one finds astutely cosmopolitan
intellectuals ‘influenced by post-Hegelian and post-Marxian thinkers such as Ernest
Gellner, Hannah Arendt, Jürgen Habermas, David Ost, Andre Arato, Fernando
Cardoso, Antonio Gramsci and Alexis de Tocqueville’ (Azra, 2006a, p. 39).
100
For example, Yudian Wahyudi (b. 1960), an Islamicist and legal scholar
educated at McGill and former researcher at Harvard and Tufts Universities, has
written on Islamic law in Indonesia (2007a, 2007b, 2007c) and made comparative
studies of contemporary Muslim thought (2002, 2003), including Shi‘ism (1998). The
inclusion of the latter bears further witness to the inclusivist and cosmopolitan
interests of Indonesia’s new Muslim intellectuals.18 Ahmad Baso (b. 1971), has
analyzed contemporary Islamic thought inside and outside Indonesia (2005) and has
written critical studies of Nurcholish Madjid, Abdurrahman Wahid and others (2006).
For these critical assessments he has drawn on the work of Muslim intellectuals
influenced by poststructuralism and other contemporary intellectual movements, such
Mohammed Arkoun, Muhammad Abid al-Jabiri and Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd (Saleh,
1999, p. 284-95).19
The philosophies of these thinkers from the Arabic-speaking part of the
Muslim world have very firm epistemological groundings, providing the
aforementioned Indonesian scholars – as well as similar-minded colleagues elsewhere
– with the heuristic tools to transform contemporary Muslim thought into productive
ideas for the future. However, the preoccupation with authenticity found throughout
this turath literature is not unproblematic.
Insoluble Tensions? Cosmopolitanism versus the search for authenticity
Joel Kahn’s critical assessment of the ethno-nationalist narrative dominating
the consociational system of governance in neighboring Malaysia offers a suitable
vehicle for exploring the real tension that exists between the notion of
cosmopolitanism and this search for authenticity.20 As Kahn points out, ‘this concern
seems peculiarly apt in the contemporary Malaysian context, in which the proponents
of two competing visions, both of which may be plausibly deemed cosmopolitan in
the classical sense’, compete. On the one hand, there are the ‘self-styled secularists,
liberals, modernists or moderates’ advocating universal citizenship in a religiously
and culturally neutral space. On the other, there are the proponents of what can be
called the new Malaysian Islam, whose power and authority have been boosted by
almost three decades of Islamic “revival” in the country’ (Kahn, 2008, p. 264).
In questioning whether the global outlook of the new Malaysian Muslim
makes him into a cosmopolitan Muslim and viable alternative to ‘Western and/or
secular forms of cosmopolitan governance’ (2008, p. 265), and whether these two
competing visions constitute ‘the only real alternatives to the problem of finding
properly cosmopolitan modes’ (266), Kahn raises the important issue of the
‘groundedness’ or ‘rootedness’ of cosmopolitanism in particular historical and
cultural circumstances and experiences (267ff.). Kahn’s reservations against giving in
to what is ‘by now a truism’ are informed by its threat to the ‘openness to the other’
and ‘culture-transforming aspirations’ of the cosmopolitan project (269).
Although in his attempt to detect a ‘genuine cosmopolitan practice’ Kahn
focuses on the popular level, his suggestions are also valid for the present examination
of new Muslim intellectualism,21 as becomes evident from this lengthy quote:
To insist that universalism is inevitably embedded or indigenised within
particular cultures is to fail to recognise the extent to which the
universalistic projects generate change in existing cultural values and
assumptions. Projects and movements that aspire to the universal are not
always best thought as resulting only in a state of temporal cultural
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liminality or as short-lived ‘rituals of rebellion’ that will inevitably give
way under the re-embedding forces of culture and tradition. If and when
universalising tendencies are reabsorbed the result is not necessarily a
return to the status quo ante. We need, in other words, to find ways of
recognising that cosmopolitan practices will inevitably be both
‘essentialising’ and ‘disembedding’ at the same time (Kahn, 2008, p. 271).
Not dissimilar to Indonesia’s discursive formations of civil and cultural Islam, in
Malaysia politicians such as Anwar Ibrahim and -- more recently -- former prime
minister Abdullah Badawi deployed their own variants of a modern, progressive
Islam, called Islam Madani and Islam Hadhari respectively (Hoffstaedter, 2009,
p.124-30). Thus:
Islam Hadhari functions ‘as an in-between space between religiosity and
‘rootlessness’, Islam Hadhari performs as a discourse of ethics and values
for the cosmopolitan Melayu Baru [New Malay CK] who can negotiate
different cultures and ethnicities both within and beyond the Malaysian
nation’ (Hoffstaedter, 2009, p. 130).
However, in the country’s highly competitive and volatile political climate, their
attempts were less successful than those of their counterparts in Indonesia, where the
‘New Order’ regime was more tolerant towards intellectuals creating a setting that
nurtured the exploration of philosophical conceptualizations of cosmopolitan Islam,
developed by thinkers such as Arkoun, Hanafi, and al-Jabiri.22
Hasan Hanafi’s emancipatory agenda finds its origins in his earlier
philosophical studies at the Sorbonne, using the work of Western thinkers such as
Spinoza, Fichte, and Husserl to transform the theological focus of the disciplines of
traditional Islamic learning into an anthropology suitably adapted to meet the
demands of the present-day situation in the Muslim world. Initially inspired by the
early literary studies of Sayyid Qutb (before his ‘revivalist’ turn into a leading
Islamist writer) and the writings of Indo-Pakistani poet and philosopher Muhammad
Iqbal, the young Hanafi wrote penetrating phenomenological-hermeneutical analyses
of the traditional Islamic discipline of usul al-fiqh (‘foundations of jurisprudence’)
and the Gospels under the direction of Paul Ricoeur and Jean Guitton. The acquired
expertise in Islamic studies and Christian theology23 became the epistemological basis
for the mega-project that would occupy Hanafi for the remainder of his academic
career.
‘Heritage and Renewal’ (al-Turath wa’l-Tajdid) was presented in terms of a
military campaign to be waged on ‘three fronts’, envisaged as a double critique of the
religious and philosophical heritages of the Muslim world and the West in order to
prepare the ground for the emancipation of the Muslim world (Hanafi, 1991, p. 9-15).
Partly drawing on liberation theologians such as Camillo Torres, this ideological
aspect of his agenda has to date only found a provisional unfolding in a manifesto
published in 1981 under the title ‘Leftist Islam’ (Hanafi, 1981a). This proposition for
a new hermeneutics, in which theological readings of the religious scriptures are
refashioned into anthropology and are accompanied by ‘bold transmutations’ of the
original terminology (Kersten, 2007), opening up exciting prospects for new
understandings of the Islamic heritage, appears to be inspired by the influence of his
mentor Paul Ricoeur, whose capacity for generous’ or ‘charitable’ interpretations
102
(Reagan, 1996, p. 74; Wallace, 1995, p. 1) enabled him to become one of the foremost
‘contemporary theorists of appropriation’ (Burke, 2009, p. 38).24
Unfortunately, the underlying concern for the restoration of authenticity has
infected Hanafi’s critiques of the Islamic and Western civilizations with apologetic
and polemic undertones. Meanwhile, as the sole author of the project, Hanafi has only
been able to complete but a fraction of the envisaged massive scope of work. In spite
of these drawbacks, with his erudition straddling both Islamic and European thought,
he critically assessed classical and modern thinkers from East and West, including Ibn
Rushd (Averroes), Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, Zaki Naguib Mahmud, Descartes, Kant,
and Feuerbach. He can therefore be considered an emblematic exponent of the new
Muslim intellectualism that is by and large at ease with cultural hybridity and with a
cosmopolitan vision for the Muslim future.
In my view, the most useful tools for a cosmopolitan reinterpretation of the
Islamic heritage are provided by Mohammed Arkoun. Having established his
scholarly reputation as a specialist in the intellectual history of medieval Islam
(1982a), Arkoun dedicated much of his academic career to the development of
alternative approaches to Islamic studies as a field of academic inquiry. The
innovative research agenda called ‘Applied Islamology’ was first introduced in 1973
(Arkoun, 1973, p. 9) and then elaborated in the essay ‘Pour une islamologie
appliquée’ (Arkoun, 1984, p. 43-63). While the designation is taken from Roger
Bastide’s Applied Anthropology (1973), the envisaged program is based on
borrowings from a wide range of achievements in the Western human sciences in the
twentieth-century. Arkoun has been very sparse in his attributions to Roger Bastide’s
work, but an examination of the latter shows that as an expert specializing in AfricanBrazilian religions, he was influenced by the imaginative writings of Gilberto Freyre
on the plantation society and culture in his native northeastern Brazil, referring to his
sociological investigations as ‘Lusotropicology’ (1961). Peter Burke has hailed Freyre
as ‘one of the first scholars anywhere to devote much attention to cultural hybridity’
(2009, p. 8), noting that his concepts of métissage and interpenetration were also
central in the analyses of African-American religion by the French sociologist Roger
Bastide’ (2009, p. 49).
A further survey of Arkoun’s oeuvre evinces also the impact of the ‘new
history’ developed by the French Annales school, from which he adopted Fernand
Braudel’s25 notion of the Mediterranean as a ‘geohistorical space’ (Arkoun 2002, p.
134ff.) and the hybrid discipline ethnohistoire practiced by the younger Annales
generation, including Georges Duby, Jacques Le Goff, Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie,
and alternately referred to as ‘historical anthropology’ (Burke, 1990, p. 80),
‘anthropology of the past’ or ‘archaeology of the daily life’ (Arkoun 2002: 274). This
influence was further reinforced by Arkoun’s exposure to the philosophy of Ricoeur,
whose meditations in Time and Narrative (1984) and La Mémoire, l’Histoire, l’Oubli
(2002) were shaped by Duby and Le Goff’s ‘historical anthropology of the preindustrial West’ (1984, p. 106-9).26 I conclude that Arkoun’s desire for an
anthropological turn in philosophical thought parallels Hanafi’s effort to transform
theology into anthropology, although the former tones down his expectations:
Only modern social and cultural anthropology furnishes the concrete data
peculiar to every socio-cultural construction in a precise time and space,
while situating every local type in a global context of political, social,
cultural and religious facts. It so happens that, as philosophy and
anthropology continue to be taught an practised as distinct and specialized
Globalization
103
disciplines, the many incursions of philosophers into anthropology remain
incidental and cursory, while anthropologists are not always able to go
beyond the ethnographic stage of their scientific practice (Arkoun, 2000,
p. 187-8).
Through Ricoeur, Arkoun was also directed to the work of structural linguists
and anthropologists such as Émile Benveniste and Claude Lévi-Strauss, and from
there onwards to the use of semiotics in his Qur’anic studies (Arkoun 1982b). In
regards to this latter subject, his eclecticism is further confirmed by his regret of there
being no equivalent of Northrope Frye’s The Great Code in Islamic studies or any
interest in Sayyid Qutb’s literary-critical studies of the Qur’an, which had also
inspired the young Hanafi (Arkoun, 2002, p. 58-9, 80).
During the last ten years, Arkoun has taken this project to a new level of
abstraction by transforming it into an epistemological critique of religious thought in
general, which challenges all existent forms of rational thinking or ‘reason’. Although
not denying that his own genealogy or archaeology bears affinities with Derrida’s
‘archive’ and Foucault’s excavation of ‘pre-existing discursive fields’ (Arkoun 2007:
21), Arkoun prefers to avoid the term ‘post-modernity’ (Arkoun 2000, p. 180). Instead
he qualifies his new project of ‘emerging reason’ (Arkoun 1998b 124), later
abbreviated to ‘E.R.’ (Arkoun 2002: 23) a ‘meta-modern’ undertaking (Arkoun
1995/6, p. 10).
This project challenges not only the ‘postures of religious, and classicalmodern philosophical thinking but also the scientific-teletechnological reason27
(Arkoun 1998b: 124-5), or ‘disposable thought’ (Arkoun 2000, p. 187) dominating the
rampant consumerist and homogenizing globalization identified with
‘McDonaldization’ (Burke 2009, p. 52), and which is sending non-Western (including
Muslim) cultures on a collision course with the West. As an illustration of this trend,
Arkoun refers to Benjamin Barber’s Jihad vs. McWorld (1995).
According to Arkoun, Islamic religious thinking is not equipped to meet the
challenges of either Enlightenment philosophy or the instrumentalist thinking
associated with globalization. Not unlike Madjid and Hanafi, Arkoun confesses to
having ‘long shared the prevailing opinion which reclaims the elaboration of a
“modern theology”, after the manner of what the Catholics and Protestants have
continued to do in the Western milieu ‘ (Arkoun 2000, p. 217). Likewise, he accuses
political scientists of remaining locked in the epistemological frame of the reason of
the Enlightenment, whereas globalization obliges us to revise the cognitive systems
bequeathed by all types of reason (Arkoun 2000, p. 189). These engagements with
globalizing patterns of thought and the accompanying worldviews expounded by
Huntington and Barber have turned Mohammed Arkoun into a cultural ‘border
crosser’, whose intellectual appropriations have enabled him to successfully
transform his cultural hybridity into a confident cosmopolitanism.
Conclusion
Within the Muslim world, in particular Indonesia has developed an intellectual
atmosphere that appears to be conducive to a relatively free and progressive
engagement with questions affecting contemporary Muslims on a collective level. On
the individual level, however, I argue that also elsewhere in the Muslim world,
intellectuals are trying to confront the challenges of globalization by developing
104
alternative discourses which can accommodate endogenous modes of intellectual
creativity.
1
Although other terms, such as Islamic revivalism, Muslim fundamentalism, and Wahhabism have
attained greater currency
2
For the global spread of these alternative discourses cf. Binder (1988) Boullata (1995), Effendy
(2003), Mandaville (2001), Taji-Farouki and Nafi (2004).
3
For this restriction to an intellectual avant-garde, cf. Bagader 1994: 119-20
4
For an excellent discussion of these two strands, cf. Nussbaum (1994).
5
With a bow to George Konrad’s Antipolitics (1984).
6
Cf. also the work of sociologists of knowledge such as Peter Berger and Thomas Luckman.
7
To be distinguished from the doubling of consciousness as well as the notion of basic personality
examined by Muslim intellectuals such as Arkoun (1989; 2002: 250-73), Djait (1974), and Hanafi
(Hanafi 1981b: 119-34; 1991: 25) using the work on basic personality developed by Kardiner (1945)
and introduced in France by Dufrenne (1953)
8
Another indication of the region’s cosmopolitan attitude: where else could a Muslim serve as the top
diplomat of a Buddhist kingdom?
9
Also called Kelompok Pembaruan or ‘Renewal Group’ (Azra 2006a, p. 183).
10
Himpunan Mahasiswa Islam or .Muslim Students Association’.
11
Ikatan Cendekiawan Muslim Indonesia (ICMI), chaired by Soeharto’s protégé and later successor,
Minister of Technology B.J. Habibie.
12
During these study years in Chicago (1978-1984), Cak Nur also published a collection of translations
and essays on key texts from the Islamic tradition (Madjid 1984b).
13
In his study of cultural hybridity , Burke has presented him as an advocate of religious syncretism
(2009, p. 48).
14
Although Gus Dur’s maverick approach to academia had resulted in uncompleted studies in Egypt,
Iraq, and the Netherlands (Barton 2002, pp. 83-101).
15
Cf. also Barton 2002, pp. 147ff, 245ff.; Kull 2005, p. 196-7.
16
The other ones are: Bahtiar Effendy, Badri Jatim, Hadimulyo, Irchamni Sulailman, Ali Munhanif,
Ahsan Ali Fauzi, Ahmad Thaha, Nanang Tahqiq, Saiful Muzani, Muhamad Wahyuni Nafis, Nasrulah
Ali Fauzi, Jamal D. Rahman (Kull 2005: 212, n. 18).
17
Cf. Abshar-Abdalla 2006: 143-61 and the JIL website: http://islamlib.com/en/. Although they do not
seem to be actually maintained at present both initiators also maintain personal websites. For AbsharAbdalla, cf. http://ulil.net/ ; for Assyaukanie, cf. http://www.assyaukanie.com/ .
18
For more on the influence of Shi‘ism in Indonesia, cf. Azra (2002) and Marcinkowski (2006), Yusuf
(2004).
19
In regards to the latter cf. also the PhD thesis written by the Indonesian scholar Yusuf Rahman
(2001).
20
For more extensive coverage cf. Kahn 2006.
21
In two instances also Kahn acknowledges the role of ‘critical intellectuals’ as actors (266) and
‘academic institutions’ (274) as the site for this cosmopolitan practice.
22
Farish Noor is one of the few Muslim intellectuals whose highly original reinterpretations of Muslim
identity in the Malaysian context (2002), underscoring that ‘the new voices of Islam are products of
this “symbiotic” relationship between tradition and modernity, between global and local, between West
and East’ (Sharify-Funk 2006, p. 72). It is probably no coincidence that, like Abdullah Badawi and
Anwar Ibrahim, Farish Noor too hails from multiethnic and cosmopolitan Penang.
23
The theologian Guitton, himself the only lay person to address the Second Vatican Council, had
arranged for Hanafi to attend the Council as an observer (Hanafi 1989, p. 235-6).
24
Cf. Ricoeur 1981, p. 182ff. and Ricoeur (2004).
25
Braudel’s outlook was informed by his ten-year teaching experience in Algeria (Burke 1990, p. 323), and his acquaintance with the work of Freyre during his work at the university of São Paolo (101).
26
Cf. also Burke 1990, pp. 76 and 85.
27
The latter is taken from: Derrida and Vattimo (1998) Religion: Cultural Memory in the Present.
Globalization
105
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Nepal’s Civil War and Its Economic Costs
Gyan Pradhan, Ph.D.
Eastern Kentucky University
[email protected]
Abstract
This paper estimates the macroeconomic effects of increased spending on defense and
internal security necessitated by the decade-long Maoist insurgency in Nepal. An
investment equation is specified to examine the relationship between defense
spending and investment. The estimation results indicate that there is a significant
negative effect of defense spending on investment. A simple Harrod-Domar growth
relationship is used to estimate the effect of the increase in defense spending on
economic growth. This analysis suggests that between 1996 and 2006, the
opportunity cost of the conflict in terms of lost output has been about 3 percent of
Nepal’s current GDP.
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Introduction
This paper examines some macroeconomic effects and opportunity costs of
increases in security spending by the Nepalese government to finance its war against the
Maoist rebellion that began in 1996. Since that time, sharp increases in security spending
by the government have resulted in a decline in real investment which, in turn, has
reduced economic growth. In addition to these direct costs, the conflict has also resulted
in significant indirect costs, such as disruptions in trade and commerce, loss in tourism
revenue, a toll on children, loss of infrastructure, and reduction in foreign investment.
Although important, these indirect costs are not the main focus of this paper, so they are
examined only briefly.
Economic theory suggests that an increase in government or military spending
can crowd out private investment and may lead to lower rates of economic growth and
lost output. Alternatively, military spending can also lead to some positive effects on
economic growth through a Keynesian-type expansion whereby an increase in aggregate
demand results in increased output and employment. A number of studies have examined
the effect of higher defense spending on economic growth in developing countries. Some
analysts argue that military spending may have a favorable effect on economic growth.
For instance, Benoit (1973, 1978) shows that military spending positively affected
economic growth for a sample of 44 developing countries from 1950 to 1965. He argues
that military spending increases economic growth, as it improves human capital through
education and vocational and technical training. In addition, research and development
as well as production activities by the military may provide positive externalities to the
civilian sector. He also contends that reducing military spending in developing countries
will not necessarily raise economic growth because only a small fraction of the decrease
in military spending results in productive investment. However, most studies on the
subject find that defense spending tends to have an adverse impact on economic growth,
either directly or indirectly. Examples include studies by Lim (1983), Deger and Sen
(1983), Faini, Annez, and Taylor (1984), Maizels and Nissanke (1985), Deger (1986),
Chan (1986), Grobas and Gnanaselvam (1993), Roux (1996), Pradhan (2001),
Arunatilake et al. (2001), and Ra and Singh (2005).
Still other studies suggest that there is no causal relationship between military
expenditures and economic growth in either direction. For instance, studies by Biswas
and Ram (1986), Payne and Ross (1992), and Kim (1996) found no consistent
relationship between military spending and economic growth. Similarly, Dakurah et al.
(2001) found no causal relationship between military spending and economic growth
based on their study of 62 countries. The empirical literature thus suggests that the
relationship cannot be generalized across countries and may depend on an array of factors
including the period of study, the level of socio-economic development of the country,
and how the military expenditures are financed.
The majority of the studies cited above have used a multicountry approach to
examine the relationship between military spending and economic growth in developing
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countries. While multicountry approaches are useful, a case study approach may be more
illustrative. After all, circumstances and policy responses are likely to vary across
countries and the nature of the policies pursued is likely to affect the relationship between
military spending and economic growth. This paper therefore adopts a case study
approach in an attempt to analyze the economic costs of Nepal’s decade long civil war.
The rest of the paper is organized as follows: The next two sections provide overviews of
the Nepalese economy and the Maoist insurgency. The civil war’s macroeconomic
effects in terms of lower investment and reduced nonmilitary expenditures are then
discussed. This discussion is followed by some quantitative estimates of the opportunity
costs in terms of the economic growth sacrificed and lost output. Some indirect costs
discussed in the subsequent section. The final section summarizes the main findings and
concludes the paper.
Brief Background of Nepal’s Economy 1
Nepal has made some encouraging progress in development since it emerged
from self-imposed isolation in the 1950s, at which time it had virtually no infrastructure.
Access to basic public services such as primary education, health care, electricity, and
sanitation has increased significantly since that time. Almost 90 percent of Nepal’s
primary-aged school children are now enrolled in school. The infant mortality rate has
dropped from 165 (per 1,000 live births) in 1970 to 48 in 2006. Although still among the
lowest in South Asia, life expectancy at birth has increased to 63 years.
Nepal made the transition from absolute monarchy to multiparty democracy in
1990. Unfortunately, democracy also ushered in political instability; there have been 18
governments since 1990. As might be expected, there has been no coherent drive to
promote economic development or to mobilize and utilize domestic revenues efficiently.
The country is faced with low returns on public investments and inadequate government
services. The decade-long civil war, which began in 1996, has claimed more than 13,000
lives.
Between 1990 and 2001, Nepal’s aggregate GDP increased by 5.3 percent per
year and per capita income increased by more than 2.5 percent as the economy responded
to macroeconomic stability and liberalization, and declining population growth rates.
There was also a rapid growth in trade. However, by the turn of the 21st century,
intensification of the Maoist conflict and political instability, together with the effects of
the global recession, led to a sharp reduction in exports, manufacturing, and tourism
services. For the first time in 19 years, negative growth was recorded in 2002. A
slowdown in revenue growth and a sharp increase in security expenditures created an
unprecedented budget crisis. The shortfall in revenue and difficulties in implementing
development programs in conflict areas reduced development spending by about 20
percent. As the budget crisis deepened in 2003, development spending, in real terms, fell
to a ten-year low. GDP growth did recover in 2003 and 2004, registering a 3.4 and 3.7
percent growth rate. The corresponding growth rates for 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008
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were 2.4, 2.9, 2.7 and 5.3 percent.
During the past ten years or so, the headcount poverty rate has dropped sharply to
about 30 percent, although there are wide disparities based on geography, caste, ethnicity
and gender, and inequality in Nepal is the highest in South Asia. With an annual per
capita income of about $470, Nepal remains one of the poorest countries in the world.
Only 35 percent of the women are literate, compared to 63 percent of men. Nepal’s
population of 28 million is still growing at about 2 percent a year, and the ratio of
population to arable land is one of the highest in the world.
The Maoist Insurgency2
In February 1996, after winning only nine out of 205 seats in parliament in earlier
elections, Maoist rebels launched an armed struggle to replace Nepal’s constitutional
monarchy with a communist republic. Given Nepal’s deep rural poverty, caste and ethnic
discrimination, endemic corruption, and a concentration of wealth and power, it is not
surprising that the Maoist message resonated with the Nepali population. Within months,
Maoist leaders created a highly organized insurgency. In August 2001, attempts at peace
talks stalled after three rounds of negotiations over the question of Nepal’s constitutional
monarchy. In November 2001, the Maoists walked out of the negotiations, broke the
ceasefire and resumed attacks on government troops. A state of emergency that lasted for
10 months was imposed, and the army was ordered to fight the rebels for the first time.
Over half of the more than 13,000 deaths occurred since the army joined the fight in
2001.
The government and rebels declared another ceasefire in January 2003. However,
despite several rounds of talks, the two sides could not agree on the role of the monarchy.
The Maoists demanded an election to form a constituent assembly. This assembly would
draft a new constitution that would offer the option of abolishing the monarchy. The
government refused the Maoists’ ultimatum and insisted that the Maoists either surrender
their weapons or tone down their demands to fit existing laws. Some analysts suggest
that the Maoist leadership was also under pressure from within its own ranks, with inured
fighters eager to launch fresh assaults against government forces. The Maoists withdrew
officially from the ceasefire on August 27, 2003 as peace talks between the government
and Maoist insurgents collapsed. The country promptly plunged into more violence.
Even during the so-called ceasefires, both government and Maoist forces
regularly breached the code of conduct that was supposed to govern their activities during
the stops in fighting. Both sides believed that the other was planning an impending
attack. The Maoists continued to recruit heavily and succeeded in penetrating urban
areas. They continued to practice widespread extortion from businessmen, aid groups,
and villagers to fill their coffers. They even fired on a motorcade of a former prime
minister. For their part, the government forces continued to make their presence felt
throughout the countryside and summarily executed people they suspected of being
Maoists in a remote village in eastern Nepal.
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The Maoists had an estimated 4,000 hard-core fighters and a militia of about
15,000. They roamed freely in the countryside and claimed to control 80 percent of the
country. This claim may have been an exaggeration, but it was true that the government
did not exist in most rural areas, which were frequented by roaming Maoist extortionists.
The number of soldiers in the Royal Nepalese Army grew to about 90,0000 by 2005, up
from 45,000 in November 2001 when the army was mobilized to combat the Maoist
rebels. The army headed the unified command, which included its own soldiers, 18,000
armed police and 10,000 policemen deputed from the Nepal Police. The army was
heavily armed with the help of India and the United States, which provided $17 million in
military equipment and training. The army’s outdated weapons were replaced with
mortars, machine guns and M-16 rifles provided by the American, Indian and Belgian
governments, as well as with British and Indian helicopters. Counterinsurgency training
was provided to the government forces by expert teams from India and the United States.
In October 2002, King Gyanendra dismissed the political parties from power and
was unwilling or unable to restore the democratic process. Instead, he took over state
power on February 1, 2005,declared a state of emergency, and severely curtailed
fundamental rights. Subsequently, India, the United States, and the United Kingdom
froze all military aid to Nepal. Three months later, the state of emergency was removed,
primarily to appease the international community, although fundamental rights were not
restored. The king continued to strengthen his absolute powers and targeted leaders of
the political parties. This move by the king pushed the seven parliamentary parties to
form an alliance (SPA) with the Maoists. This alliance organized a mass uprising against
the king, which left more than 20 dead and many more wounded. On April 21, 2006, the
king was forced to relinquish authority and indicated that “power was being returned to
the people.” The Maoists agreed to a cease fire and an “armed management” process.
Under this deal, both Maoist and government armies and arms were to be kept in a secure
place under the supervision of the United Nations. As the country edged toward a
solution to 10 years of civil war, rivalries between caste and ethnic groups threatened the
peace process. A new crop of ethnically-based groups such as the Madhesis (Nepalis
from the southern plains) began making separatist demands regarding an end to
domination by the Brahmins and Chhetris, the two highest Hindu castes. Fourteen
months of protests reaped havoc in the southern Terai region, and scores died in ethnic
and caste-based violence. On December 28, 2007, in an almost unanimous vote, the
interim parliament declared Nepal a federal democratic republic, relegating Nepal’s 240year-old monarchy to oblivion. This historic verdict was conditional on approval by the
first meeting of the constituent assembly.
The elections for the constituent assembly, which is responsible for drafting a new
constitution and which also serves as the parliament, were held on April 10, 2008. The
Maoists won the most seats (220 of 601) but could not form a government because a
president needed to be elected first. In the indirect presidential election, Mr. Ram Baran
Yadav of the mainstream Nepali Congress party won with 308 out of the 590 votes in the
assembly, offering a setback to the Maoists’ hopes of dictating the direction of
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constitutional reforms.
On August 15th, 2008, after months of bickering, Maoist leader Pushpa Kamal
Dahal was elected prime minister, with the support of a large majority of the constituent
assembly, and a Maoist-led coalition government was formed. Trouble, however, began
to brew regarding the intractable issue of the future of the armed forces. Under the peace
agreement, some 23,000 Maoists guerillas were supposed to be integrated into the Nepali
army, which refused to follow the injunction of the Moist-led government. Mr. Dahal
sacked the army chief, but the president, who had the support of almost every other
political party, reinstated him, which led to the resignation of Mr. Dahal on May 4th,
2009. On May 23rd, Madhav Kumar Nepal, the leader of the moderate Unified MarxistLeninist (UML) party became the new prime minister. Although Mr. Nepal has the
support of 21 of the 24 political parties in the assembly, the Maoists, who won 38 percent
of the seats in the assembly, do not support him and have refused to join the new
government.
After another round of bickering, the main coalition partners in the new
government have formed a new cabinet. It is uncertain how long this government will
last or if the Maoists can be coaxed back to the table. A return to civil war still seems
possible. In any event, lasting peace will not obtain unless the dispute regarding the
future of the two armies is resolved. Unfortunately, and as has become common in
Nepali politics, uncertainty looms yet again.
Macroeconomic Effects3
In 1996, when the insurgency began, security spending was about 0.9 percent of
GDP. In 2006, it was 2.5 percent. By some estimates, security expenses grew by over
300 percent between 2000 and 2006, mostly due to the purchase of arms and ammunition.
During 2002, spending on security increased 32 percent to $170 million in a $788 million
budget to purchase advanced weapons and logistics for the police and the army to fight
the insurgency. In 2006, security spending increased by 10 percent to about $280
million. As more money was pumped into the war effort, fewer funds were available for
development. For an extremely poor country whose budget depends on foreign aid for a
third of its total outlay, such disproportionate increases in security spending can be
expected to have lingering and considerable effects.
The effects of the conflict on economic growth and welfare depend in part on how
the government chooses to finance its war. One way the government can finance an
increase in defense spending is to obtain the extra funds by curtailing spending in others
areas such as health, education, and public investment. Another alternative is to borrow
from domestic sources, from the central bank, or from abroad. Following Grobar and
Gnanaselvam (1993), the macroeconomic effects of Nepal’s Maoist insurgency are
examined by first looking at the basic open-economy saving-investment relationship:
I + (G - T) = S + (M - X)
(1)
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where I is investment, G is government consumption, T is tax revenues, S is private
saving, M is imports and X is exports. Dividing government spending into defense
spending (GD), which includes spending on internal security, and nonsecurity spending
(GN), and rearranging, the above identity can be rewritten as:
GD = S - I + (M - X) + (T - GN).
(2)
Equation (2) states that higher defense spending will have to be offset by adjustments in
private saving, investment, the balance of payments, taxes, or nonsecurity spending.
From 1990 to 96, defense spending increased by about 67 percent, and from 1996 to 2006
it increased by 215 percent. While investment increased about 50 percent from 1990 to
1996, it declined by more than 8 percent between 1996 and 1999 and increased about 7
percent from 1996 to 2006. Similarly, while national saving increased by more than 75
percent from 1990 to 1996, it fell by 26 percent from 1996 to 2006. Finally, trade
volume increased 84 percent from 1990 to 1996 but fell by 16 percent from 1996 to 2006.
We see from the data that there has been a significant increase in defense spending and a
decline in real investment.
Nepal continues to rely heavily on foreign savings as a source of investment
finance. There has been a continued inflow of capital as the trade balance has remained
negative. The trade deficit did narrow in the late 1990s, but the gap started to widen in
2003. External debt at about 50 percent of GDP in 1990 continued to increase in
subsequent years, while registering a gradual decline in recent years. Total debt service
as a ratio of GDP was 1.9 percent in 1990 and 1.6 percent in 2003. Total debt service as
a percentage of exports was 15.7 percent in 1990, 6.2 percent in 2002, and about 5
percent in 2006.
It is apparent that the government has had to make some choices to finance its
spending to fight the Maoist insurgency. The data suggests that increased spending on
defense and internal security has been associated with lower investment and reduced
nonmilitary government expenditure, especially in economic services. These trends are
inauspicious; lower investment results on slower growth rates and lower living standards
in the future. In other words, the opportunity costs of increases in defense spending are
likely to be high. These costs are discussed next.
Opportunity Costs
This section provides some quantitative estimates of the opportunity costs of the
civil war in Nepal. An attempt is made to estimate the economic growth sacrificed as a
result of higher spending on defense and internal security. To this end, it is necessary to
estimate the effect of the increased defense spending on investment behavior. Following
Grobar and Gnanaselvam (1993), a model of investment is specified in which the level of
investment depends on the supply of financial resources.
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Resources available to finance investment come from three sources. The first is
private domestic saving, which is a direct function of real per capita income:
SP = S(YP).
(3)
The second source is public or government saving. The ability of the government to
finance investment depends on its ability to raise revenue and its other expenditure
commitments. Spending on defense and internal security reduces the government’s
ability to finance investment. In addition, higher spending on social programs will
reduce funds available for investment. Spending by the government on social programs
has been somewhat lower since 1990, when multiparty democracy was restored. This
reduced spending reflects the increased emphasis placed on market-oriented policies and
lower emphasis on social spending. Thus, public saving available to finance investment
is modeled as:
SG = SG(YP, GD, D)
(4)
where D is a dummy variable reflecting the post-1990 period. Since several years may
elapse before investment behavior is affected by government policy, the dummy variable
is lagged.
The third source of investment finance is foreign saving. Capital flows (K) are
treated as exogenous. We thus have an investment equation of the following form where
investment, defense spending, and capital inflows are measured as ratios of GDP:
I = I(YP, GD, K, D).
(5)
This study is based on annual time series data from 1980 to 2006. Data have been
obtained from several sources--several issues of the Quarterly Economic Bulletin,
published by Nepal Rastra Bank (the central bank), various issues of Economic Survey,
published by Nepal’s Ministry of Finance, the Key Indicators for Asia and the Pacific,
available on the Asian Development Bank web site, the International Financial Statistics,
published by the IMF, and World Development Indicators CD-ROM 200. As the
necessary data were not readily available from any single source, it was necessary to rely
on several sources. As might be expected, data from different sources were usually not
compatible.
Estimation and Results4
The results of the estimation (see Table 3) indicate that there is a significant
negative effect of defense spending on investment, even when accounting for other
variables that affect investment behavior. Per capita GDP and capital inflows have a
positive and significant effect on investment behavior. The coefficient on the
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government dummy variable carries the expected positive sign since government policy
after 1990 has been more market and growth-oriented.
The coefficient on defense spending indicates that an increase in the ratio of
defense spending to GDP of 1 percentage point will reduce the ratio of investment to
GDP by about 1.3 percentage points. Following Grobar and Gnanaselvam (1993), a
simple Harrod-Domar growth model is used to estimate the effect of the recent increase
in defense spending on economic growth. Given a fixed incremental capital-output ratio
(ICOR), the basic Harrod-Domar relationship for the economy is:
g = (s/ICOR) - d
where g is the growth rate of output, s is the saving (or investment) rate, and d is the
depreciation rate.
Nepal’s ICOR has varied over time. Calculated from data during the 1990-2006
period, the ICOR ranged from 2 to 2.4. Since the Maoist insurgency began in 1996, the
ratio of defense spending to GDP has increased by 1.1 percentage points. Table 4
indicates that a 1.1 percentage point increase in defense spending, all else constant, will
be associated with a 1.44 percentage drop in the ratio of investment to GDP. Table 4
shows the corresponding change in the growth rate given different assumptions about the
value of the ICOR. The table also shows the estimates of the increased level of defense
spending brought about by the insurgency in terms of reduced output as a result of lower
levels of investment. If we apply an ICOR of 2 for Nepal, the opportunity cost of the
conflict in terms of lost output from 1996-2006 is about 22 billion rupees, or about $315
million, which is about 3 percent of Nepal’s 2007 GDP, not a trivial amount. In addition,
the conflict has a number of other costs such as loss in agricultural production, cost of
personal property, buildings and infrastructure damaged by the conflict, loss of tourism
revenue, and disruptions in trade and commerce. Some of these additional costs are
discussed in the next section.
A note of caution is in order. The Harrod-Domar framework used in this study is
subject to uncertainty over the value of the ICOR and the appropriate depreciation rate.
Calculated ICORs tend to vary considerably due to cyclical effects. As such, the
estimation of the economic growth forgone due to the lower private investment crowded
out by defense spending should be viewed only as a rough approximation.
Indirect Costs
The Maoist conflict in Nepal has resulted in other costs. The conflict has led to a
slowdown in development activities, particularly in rural areas. The Asian Development
Bank estimates that only 88 percent of the targeted government spending was realized,
which has had adverse impacts on health, drinking water, roads, and agriculture.
The tourism industry has been particularly hard hit. Tourism has been Nepal’s
main foreign currency earner, bringing in about 400,000 thousand visitors and more than
123
$650 million in revenue every year. An estimated 1.5 million people depend on the
tourism industry, which contributes over 18 percent to the Nepal’s gross domestic
product. If properly managed, it is estimated that the tourism industry could generate
employment for more than 6 million people. The escalation of the conflict with the
Maoists resulted in a sharp drop in the number of tourists. Specifically, tourist arrivals
fell by about 6 percent in 2000, 23 percent in 2001, 24 percent in 2002, and 3 percent in
2005. As a percentage of total exports, tourism revenue declined 24 percent in 1997, 15
percent in 2002, and 40 percent in 2005. Moreover, because tourism has a strong link
with other industries, the downturn in the tourism sector had a significant negative impact
on up to 80 percent of other industries in the country.
The conflict has also had an adverse impact on trade and commerce. Following
trade liberalization policy, exports and imports grew rapidly for much of the 1990s. For
instance, exports increased 36 percent in 1992 and 33 percent in 1994. However, exports
fell by 8 percent in 1996, 14 percent in 1998, 19 percent in 2002, and 13 percent in 2003.
While weak external demand and intensified competition were responsible, production
disruptions emanating from the conflict played an important role. Regular strikes
affected businesses and had adverse effects on foreign investments.
Some analysts have argued that children, particularly those from poor families in
the remote hills, have been among the most severely affected by the conflict. According
to The New York Times (December 9, 2004), human rights groups estimate that tens of
thousands of children were abducted by Maoists and forced to attend indoctrination
camps or have been sent into exile by frightened parents. The Nepalese army is also
alleged to have used children as spies and messengers. Concern Center for Child
Workers in Nepal, a leading child rights organization, has said that hundreds of children
were killed in the violence. An estimated 5,000 children have been displaced as a result
of their parents fleeing to safer towns, 2,000 children have been orphaned, and 10,000
have been denied access to education. Children have died at the hands of both the rebels
and security forces, while some have simply been caught in the crossfire. Thousands of
children face an uncertain future due to the psychological trauma caused by the cycle of
violence. Maoist rebels in particular were blamed for using children on the battlefront.
An international child rights group, the Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers, says
that children normally began working as porters and messengers and then often ended up
on the frontline. Security forces were also accused of victimizing innocent children on
suspicion of collaborating with the rebels. According to a recent survey, less than 37
percent of children were vaccinated in two districts affected by the rebellion, compared
with a national average of 75 percent. Attacks on teachers forced many teachers to leave,
affecting the education of children.
Summary and Conclusion
This paper has estimated some effects of increased military spending associated
with Nepal’s decade-long civil war that began in 1996. Clearly, the most serious cost of
the conflict has been the loss of over 13,000 lives, but there are clear economic costs of
124
the conflict as well. This paper has focused on the macroeconomic effects of increased
security spending as a result of the conflict. Nepal has made some encouraging progress
in development since it emerged from self-imposed isolation in the 1950s. After the
transition from absolute monarchy to multiparty democracy in 1990, economic
performance was encouraging. However, weak political leadership, continued political
instability and, more recently, the Maoist insurgency, have all exacted a severe toll on the
economy.
After brief overviews of the Nepalese economy and the Maoist insurgency, the
macroeconomic effects of increased government spending on defense and internal
security were discussed. Increased defense spending resulted in a decline in real
investment as well as a reduction in spending on economic services. An investment
equation was specified to examine the relationship between defense spending and
investment. After a battery of tests, an error correction model was developed and
estimated. The estimated results indicate that there is a significant negative effect of
defense spending on investment, even when accounting for other variables that affect
investment behavior. Next, a simple Harrod-Domar growth relationship was used to
estimate the effect of the increase in defense spending on economic growth. This
analysis indicates that from 1996 to 2006, the opportunity cost of the conflict in terms of
lost output has been about 3 percent of Nepal’s current GDP. In addition to these direct
costs, the paper has argued that lost tourism revenue, disruptions in trade and commerce,
and a significant toll on children represent some significant indirect costs of the conflict.
Finally, as noted above, data challenges, particularly in obtaining values for the
appropriate ICOR and depreciation rates, have been significant. As such, the results
obtained above using the Harrod-Domar framework should be viewed only as broad
orders of magnitude. They are intended to be a rough approximation of the economic
growth forgone due to the private investment crowded out by increased spending on
defense.
Table 1
Unit Root Test (variables in first difference)
Variable
Augmented Dickey-Fuller Test
Phillips-Perron Test
I
-5.83***
-5.96***
YP
-4.72***
-4.93***
GD
-5.23**
-5.87***
K
-6.16***
-7.62***
Note: ***significant at 1% level; **significant at 5% level.
125
Table 2
Johansen’s Cointegration Test
Ho
Likelihood Ratio
5% Critical Value
1% Critical Value
r #0
122.6**
84.25
93.28
r #1
96.4**
58.41
66.24
r #2
66.3**
37.62
44.57
r #3
32.8*
19.53
25.49
Note: **rejection of hypothesis at 1% level; *rejection of hypothesis at
5% level.
126
Table 3
Estimation of Equation (6)
Variable
ΔI
Constant
0.231
(1.187)
ΔYP
0.124
(3.426)***
ΔGD
-1.281
(3.031)***
ΔK
0.317
(4.481)***
ΔI-1
0.518
(2.981)**
Dummy
1.978
(1.594)
EC
-1.147
(3.128)***
Adjusted R2
0.721
Durbin-Watson
1.875
Breusch-Godfrey
0.782
F
3.729***
RESET F
1.231
Note: ***significant at 1% level; **significant at 5% level.
127
Table 4
Estimated Economic Effects, 1996-2006
ICOR
Projected Percentage-Point Drop in
Growth Rate by 2006
Estimated Loss of Output, 1996-2006
(Millions of 1994/95 Rupees)
2.0
1.17
22,275
2.5
0.93
17,706
3.0
0.78
14,850
4.0
0.59
11,233
Acknowledgements
I am grateful for helpful comments from three anonymous referees.
128
1
Data in this section have been obtained from the World Bank and Asian Development websites.
2
Some of this discussion is based on the International Crisis Group’s Asia Briefing Paper: “Nepal: Back to the
Gun,” October 22, 2003.
3
Data in this section have been obtained from the Asian Development Bank, Nepal Rastra Bank, and World
Bank websites.
4
Before carrying out the estimation of equation (5), it is important to test for the stationarity of the data
series in order to avoid spurious regression. Following Nelson and Plosser (1982), an augmented DickeyFuller test is conducted using the constant term and trend. In addition to the Dickey-Fuller test, the
Phillips-Perron test (Phillips, 1987; Phillips-Perron, 1988) is also conducted to ensure the stationarity of the
data series. The Phillips-Perron test uses a non-parametric correction to deal with any correlation in the
error terms. Both tests indicate that most of the data series are non-stationary at the level and they all are
stationary at the first-difference level. The test results are reported in Table 1.
After establishing the stationarity of the data series, Johansen’s cointegration test (Johansen, 1988;
Johansen and Juselius, 1990) is conducted to examine the long-run relationship among the variables. This
involves the test of cointegrating vectors. The cointegration test results, reported in Table 2, suggest that
the hypothesis of no cointegration is rejected. The existence of at least one cointegrating vector indicates
that a long-term relationship among the variables exists. Following Engle and Granger (1987), an error
correction model is developed, which involves estimating the model in first-difference form and adding an
error correction term as another explanatory variable. The error correction term is the lag of the estimated
error term, derived by regressing the dependent variable with the independent variables in the model. The
error correction model developed is as follows:
ΔI = b0 + b1ΔYP + b2ΔGD + b3ΔK + b4ΔI-1 + b5Dummy + b6EC + v
(6)
where EC is the error correction term and v is the random error term. To ensure the absence of
specification error, a RESET test (Ramsey, 1969) was also conducted. To ensure the absence of any serial
correlation, in addition to the Durbin-Watson test, the Breusch-Godfrey LM test was also conducted.
Statistics for both of these tests indicate that the estimated results do not suffer from any serial correlation.
The estimation of the error correction model is reported in Table 3.
129
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William Douglass & Joseba Zulaika. Basque Culture: Anthropological Perspectives.
Reno, Nevada: University of Nevada Press, 2007.
Basque Culture: Anthropological Perspectives is the last title in the Basque Textbook
Series published by the Center for Basque Studies at the University of Nevada, Reno. As implied
by the title of the text and the name of the series in which it is included, the book is an analysis
of Basque culture, past and present, from an anthropological point of view. Presented as a
textbook, each chapter includes additional required readings on the topic covered as well as
suggested readings that can extend the learning process outside of the classroom. Additionally,
the objectives of each lesson are listed at the end of the chapter, as are different essay topics for
possible assignment and submission. Black and white photos illustrate many of the chapters.
The authors of the book, William Douglass and Joseba Zulaika, are two well established
scholars in the field of Basque Anthropology. Besides being credited with founding the Basque
Studies Program at the University of Nevada, Reno, Douglass is the author of many articles and
books on the subject. Similarly, Zulaika is a former director of the Basque program who has
published extensively in the field. Basque Culture is the result of their combined and respective
experiences and interests, including field work in different Basque towns and studies on
migration and Basque politics. The fact that Douglass is an American and Zulaika is a Basque
also provides the book with a comprehensive view of the subject matter, which is presented as
experienced by both an insider, Zulaika, and an outsider, Douglass.
The book is divided into five main parts. The first four present an anthropological
approach, while the last takes on a cultural studies perspective. Discussion of different trends
and issues in anthropology and the evolution of the discipline are included throughout the book.
Part one (Defining the Basques) attempts to characterize the Basques. After describing the
geographic location of the Basque region between the Spanish and French states, the authors
highlight the unknown origin of the Basques. They present many of the different theories that
have dominated the discussion of Basque origin and subscribe to the commonly held notion that
the exact origin of the Basque people cannot be pinpointed. However, like others who continue
to investigate the history and origin of the Basques, the authors suggest that Basque area
archeological remains provide sufficient evidence that the Basques have inhabited the area for at
least the last five centuries. The unknown origins of the Basque language and its lack of relation
to any of the other languages in the world also contribute to the anthropological appeal of this
ancient culture, about which there is still so much to discover.
A common theme throughout the book is the importance of the past in the current lives of
the Basques. Thus, part two (Basque History) is devoted to a historical overview. It begins with
the first historical accounts of the Basques as provided by the Roman historian, Strabo.
Douglass and Zulaika tend to agree with Strabo’s depiction of the Basques except with respect to
two commonly held but questionably accurate notions: that of the Basques as a matrilineal
society and the supposed practice of the couvade, a ritual in which men experience the pains of
childbirth. So much is unknown about the Basques that their very being has produced many
myths, which the authors attempt to dispel.
Douglass and Zulaika continue their historical account throughout the Middle Ages into
modern times, highlighting the following events: the initial creation of the Kingdom of Navarre
due to Moorish threat; the unification, for the first and only time in history, of the Basque
territories under king Sancho, el Mayor (1000-1035); the progressive division of the Basque
territories and their ascription to the rule of the kings of Castile, France or England (11th-17th
centuries); the inexorable loss of traditional Basque rights, previously respected by those kings
(17th-19th centuries); the birth of Basque Nationalism (late 19th century); and the creation of ETA
Basque Culture: Anthropological Perspectives
133
(20th century). The last chapters in this section provide a detailed historical account of the
Basque presence in South America, the American West, the Philippines, and Australia. These
chapters also consider the reasons behind Basque migration and discuss the different occupations
Basque immigrants tend to hold, depending on the area of the world to which they migrate.
Part three (Traditional Lifestyles and Worldviews) explores agriculture and fishing, the
historical foundation of Basque economy until it became industrialized. Using as an example the
fishing town of Lekeitio, the authors illustrate how fishing is still a communal activity for many
Basques. Similarly, when describing agricultural practices, Douglass and Zulaika highlight the
self-sufficient Basque baserri (farmstead), an entity which can only be sustained with the support
of the entire auzo (neighborhood). As an example of Basque worldviews, the authors explore
customs regarding courtship and marriage in the countryside, views towards animals (i.e. hunting
and running with the bulls), a popular mythical character named Mari, as well as witchcraft and
witch hunts, and funeral rites. The interaction of Catholicism and traditional Basque beliefs
contribute to a particular view of the world by the Basques.
As opposed to the first three parts, in which the emphasis is primarily on exploring the
past, the last two sections of the text focus on the present and speculate about the future. As
such, part four analyzes the current pillars of Basque economy, while part five examines the
contemporary cultural milieu. In each section, however, reference to the past is made to show
how past, present, and future blend together.
The city of Bilbao takes on a protagonist role in part four (The Contemporary World)
when talking about the Basque economy. The authors assert that the city’s importance as an
industrial center throughout the 20th century, its decline in the 1980’s, and its reinvention as a
new tourist urban center in the 21st century speak to the vitality of the area. Also, the Mondragon
Cooperative Group is presented as an example of a successful Basque economic enterprise that
attracts worldwide interest. At the same time, the authors ponder the future of the Basques
within the frame of the European Community and contemplate the place of the Basques in a
global economy. Part five (Basque Cultural Studies) explores the evolution of race and ethnicity
studies concerning the Basques. Gender issues within Basque studies and the relation between
language and identity are also considered in this part. Traditional and modern music, oral and
written literature, cinema, and art are the focus of the last chapters. The authors consider the
major representatives in each discipline, such as Mikel Laboa in music, the bersolariak or
improvised oral poets, the most translated writer, Bernardo Atxaga, the movie director, Julio
Medem, and the internationally renowned sculptors, Jorge Oteiza and Eduardo Chillida, to name
just a few. These modern artists incorporate not only Basque traditions but also contemporary
international styles.
Although clearly written from an anthropological perspective and intended to add to the
discussion on Basque Anthropology, Basque Culture is appealing to a much broader audience.
Anyone with an interest in Basque culture will find a wealth of interesting and thought
provoking material. Each chapter presents a well-informed analysis of a relevant topic.
Additionally, the list of supplemental readings encourages the reader to continue exploring the
subject. Basques and non-Basques alike can investigate a culture about which there is still so
much to discover.
Maite Núñez-Betelu, Ph.D.
[email protected]
Anoush Ehteshami & Mahjoob Zweiri. eds. Iran’s Foreign Policy from Khatami to
Ahmadinejad. Reading, Berkshire, United Kingdom: Ithaca Press, 2008.
This edited work enables the reader to better understand the international aspects of
Iranian politics during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. The book demonstrates
that Iran’s foreign policy is largely determined by global and regional developments and how
these policy decisions have impacted international security. By focusing on the years from
Khatami to Ahmadinejad, the text illustrates the tension that exists between the classics,
conservatives, reformists, and neoconservatives in the Iranian government and how these
contrasting worldviews have affected the formation of Iranian foreign policy.
The first of nine chapters is authored by R.K. Ramazani, who goes back to pre-Islamic
Persia to locate the origins of the two most enduring characteristics of Iranian governance: the
link between independence and freedom and the divine right of Persian rulers. Ramazani argues
that independence has often taken precedent over freedom, resulting in a ‘freedom deficit.’ He
explains that historically, the relationship between “sovereignty and tyranny [have gone] together
and this [partnership has become] one of the most enduring features of Iranian governance” (3).
He concludes that due to Iran’s geostrategic position and its energy resources, the protection of
Iran’s independence has taken precedence over the freedom of its people.
While Ramazani provides a good historical background, Ali Akbar Rezaei acquaints the
reader with the major theoretical debates surrounding Iran’s foreign policy. Rezaei concludes
that Iranian foreign policy does not fit into any particular theory, so he proposes a hybrid model
“from Wendtian constructivism and the English school of international relations” (33). Quoting
Fred Chernoff, Rezaei posits that “one never rejects a theory, regardless of the falsifiable
evidence, unless there is an alternative theory available to take its place” (32). In addition to
theoretical analysis, Rezaei discusses U.S.-Iranian relations and contends that Iran’s foreign
policy dilemma is the result of tension between a status quo policy and a nation with regional
and global ambitions. Like Rezaei, Ramazani, too, touches on U.S.-Iranian relations and posits
that the two nations remain at a turning point in 2009 but suggests that “if Iran and the United
States each wait for the other to behave itself, relations between the two countries will remain
frozen, as they have been between Cuba and the United States” (10). He suggests that a ‘mutual
satanization’ prevents both nations from realizing that they have common interests.
Judith Yaphe shows that the American occupation of Iraq has galvanized Iran’s desire to
replace American hegemony in the region with its own governance. (Incidentally, however, she
claims that as a result of U.S. involvement in the region and the removal of Saddam Hussein
from power, “from Iran’s perspective, it has finally won its war with Iraq”) (41). She emphasizes
that the competition between Iran and the United States for influence in Iraq is crucial to the
future of the Middle East and U.S.-Iranian relations. Anoushiravan Ehteshami refers to relations
between Iran, Iraq, and the United States as the ‘Decisive Triangle.’ While Yaphe argues that
Iran’s real dilemma is how to avoid regime change similar to what happened in Iraq, Ehteshami
argues that the handling of the American cultural invasion of the region is equally important,
stating “the place of the United States in Iran’s agenda with respect to the Persian Gulf and Iraq
is defined more by ideology than policy” (138).
This American cultural invasion of the Middle East is much different than the cultural
exchange that has begun to occur between the United Kingdom and Iran. Four chapters in this
work address Iranian relations with Europe, and two specifically deal with the United Kingdom.
Christopher Rundle is the only author to note that “parallel with the improvement in Iran-UK
Iran’s Foreign Policy from Khatami to Ahmadinejad
135
political relations, there has been a remarkable increase in cultural ties” (101). For example, the
Tehran Museum of Contemporary Art displayed British artwork in 2004 for the first time since
the revolution. There have also been academic conferences that were attended by British and
Iranian scholars, including Rundle (see pp. 98-102).
Numerous authors debate whether or not Iranian-European relations can have any major
impact on the international arena without the cooperation of the United States. Shahriar SabetSaeidi argues that direct relations between the European Union and Iran are severely weakened
because of Europe’s willingness to align with American foreign policy. Contrary to SabetSaeidi, Anastasia Drenou argues that the United States and Europe “have used Iran in a
prolonged rivalry on the international stage” (73). Although Europeans and Americans have
“similar civilizational identities and shared values,” Drenou asserts, they have vastly different
historical experiences, which have led the United States and the European nations to “diverge
notably in identifying and prioritizing the threats to their interests and the means of dealing with
them” (74). American foreign policy with Iran has been marked by confrontation and isolation,
while European policies are described as engaging and conciliatory. Drenou argues this is not
due to some European moral high ground, “but because of a neo-Orientalist conviction that they
must repossess their former colonies under the modern pretext of trade, cultural, economic and
political cooperation agreements” (75).
Christopher Rundle argues that significant improvement has taken place between Iran
and the United Kingdom since the revolution, and while “one cannot talk about relations now
actually being good, they are at least stable, and there is more understanding than before on both
sides” (90). However, rapprochement has not been an easy process. There have been
contrasting views within the Iranian government, and as a British diplomat, Michael Axworthy
writes, “through this period, we felt as though we had been invited to dinner by a warring couple.
As we tried to enter the door, one of them was trying to open it and welcome us in, while the
other was trying to jam it shut again” (109).
While human rights, terrorism, Iran’s nuclear program, and the Rushdie fatwa were major
problems for British policymakers, both Axworthy and Rundle aptly demonstrate the positive
impact that the election of Khatami in May 1997 had upon British-Iranian relations. A
‘diplomatic resolution’ of the Rushdie problem was reached in September 1998, and Khatami’s
‘dialogue among civilizations’ helped lead to the exchange of ambassadors in 1999. Rundle falls
somewhat in between Sabet-Saeidi and Drenou by arguing that as British diplomats continue to
improve relations with Iran, they “may feel caught in the middle between an Iran that is cynical
about the international system and a United States that seeks to control the system” (102).
Mahjoob Zweiri discusses how Iranian relations with the Arab world have changed since
Khatami’s presidency but is primarily focused on the subsequent rise to power of Iranian
neoconservatives. Zweiri does a good job at distinguishing the differing opinions regarding Iran
throughout the Arab world. For example, while nations such as Syria have had good relations
with Iran, he says, nations such as Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Jordan view Iran in a negative light.
Although there was a relaxation of tensions among Iran’s neighboring nations following the
election of Khatami, many problems still exist. “Iran’s desire to export its revolution, its
interference in neighbouring countries’ internal affairs, and its support of Shia groups within Iraq
and the GCC states” continue to “make it difficult to build bridges between Arab capitals and
Tehran” (116, 127). Zweiri argues that the election of Ahmadinejad, specifically, has “created a
new wave of concern in the Arab world” (121).
136
For the most part, the authors accomplish their goals. While some chapters have a much
broader scope than the title of the book suggests, much of the information presented is relevant
to understanding the foreign policies of Khatami and Ahmadinejad. Nearly half of the book
deals with European-Iranian relations, but the work would be more well-rounded if it were
longer and included a wider variety of topics. In the introduction, the editors state that because
there has been much tension between the Islamic Republic and the West, “it is not too difficult to
understand why Iranians have tried to shift their partnerships towards the east” (xiv) and that
“Iran has been moving rapidly towards Latin America and Africa, succeeding in building strong
relations with a number of Latin American and African countries, including Cuba and
Venezuela” (xiv). The introduction also claims that China and Russia also figure prominently
into Iranian foreign policy. Why name these countries in the introduction if there are no chapters
dealing with these nations? Instead, the book is dominated by chapters that focus on Iranian
relations with the West, with some mention of the Arab world.
It would also be illuminating to have a chapter on Iranian relations with the outside
world, removed from the context of the nation-state. Numerous subjects, such as the Rushdie
fatwa, the assassination of Shapour Bakhtiar in Pairs in 1991, the assassination of Kurdish
opposition leaders in Berlin in 1992 (the Mykonos Incident), and the activities of the Mojahedine Khalq in Iraq and the U.K. need better explanation within a transnational context. These
subjects are all mentioned more than once throughout the book but do not receive adequate
attention. Despite these limitations, the book is insightful and would be useful to a researcher
seeking detailed information on a particular aspect of Iranian foreign policy. This work is highly
recommended for undergraduate and graduate courses as a supplement to larger works that are
broader in scope.
Matthew K. Shannon, Ph.D.
Temple University
[email protected]
Gordon Baker (editor). No Island Is An Island: the Impact of Globalization on the
Commonwealth Caribbean London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, 2007.
No Island is an Island is a collection of well-written and thought-provoking
articles on the Caribbean Commonwealth. The contributors include distinguished
academics, policymakers, and lawyers from Britain, the United States, and the Caribbean.
It is written in a reader-friendly manner, appealing to both students and academics.
David Jessop, in “Globalization and the Caribbean: An Overview,” provides
insight into the challenges facing the West Indies. He explains that the region has
recently been in negotiation for an Economic Partnership Agreement (EPA) with Europe
and has been exploring arrangements with the free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA)
and the World Trade Organization. Jessop warns, however, that there are certain to be
repercussions of any measures taken toward the economic liberalization of the Caribbean
region. Specifically, he questions the extent to which free trade agreements, imposed on
developing economies, would increase regional integration. He argues, “The piecemeal
negotiation of free trade agreements is likely to disadvantage the smallest and weakest in
the Caribbean and challenge fragile regionalism” (p.9). While Jessop’s concerns are
legitimate, he fails to realize that even if the Anglophone Caribbean were united, there
would still be an unequal relationship at the negotiating table. In order to achieve true
economic liberation, there would need to be a negotiating Caribbean that incorporated
French and Spanish speaking West Indian countries.
Elizabeth Thomas-Hope and Adonna Jardine-Comrie’s “Caribbean Agriculture in
the New Global Environment” explores the daily life of West Indians. Their essay closely
examines the current agricultural crisis in the Caribbean as it relates to decreasing world
food prices and the competition of agricultural foodstuffs. The authors’ findings
accurately reveal a lack of foresight of Caribbean farmers, who were unprepared for the
loss of preferential markets and the influx of cheap agricultural products into their
countries. Their analysis, however, contains some shortcomings. Firstly, some of the
statistics they present do not indicate recent trends. For instance, Table 2.1, ‘Contribution
of agriculture sector to GDP, 1985-2002 (5),’ and Table 2.4, ‘Agriculture per capita
production index (base year 1989/1991) for selected countries (%),’ do not provide
information for the years 2003 to 2006. Secondly, the regular crop failure in Trinidad and
Tobago could have been used as an illustration of one of the agricultural crises facing
Caribbean farmers. In that country, every year, farmers endure heavy losses due to
flooding. In addition, prime agricultural lands are being used for housing settlements.
Nevertheless, the authors must be credited for revealing a salient link between agriculture
and tourism, saying, “Although tourism has the potential to stimulate agriculture, it has
frequently competed with agriculture for land and water resources and labour” (p.36).
The importance of tourism to the Caribbean is further highlighted in the subsequent
chapter.
The economic potential of Caribbean tourism is best illustrated in Chapter three,
“Sustainable Caribbean Tourism: Challenges and Growth to 2020.” In this chapter,
Anthony Bryan correctly contends that “…tourism in the Caribbean has emerged as an
economic lifeline as the preferential export markets for traditional agricultural
commodities have declined” (p.45). He points out that despite its earnings potential,
No Island Is An Island: the Impact of Globalization on the Commonwealth Caribbean
London
138
however, particular challenges continue to face the billion dollar Caribbean tourism
sector, such as violent and petty crimes against tourists, the elimination of which would
be particularly valuable for ministers of tourism. Bryan must be commended for also
including the sub-sections ‘Sex Tourism’ and ‘HIV/AIDS in the Caribbean,’ both of
which deal with critical issues often overlooked in studies on Caribbean tourism.
Trevor Michael’s “International Business: Opportunities for the Commonwealth
Caribbean” and Winston Dookeran’s “Foreign Direct Investment: Policy Issues and
Recommendations for Caribbean Development” emphasize the need for the input of
foreign capital in the Caribbean for the region’s economic sustainability. Michael
explores the U.S. off-shore banking industry. He divides the banking jurisdiction into
three areas: the old planned approach, the new planned approach, and the evolved
approach. He uses these categories to distinguish banking practices in Bermuda,
Bahamas, Cayman Islands, St. Vincent and Dominica. One notable distinction Michael
notes between the islands is the financial independence Bermuda is able to maintain
compared to some other Caribbean countries with respect to off-shore banking,
“Bermuda has not, [for instance], allowed carefully cultivated external business
relationships to compromise its own internal fiscal and judicial integrity” (p.81). Michael
also mentions the efforts among all islands to reduce their role in off-shore moneylaundering, which tends to flourish in the absence of banking regulations. As a result of
intense scrutiny by international security agencies, for instance, some U.S. and other
Caribbean criminals have begun to avoid or curtail their Caribbean-based, off-shore
banking activities.
Dookeran, in the book’s final chapter, further discusses the need for foreign
capital in the Caribbean. He convincingly argues that if there is to be Foreign Direct
Investment (FDI) into the Caribbean, there must also exist in the region reliable utilities,
proper legal systems, macroeconomic stability, and a political environment conducive to
development and growth. The author uses Trinidad and Tobago as a case study to
demonstrate that oil and gas industries have attracted considerable investment from
abroad, a model which could be adopted by other Caribbean countries. Dookeran
accurately asserts, however, that increasing crime in Trinidad and Tobago and unequal
distribution of wealth within the Caribbean are current obstacles to FDI inflows.
Undoubtedly, No Island Is an Island should be the blueprint in guiding the
Caribbean in the 21st century. The collection is particularly useful as the region recovers
from the global recession. The admonitions of some authors should not be viewed as
unpatriotic or dismissed as pessimism. Rather, their advice provides a dose of reality for
Caribbean leaders, who often mismanage scarce financial and natural resources. The
scholars must be commended for tactfully addressing problems and offering solutions as
they seek to guide the Caribbean to the position of major stakeholder in the world market.
Jerome Teelucksingh, Ph.D.
University of the West Indies
[email protected]
2
Lynn Schofield Clark (editor). Religion, Media, and the Marketplace. Rutgers
University Press, 2007.
Lynn Schofield Clark’s book of scholarly essays probes into various aspects of
how religious identity and leadership intersect with the commercial marketplace. A
century ago, German sociologist Max Weber, in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of
Capitalism, argued that Calvinist ideals led to a disciplined “work hard-save money”
attitude that fostered wealth creation. Since then, many attempts have been made to
cross-correlate religious attitudes and marketplace ideals. This anthology, edited by
Clark, builds on the established nexus between religion (religio) and the marketplace
(mercato) and extends this model. While the text is a compilation of separate essays, the
articles together weave the collaborative thesis that religion itself is a marketplace, in
which consumer principles prevail.
From a marketer’s standpoint, “build it and they will come” is the prevailing
modus operandi, and in order to “build” the appeal of any product (religious or
otherwise) the marketer relies heavily on the media. Media, in their traditional role, are
expected to act as neutral recorders of history. However, the book argues that the
techniques of effective media operations have been cleverly tapped for public relations
goals; well-trained operatives have the ability to crystallize public opinion favorably
through what appear to be semi-journalistic activities. Hence, as Clark states in her
Preface (p.x), “the logic of the market is transforming the meaning and experience of
religions.” As such, media, the book’s thesis argues, are interlocators, agents of the
marketplace. While traditionally perceived to be neutral presenters of an objective reality,
the media are, by very definition, mediators of culture, interlocutors who stamp the
validity of trends and religious events through reportage. Items become officially
admitted into the archives of culture once they are recorded through electronic or printed
media. For instance, a religious event exists once it is recorded in the newspaper or a
gathering place online (Christian web sites, beliefnet.com). In other words, while the
media may appear neutral about a particular brand or type of religion, the decision in and
of itself whether and how to report (or not report) a given event in the media reflects that
event’s perceived cultural significance (or irrelevance). As such, the media play an
important role in creating and determining both religious and secular concepts
themselves, as perceived by the society in which the media (and by definition, mediated)
messages are viewed.
The anthology extends the marketplace metaphor globally, asserting that
increased global migration creates a world arena in which immigrants transport the
concepts of Old Country religions to new shores, where eager consumers await such
“goods,” much as they would attractive consumer wares. Part one, specifically, traces the
selling, influencing, and purchasing habits of consumers in the mediated religious
marketplace. In the opening chapter, David Nord focuses on the nineteenth century
Philadelphia Bible Society and its practice of giving away books. This practice, Nord
claims, became the foundation for the merger of religious evangelism and religious
publishing. Anne Borden, in the subsequent article, discusses Christian bookstores as
commercial outlets for religious publishers and the supply chain that has emerged around
these venues. The religious publishing industry has developed a parallel chain to secular
retailers, with a commercial outlook that is equally far-reaching. Later essays about
Religion, Media, and the Marketplace
140
Indian religions, Islam, and “the cult of Mary” further investigate the global religious
marketplace and attempt to examine the global religious book market.
Part two of Clark’s book examines material artifacts and film in different cultures
as a more permanent record of religious civilization, while part three focuses on the
religious “Other,” including Muslims in Denmark and the priest-healer in a Christianized
Africa. An essay on “Religious Functionaries in Ghanaian/Nigerian Films,” by Kwabena
Asamoah-Gyadu, discusses the threat to the Christian mission of African Christians’
continued reliance on the sorcerers and mystics of native cultures. The missionary effort
presumes that the western marketing ideal will prevail in creating a pivotal shift from
more “backwards,” indigenous ideals to the “implicitly desirable,” more prosperous (and
Protestant) work ethic and the missionary viewpoint; problematically, the enduring role
of indigenous spiritual shamans appears, to the eyes of Western missionaries, to impede
this effort. As such, the “name of Jesus” (p. 240) is evoked in the films to attempt to
encourage African Christians to “overcome” a reliance on “evil medicines” and local
shamans. Hence, film, which is shown in commercial theaters under the “evangelical”
genre, is used to bring about a desired social change and religious-market economy work
in tandem.
Part four discusses the revival of Woodstock-type festivals in the United States as
showcases for new religious practices. A chapter on “The Burning Man Festival” and its
totemic artifacts highlights the intense visuals created for a “Media Mecca” on television.
A secondary audience is thus created that can be exposed to neo-pagan practices through
the high-impact nature of the media event. Similarly, the Mexican-inspired “Days of the
Dead” in South Texas and California, celebrated in November, provide a focus for the
Latino community that is both ethnic and religious. It is popular with non-Latinos in
California, who buy “Day of the Dead” products such as skulls, miniature skeletons, and
other items to decorate altars.
A concluding chapter by Stewart Hoover puts forth that religious ideas, like other
articulations of culture, must be mediated in the marketplace to take effect. It is within
that marketplace that they are modified, as are any ideas, and therefore must be analyzed
through the existent models of perception and attitude alteration. Religious media
messages compete with secular messages and the perceptual filters of the average
consumer. Hence, he argues, there are not two parallel, discrete worlds, but one holistic
media battleground. The media are the messengers of both secular and religious
messages, the authors maintain, which is a unifying theme. Finally, suggestions for future
research are included, with a view toward how religion itself is changed through the
encounter with the secular world. Much religion research focuses on the impact of
missionaries and preachers on populations, but far less on how the religious
establishment itself is modernized or forced to change by what is encountered.
Clark’s book will be particularly useful for readers who do not have a strong
background in the history of global religions. Her work illuminates often-neglected
religions, such as pagan and indigenous Latino, and places them in the global sphere. It is
sufficiently transnational in reach to be attractive to any audience. All of the essays
illustrate how individual religions impact secular society and how they make visible the
typically transparent merging of the sacred-secular realm. What remains unclear is the
mainstream secular media’s reaction to the splintering of society along religious lines and
how the average secular reader reacts to the new religious coverage. For experts in the
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religion-ethnicity field, however, the work offers concrete examples of the interaction
between media, culture, and religion. In short, the book is comprehensive, analytical, and
insightful, combining the works of several modern authors with substantial background in
religious and ethnographic research. It speaks with one voice to the scholarly and
commercial markets and is sufficiently global to be useful to any campus or classroom
community.
Myna German, Ph.D.
Delaware State University
[email protected]
Grace M. Cho. Haunting the Korean Diaspora: Shame, Secrecy, and the Forgotten War.
Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008.
Theresa Hak Kyung Cha’s Dictee has evolved into a touchstone of Korean American
literature in the past fifteen years. Despite its opacity and radically disruptive discourses,
including multiple languages, unidentified photographic images, and unconventional formatting,
Cha’s text has inspired a generation of artists and scholars of Korean American literature. Grace
M. Cho, an assistant professor at the City University of New York, College of Staten Island,
certainly draws on Cha’s work; she quotes Cha often and with reverence in Haunting the Korean
Diaspora, an intriguingly unorthodox book that mixes scholarship and personal experience in
ways rarely seen in traditional productions of those in academia.
Readers expecting a typically structured academic study will not find it in Haunting the
Korean Diaspora. Cho swirls researched writing, narrative, and photographs to create a
purposefully non-linear text. She chooses this style in part because of her admittedly unusual
subject matter: ghosts. She asks her readers to reconsider their approach to a topic that is rarely
addressed in serious study in the social sciences. Cho herself asks, “Why study a ghost at all?”
(27). She draws on work by other theorists who have addressed this question such as Avery
Gordon to argue for the legitimacy of spectral studies. Ultimately, however, some readers will
need to suspend personal disbelief about the existence of supernatural presences to accompany
Cho on her journey into the murky forms of the yanggongju.
At the center of Cho’s text is the ghostly figure of the yanggongju, which she defines as
“literally meaning ‘Western princess,’ [and which] broadly refers to a Korean woman who has
sexual relations with Americans; [the term] is most often used pejoratively to refer to a woman
who is a prostitute for the U.S. military” (3). She continues, “As an embodiment of the losses of
Korea’s colonial and post-colonial history - the deracination from indigenous language and
culture under Japanese imperialism, the loss of autonomy under U.S. military dominance since
1945, the decimation of the peninsula and its people during the Korean War, and the deferral of
the war’s resolution - the yanggongju is the embodiment of the accumulation of often
unacknowledged grief from these events” (5). She traces the appearance and disappearances of
the yanggongju across these temporal periods and links these heavily militarized decades with
the emergence of stories from comfort women, women forced into sexual slavery by the
Japanese during World War II, in the early 1990s (13). The primary theoretical model of trauma
that Cho adapts to link and explore these issues is the concept of transgenerational haunting,
established by Nicholas Abraham and Maria Torok, whose work on the Holocaust influences
Cho’s project. “I want to offer the Korean diaspora in the United States as another site of
transgenerational haunting,” Cho observes (11). Koreans living in the United States who were
not alive during the Korean War are still haunted by the secretive, spectral nature of that conflict,
particularly in the paradoxically hypervisible and invisible yanggongju (12).
The five chapters of Haunting the Korean Diaspora seek to uncover some of the ways
the yanggonju circulates in Korean and American settings. Chapter one posits the yanggonju as a
source of discomfort for Koreans that contributes to pushing this figure to the margins (34-5).
Chapter two documents the innumerous atrocities of the Korean War and shows the conditions
that led some women to become sex workers in camptowns around U.S. military installations
after the war. In one of many effective passages, Cho remarks, “Between 1950 and 1953, U.S.
bombers dumped as much as 600,000 tons of napalm over the Korean peninsula; in Churchhill’s
words, it was ‘splashed’ over the landscape. This was more napalm than had been used against
Japan in World War II and more than would later be dropped on Vietnam” (71). These horrors
are powerfully presented, although some of these occurrences are unnecessarily conflated with
Haunting the Korean Diaspora: Shame, Secrecy, and the Forgotten War
143
those that transpired during the Vietnam War (56-58); some of Cho’s polemic stances against
imperialism by the United States also seem complicitous when made by a member of the
American academe. Chapter three focuses on the yanggongju’s tenuous position in camptowns.
Cho builds on the work of Katherine Moon and Ji-yeon Yuh in her analysis of camptown life and
she deftly dissects the media and scholarly reaction to the death of Yun Geum-i, a prostitute who
was murdered in 1992 (115-119). Chapter four moves from camptowns to Korean brides of
American solidiers immigrating to the United States. She states, “It is precisely the gap between
‘GI bride’ and ‘Yankee whore’ – the silences among Americans surrounding issues of military
prostitution, as well as yanggongju’s refusal to remember her traumatic histories when she comes
to the United States – that create the conditions necessary for these trauma to be unconsciously
passed across diaspora.” (131). Cho critiques several literary representations of the denizens
of camptowns dreaming of an escape to the United States in works such as Heinz Insu Fenkl’s
Memories of My Ghost Brother and Nora Okja Keller’s Fox Girl; these readings are among the
most incisive sections of Haunting the Korean Diaspora. Cho calls chapter five a “phantomatic
return, through a multiplicity of voices and altered repetitions of past experiences, that reaches
toward a final destination” (167). She delves into historical and fictional accounts of the sinking
of the Ukishima Maru, a vessel carrying thousands of Koreans that was sunk by the Japanese
nine days after the end of World War II (168-175). As she is treading through these narratives,
Cho unravels a series of vignettes that might or might not constitute her own story of
immigration, ending with her mother’s death.
Cho’s text is fascinating, but somewhat unsatisfying in a number of ways. Most troubling
aspects of the book stem from a lack of clarity, not only with regard to her obviously opaque
subject matter, but also concerning her research and definitions of terms. Defining trauma and its
many manifestations has been a difficult and contentious task within trauma studies; Cho
constructs a clear model for applying transgenerational haunting to the Korean diaspora in the
United States, yet her exact conceptions of what constitutes trauma are sometimes fuzzy. Are all
Korean Americans affected by the haunting presence of the yanggongju? Are reactions to this
trauma alike among Korean Americans with very different life experiences? By casting a wide
web in her delineations of trauma, Cho risks overgeneralization and essentialism. Additionally,
while most of Haunting the Korean Diaspora is well documented and cited, several of Cho’s
assertions could be better bolstered by the inclusion of other sources or additional research. For
instance, she states that the yanggongju represents, “...over a million Korean women who have
worked in prostitution for the U.S. military and of the over 100,000 who have married America
GIs” (4). These statistics are powerful, but they would be more effective if supported by
researched claims; the 100,000 women who married American servicemen are well chronicled,
but the figure of the million sex workers seems inflated when not developed with evidence.
Beyond these sometimes unsteady assertions, Cho’s work is a bold project. For readers who are
interested in the often jaggedly painful relationships between the nations and individuals of
Korea and the United States, and who are willing to accompany Cho down intellectual paths that
are not always well lit or conventional, Haunting the Korean Diaspora is challenging and
enlightening.
Keith A. Russell II, Ph.D.
[email protected]
Michael Keane. Created in China: The Great New Leap Forward.
London and New York: Routledge, 2007.
In recent years, media studies and cultural studies have drawn the attention of more and
more China scholars. A slew of books have been published on Chinese film, television, Internet,
and other forms of popular culture. Based on this foundation of research and forming a dialogue
with it, Michael Keane’s book, Created in China: The Great New Leap Forward, explores new
dimensions of Chinese cultural studies. Rather than deal with specific cultural products such as
films and television dramas, however, Created in China takes a macroscopic view of China’s
cultural industries. Filling a gap in the field of China studies, this is the first book-length study in
English-language scholarship that analyzes the dynamic relationship between economics and
culture. In short, Keane’s work contributes significantly to the ongoing debate regarding the
relationship between governance, globalization, and cultural innovation.
Since the Dengist reform was launched in 1978, China has re-integrated itself into the
global capitalist system and become a sort of “workshop of the world” (shijie gongchang). With
its seemingly unlimited reserves of cheap labor, the populous country has historically earned
itself a reputation for churning out massive quantities of low-cost goods. Based on his intimate
observation of China’s current circumstances, Keane asserts that China now seeks to make a
transition from a “made-in-China” model to a “created-in-China,” model, thereby forging a new
path to more sustainable development.
Keane divides his analysis into two parts, both of which take a different approach to the
investigation of an issue central to the development of a creative economy. Part I, “Culture and
Civilization,” draws on secondary works across various disciplines, including cultural studies,
history, and economics to provide a big picture of culture and commerce in China. This part has
five chapters. Chapter one lays the theoretical foundation of the book. In this chapter, Keane
criticizes traditional Sinology, which tends to view Chinese culture as a static and monolithic
entity. Emphasizing cultural diversity and economic exchange, Keane uses the key term
“innovation ecology” to “describe five layers of China’s interaction within the global cultural
economy,” including (1) low-cost production and imitation, (2) co-production and formatting, (3)
East Asian creative economy, (4) Industrial clustering, and (5) peer communities (p. 13). In the
proceeding chapter, Keane suggests that to go beyond the initial development stages of low-cost
off-shoring and imitation, China should embrace institutional and structural changes so that the
country can become more creative and competitive on a global level.
Showing what kind of traditions and resources can be mobilized, Chapter three provides a
survey of many of China’s cultural achievements and economic interactions from the Neolithic
age to the Qing dynasty. Importantly, Keane’s discussion of culture includes elements of
popular culture, such as storytelling, popular drama, and vernacular fiction, thereby expanding
the narrow definition of culture often limited to the examination of religious or ethnic customs
and traditions. In so doing, Keane successfully provides readers with an overview of “the
culture-knowledge economy of traditional China” (p. 35). Chapter four then turns to the period
of modern China between 1849 and 1978, giving a detailed account of flourishing popular
culture in China’s coastal cities before 1949. He then examines the trends of the standardization
and politicizing of mass culture during the Maoist revolutionary years. It should be noted that
recent scholarly works such as The Chinese Cultural Revolution: A History by Paul Clark (New
York: Cambridge University Press, 2008) do challenge the conventional view of “cultural
Created in China: The Great New Leap Forward
145
despotism” during the Maoist revolution. Clark, for instance, argues that substantial cultural
production and artistic innovation were achieved during this period. Following this examination
of Chinese culture during the Maoist years chapter five surveys contemporary Chinese culture
since 1978. Keane closely reviews the mid-1980s’ “High Culture Fever” (wenhua re), which
centered on heated discussions of individual subjectivity, intellectual labor, and technological
innovation. The author then describes the developments and limitations of China’s creative
economy since 1990s.
Whereas Part I of Keane’s work provides a big-picture analysis of China’s culture and
commerce, Part II, “From Made in China to Created in China,” presents explicit evidence of
China’s paradigmatic shift from a “made in China” manufacturing giant to a “created in China”
commerce developer. The author, “a participant observer as well as detached chronicler” (p. 6)
of this paradigm shift, has collected such evidence from his fieldwork. There are seven chapters
in this part. First, chapter six provides the reader with a wealth of information on the statesponsored, market-driven and urban-based Created in China project. As a member of the
“epistemic community” composed of government officials, policy makers, cultural workers, and
international expert consultants, Keane composes a meticulous log of conferences, seminars,
symposia, and events promoting the development of China’s cultural industries. Following this,
Keane argues that “creativity” itself is a “super-sign,” or a universally recognizable symbol; the
“popular currency” of a super-sign, says Keane, can work “across linguistic and cultural barriers,
and across disciplinary boundaries” (p. 80). This makes one wonder to what degree the operation
of the “super-sign” should also be bound by historical and socioeconomic necessities.
Chapters seven and eight further highlight the urban-centered nature of the Created in
China project. These two chapters provide case studies of new models of creative economy
management, i.e. “creative clusters” (chuangyi jiju) and “creative precincts” (chuangyi yuanqu)
(p. 95), based primarily in big cities such as Hong Kong, Beijing, Shanghai, and Chongqing.
Chapter nine makes a study of a recent trend in Chinese television production: the adaptation of
Euro-American reality shows. As this is the central topic in another of Keane’s books, New
Television, Globalisation, and the East Asian Cultural Imagination, this chapter briefly describes
several reality TV programs currently airing in China: Super Girl (chaoji nüsheng), Into
Shangrila (zouru Xianggelila), and Win in China (ying zai Zhongguo). Applying Chris
Anderson’s “long tail” theory, Keane argues that these popular programs challenge the
conventional top-down power distribution model, which tends to maintain the authority of
experts. For instance, the rules of the televised singing contest Super Girl permit the viewing
audience to determine the outcome of the program. Audience members select the winner by
voting for contestants via cell phone text message and by organizing voting campaigns. This
granting of authority to the everyday television viewer diverges radically from the conventional
model of Chinese power distribution, in which only the well-educated or senior experts would
have the authority to decide the outcome of a contest. As a result, this text message voting and
the resulting expression of the “people’s will” has triggered a heated nationwide discussion with
respect to the relationship among civil society, democracy, and technology.
Chapter ten examines current, specific instances of joint ventures, licensing, and
franchising as effective strategies for building a creative Chinese economy. The cases of Ningbo
Bird, Artkey, Sunchime, and Moli are described as being successful as a direct result of their
creativity. Chapter eleven highlights the author’s visits to a few creative clusters outside urban
centers. Using the Badaling Great Wall, the Shaolin Temple, and the Hengdian Studio
(Chinawood) as examples, Keane explores the strategies for creatively making use of cultural
146
traditions and resources. Finally, the last chapter concludes the volume by re-emphasizing the
importance of creativity and by pointing out structural contradictions in China’s current system
that might prevent China from moving toward a model of creativity at this time, (despite Keane’s
understanding of this creativity as critical to Chinese development). Specifically, Keane asks
how far the Created in China project can go, for instance, in light of China’s heavy-handed state
surveillance and frequent intervention in the public sector. The appendix, “China’s cultural and
creative industries: table of regulatory powers and functions,” is useful for readers to gain an
overview of China’s policymaking government offices and organizations in the realm of cultural
industries.
Although one might expect Keane to have included more critical assessment of the local
and national problems that may potentially impede the development of the Created in China
project, such as the urban/rural division, a global structural inequality and imbalance, and the
commercialization of Chinese culture that results from the process itself of developing the
Created in China project, Keane’s work is the first comprehensive study of China’s budding
creative economy. Overall, Keane’s work is a timely study contributing enormously to the
growing literature on the latest development of Chinese economy and culture. It should interest
primarily students and scholars in China studies, cultural studies, media studies, and
globalization studies. Thanks to its multi-disciplinary approach, it will also appeal to scholars,
students and general readers interested in China’s economics, international business, and
industrial development.
Hui Faye Xiao, Ph.D.
University of Kansas
[email protected]
Fareed Zakaria, The Post-American World. New York and London: W. W. Norton &
Company, 2008.
Few would disagree that the previous U.S. administration of George W. Bush Jr. plunged
America’s international reputation to an all-time low. Even as the country staggers to recover
international goodwill under President Barack Obama, a home-grown credit crisis, captured most
strikingly in the collapse of several iconic institutions of American industry like Citigroup and
General Motors, has brought the U.S. economy to a standstill. Few would doubt that America
will eventually recover from both crises. Be that as it may, the unipolar moment, centered on the
preeminence of American power, purse, and presence may well and truly be over, or so we are
often told. What powers will take the place of the U.S., and how will these new players and
forces be configured? This is the question that Fareed Zakaria attempts to answer in his latest
tome, The Post-American World.
The continued viability of American global dominance has been the subject of great
intellectual debate over the past decade or so. Fareed however, is not interested – at least not
explicitly – in contributing to the debate on whether America is still the sole superpower, nor is
he keen on using that debate as a point of entry. Indeed, as he makes poignantly clear in the first
sentence of the book, his interest is in “the rise of the rest,” and it is only in the final third of the
book (circa p.182 onwards) that Fareed ponders “how America will fare in the new world.” The
Post-American World begins with the observation that over the last five hundred years, the world
has seen three tectonic power shifts: (1) the rise of the Western world that resulted in modernity
as we know it (brought on by science and technology, commerce and capitalism, and the
agricultural and industrial revolutions); (2) the rise and dominance of the United States towards
the end of the nineteenth century in the areas of global economics, politics, science, and culture;
and (3) the rise of “the rest,” by virtue of global growth that has dispersed power and influence
and contributed to the creation of a truly global order – one defined by and directed from many
places and by many people.
This new global order, Fareed is quick to remind, has in fact proven remarkably peaceful.
While a conclusion that would perhaps be initially met with raised eyebrows, Fareed proceeds to
explain this in a manner that makes eminent sense. For instance, he argues that Islamic threat is
overrated and that the struggle between governments and terrorists will persist, but with the
former holding the upper hand. For instance, he explains, Al Qaeda may have been a movement
out to rally the entire Muslim world to jihad against the West, but the many variations within
Islam undermine its ability to merge into a single monolithic force. He goes on to suggest that
ideological watchdogs have focused so much on jihad rhetoric that they have ceased to take into
account the actual Muslim societies - which are frustrated with the fundamentalists, wish for
modernity (that allows for dignity and cultural pride), and pursue practical solutions not
martyrdom. Equally telling is his explanation for this artificial and unnecessary state of paranoia
we live in. The problem, to him, lies in the mismatch between people’s perception and fear of
the danger (i.e. war, terrorism, organized violence) that allegedly surrounds them, and the actual
reality. This, he argues, can be partly attributed to the revolution in and enhanced reach of
information technology, which has amplified news content, particularly news of a more negative
nature.
Of particular interest is the book’s discussion of the key players in two chapters,
provocatively titled “The Challenger” and “The Ally,” which betrays Fareed’s abiding interest in
the theme of great power politics. As the challenger, Fareed recognizes – as do many others –
that China’s participation on the global stage is reshaping the economic and political realities.
The Post-American World
148
Beijing is basically juggling the same two forces that more or less define the post-American
world, namely, globalization and nationalism, and its path of advancement is via an
asymmetrical strategy through which it “gradually expands its economic ties, acts calmly and
moderately, and slowly enlarges its sphere of influence, seeking only greater weight, friendship,
and influence in the world…[and] quietly positions itself as the alternative to a hectoring and
arrogant America.” Acknowledging China as a new challenge that the United States is largely
unprepared to tackle, Fareed notes that in order to address this challenge, the American political
elite have turned their gaze to India, which is described as an alternative rising power, close to,
and hot on Chinese heels. The attention paid to the role of China, and to a lesser extent India, in
this reconfiguration of world power, however, touches on the issue of nationalism, and in
particular, the question of a resurgent nationalism. Indeed, as Fareed observes himself in his
reflections on his anecdotes, emergent Chinese national identity is a potent concoction of cultural
and entrepreneurial sophistication on the one hand, and potentially bellicose nationalism on the
other. How China’s new generation manages these two dynamics will undoubtedly be crucial to
the stability of this new global order that Fareed has carefully outlined.
As an attempt to capture complex trends in one overarching idea, The Post-American
World provides thoughtful and meticulous analysis and interpretation. It leaves readers with
little doubt that “the rest” are certainly on the rise, and this rise, for better or worse, is something
that America will have to live with and perhaps even harness to advance its own position in this
new global order. To be sure, Fareed hints at this when he suggests in the chapter titled
“American Purpose” that the current power shift may be beneficial to the United States as the
trends of democratization and the economic liberalization that follows it afford opportunities for
America to remain the pivotal player in a world of robust growth and stability, even if he has by
and large skirted the more complex (and potentially convoluted) question of what form of
engagement this would entail on Washington’s part. So persuasive is his case for the resolute
rise of “the rest,” that even though Fareed explicitly denies that it was the intention of the book,
readers are invariably led to consider the reality of a possible decline of the United States.
Yet the pivotal role that America continues to command in global affairs has only
recently been re-emphasized in at least two recent events. First, in what was viewed tellingly as
inevitable, the credit crunch in the United States has sparked recessions in economies across the
world. Second, when President Obama launched into his widely-anticipated speech at the
American University in Cairo, the world watched with bated breath, dissecting each and every
word as if the fate of relations between the West and the Muslim world hinged on them. These
recent developments cannot but compel us to revisit some of the core assumptions, implicit or
explicit, in the thesis behind The Post-American World. It is fast becoming trendy to argue, as
Fareed does, that “the rest” are rising, and rising fast. Even then, could it not be, upon closer
scrutiny, that America’s comparative and competitive advantage over “the rest,” in term of
military and economic power, natural resources, the creative energy of its population,
technological know-how, and strength of institutions, built up over the last hundred years or so,
is now so vast in absolute terms that even if the gap is closing, it will still be several generations
before we are truly looking at a bona fide post-American world?
Joseph Chinyong Liow, Ph.D.
Nanyang Technological University, Singapore,
S. Rajaratnam School of International Studiesis
[email protected]
Tejaswini Niranjana. Mobilizing India: Women, Music and Migration Between India
and Trinidad, North Carolina: Duke University Press, 2006.
Mobilizing India is a unique study with remarkable fluidity that transcends ethnic,
geographical, and cultural barriers. It is written from the perspective of a scholar from
India, Tejaswini Niranjana, who attempts to understand the East Indian presence in the
Caribbean while defining and comparing the intricate linkages between females in India
and Trinidad.
In chapter one, “The Indian in Me: Studying the Subaltern Diaspora,” the author
comes to terms with Indians residing in Trinidad, who viewed her as similar to
themselves. She claims to have been initially “deeply disturbed” by this association,
however admits, “I am what I am because of who the East Indian woman in Trinidad is”
(p.20). A minor flaw of this chapter is the extensive rehashing of the historical
information on indentureship and the status of Indians in the early twentieth century.
Nevertheless, in focusing on these early years of the Indian presence, Niranjana is able to
reconstruct a unique discourse of the formation of normative Indian femininity.
Chapter 3 seeks to answer fundamental questions about the controversial chutneysoca music and the provocative chutney dancing as they relate to the Trinidadian Indian
feminine identity. Some individuals and groups of the East Indian community have
publicly condemned chutney dancing as vulgar and obscene and have criticized songs
with sexual connotations such as “Lick Down Mih Nani” by Drupatee Ramgoonai.
Niranjana explains that one of the common beliefs associated with chutney-soca is that it
represents “the rampant sexuality of the Indian woman” (p.119). The author contends that
this notion could have originated during the indentureship era with perceptions of the
“promiscuous woman” (p.119). Indeed, the author herself claims that this musical form is
“an attempt to reconstitute East Indian patriarchy” (p.123). Unfortunately, she does not
provide any credible evidence to support this claim. Nevertheless, the chapter provides
refreshing insight into the commercialization and structure of chutney and chutney-soca
and the composition of the audience. Despite being unappreciated in some communities,
the introduction of the Chutney Monarch and Chutney-Soca Monarch Competitions has
undoubtedly exposed the public to this musical genre and has also served to partially
legitimize the art form.
Issues of ethnicity and identity as they relate to a cultural art form are examined
further in chapter four, in which the author explores the representation of IndoTrinidadians in calypsos. Specifically, Niranjana draws attention to the racist lyrics of
some calypsos and their impact not only in Trinidad but also Guyana. The chapter’s subsection, “The ‘Indian’ Calypso,” reveals that the lyrics of some songs from the 1930s to
1980s negatively depicted Indian females. Such an examination of these controversial
songs supports the notion that calypso and chutney are unofficial arenas of a hostile
ethnic battle. An interesting silver lining to the inflammatory or racist nature of some
calypso lyrics, however, is that the singing of calypso and other musical genres is no
longer seen as excluding Indians. For instance, the musically flexible Indian singer, Rikki
Jai, has dabbled in calypso, reggae, parang, chutney, and Hindi film songs. Indeed, the
author acknowledges the contribution of India’s music to the evolution of chutney and
chutney-soca; particularly highlighted is the work of husband and wife team Kanchan (an
Mobilizing India: Women, Music and Migration Between India and Trinidad
150
Indian playback singer) and Babla (an arranger of film music) from Bombay. In addition,
the inclusion of Remo Fernandes, an Indian-born rock-popstar, in the musical
conversations unfolding in Trinidad represents a continuation of the musical interaction
between Indians of India and Trinidadian Indians.
Chapter five, sub-titled, “Hindi Cinema and the Politics of Music,” explores the
intersection between visual images and music. From the 1930s to the 1970s, Hindi
cinema influenced culture and the music played by orchestras in Trinidad. While the
influence of this music should not be underestimated, the author’s claim that in India
“…normative Indianness comes to be associated in part with the Hindi language films
and their constructions of modern femininity and masculinity” (p.173) is a flawed
generalization. Certainly, other factors such as religion, caste, family upbringing, and
class would also be determinants of gender identities. Hindi language films alone cannot
be solely responsible for such constructions. Furthermore, the powerful Americanization
process would certainly contribute to constructing cultural identity in both countries. In
this regard, Niranjana might have exaggerated the influence of Hindi cinema on India and
Trinidad.
One of the strengths of Mobilizing India is the inclusion of diverse views from
musicologists, activists, newspaper columnists, and academics in attempting to
understand adverse public reactions to certain songs. Some of these personalities include
Satnarine Balkaransingh, Gordon Rohlehr, Kim Johnson, and Narsaloo Ramaya.
Furthermore, there is a wealth of interviews culled from Indo- and Afro-Trinidadian
artists such as Rikki Jai and David Rudder. This dialogue illuminates current discussions
and adds a vital element of objectivity to the historical arguments.
The author has expertly achieved the goal of successfully illustrating the manner
in which sexuality and cultural identity of East Indians are represented in Trinidad’s
popular music. Undoubtedly, Mobilizing India will be essential reading for persons
seeking to understand the challenges facing the Indian diaspora. The findings will be
particularly useful for those persons venturing into the relatively new domain of Cultural
Studies.
Jerome Teelucksingh, Ph.D.
The University of the West Indies
[email protected]
Jared Diamond. Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed. New York, NY:
Viking Penguin, 2005.
Diamond‟s 2005 book has been reviewed in The New York Times, The Christian Science
Monitor, The Washington Post, and The London Review of Books, as well as in many academic
publications. Most of the reviews have been favorable, though, some have questioned, the
book‟s organization into two seemingly disparate parts. The first part of the text concentrates
primarily on the collapse of societies on relatively isolated islands, such as Easter Island, Pitcairn
and Henderson Islands, and the country of Greenland and secondarily on the collapse of the
ancient societies of the Anasazi and the Maya. Diamond contrasts these societal failures with the
successes of island societies in New Guinea, Tikopia, and Tokugawa Japan. The second part of
the book concentrates on the demise of societies in Rwanda, Hispaniola, China, and Australia.
The primary problem most critics cite with respect to Diamond‟s Collapse is the unclear
connection between the first and second parts of the text. Some reviewers more pointedly
question the relevance of the first part of the book altogether. For instance, Gregg Easterbrook,
in The New York Times Sunday Book Review section published on January 30, 2005, pointed out,
“Most people do not live on islands, yet „Collapse‟ tries to generalize from environmental
failures on isolated islands to environmental threats to society as a whole.” Likewise, Michiko
Kakutani wrote in The New York Times Books of the Times section on January 11, 2005,
“Diamond‟s selection of failed civilizations from the past seems arbitrary in the extreme: Why
Easter Island and not ancient Rome? Why the Anasazi of the American Southwest and not the
Minoans of ancient Crete?” I submit that the collapse of Rome and the Minoans is not so easily
traced to deforestation, which, in Diamond‟s view, is the major cause of the collapse of the
several societies he does investigate.
Beyond these critiques of the organization or relevance of the societies analyzed in
Collapse, however, lies a more fundamental problem with the credibility and accuracy of the
analyses Diamond provides. Diamond is certainly a major figure in scholarly circles. He has a
Ph.D. in physiology and membrane biophysics from the University of Cambridge and is
currently Professor of Geography and Physiology at the University of California, Los Angeles.
He is well known for his ornithological work in New Guinea and also for his work in
environmental history. He speaks several languages and has written popular science books in a
number of different fields, including human evolution and human sexuality. He is probably most
widely known for his 1999 Guns, Germs, and Steel, which sought to give an ecological
explanation of why Europe dominated the world in recent history. Particularly problematic, then,
is the questionable nature of Collapse’s success stories. Diamond does not sufficiently clarify:
Were these societies ecologically successful? Were they evolutionarily successful? At what
social cost was success achieved? Nor does Diamond clarify how long a society needs to survive
to be successful or at what degree of consistency. Certainly Japan of today, as well as Tikopia
and New Guinea, are not the same societies that Diamond describes as successes. Furthermore,
the 260 or so years of “success” in Tokugawa, Japan were based on an inflexible class hierarchy,
including the brutality that comes with military rule. Peasant protests were harshly suppressed,
widespread infanticide was used to control population growth, and eventually the ruling class
became overrun by corruption and incompetence (see, e.g., Andrew Gordon‟s 2003 A Modern
History of Japan). But Tokugawa, Japan, especially in the later period, did a good job of
managing its forests (pp. 299-306).
Nowhere is the weakness of Diamond‟s analyses more evident than in his exploration of
Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed
152
the collapse of Haiti. In Chapter 11, Diamond writes about the island of Hispaniola, which is
divided into two nations: Haiti on the west, occupying approximately one third of the island, and
the Dominican Republic on the east, occupying the remainder of the island. Diamond presents
the contrast between the two nations as a case study in “understanding the modern world‟s
problems” (p. 329). Unfortunately, his analysis of Haiti is superficial at best and misleading at
worst, and his treatment of the Dominican Republic is unacceptably favorable. The chapter
concentrates mostly on the Dominican Republic; Diamond writes about “my Dominican friends”
(p. 352) and seems to empathize with Dominicans considerably more than with Haitians. (All
the names mentioned in the acknowledgments for Chapter 11 are Dominican names (p. 527).
Indeed, he apparently visited the Dominican Republic, but I found no indication that he was ever
in Haiti).
Unacceptably, Diamond omits in his account of the “collapse” of Haiti any mention of
the overbearing, exploitative, and misdirected role of the U.S. government (including to a lesser
degree the Canadian and French governments), whose policies beginning in 1971 featured an
economic program focused on private investments from U.S. companies with no custom taxes, a
minimum wage kept very low, the suppression of labor unions, and the right of these U.S.
companies to repatriate their profits. Add to this the enormous influx of unregulated NGOs,
Protestant missionaries, and other misguided do-gooders, and there is certainly a recipe for
collapse, but a collapse due to outside impinging forces, not to choices made by Haitians. This
omission was not lost on Timothy T. Schwartz, who argues in chapter Seven of his 2008
Travesty in Haiti that the U.S.A. destroyed the economy of Haiti. Schwartz boldly states, “The
U.S. government working through USAID [United States Agency for International
Development] and the planners at the World‟s Major international lending institutions--the
World Bank, The Inter American Development Bank (IDB), and the International Monetary
Fund (IMF), all U.S. and secondarily E.U. controlled--were led by USAID in adopting policies
that, with perhaps the best of intentions, would destroy the Haitian economy of small farmers”
(2008:108). These policy makers explicitly stated that moving farmers off the land would create
a labor force for the U.S. offshore industries in Haiti, reduce soil erosion, and provide a market
for U.S. government-subsidized agricultural products Diamond fails to mention any word of this.
Nor does he mention that “Until the 1980s Haiti was almost entirely self-sufficient in rice
consumption, something made possible, in part, by protecting Haitian farmers from the heavily
subsidized rice produced in the U.S. and Europe” (2008:109) or that during the 1980s and 1990s,
U.S. rice--subsidized at a rate that varied from 35% to 100%--flooded into the country”
(Schwartz 2008:109), sabotaging the indigenous rice industry.
Perhaps the most inexcusable of Diamond‟s omissions with respect to his analysis of the
demise of Haiti is the absence of any word in Diamond‟s book of the U.S.-imposed pig
eradication campaign that lasted from 1982 to 1984, ostensibly done under the questionable
belief that swine fever would spread to the U.S. pig population. (For details see Chapter Five in
my 1992 Haiti’s Bad Press.) The loss of these pigs was the final straw that destroyed the Haitian
peasant economy. Nevertheless, Diamond writes, “The contrast between Haiti and the
Dominican Republic . . . provide[s] the clearest illustrations that a society‟s fate lies in its own
hands and depends substantially on its own choices” (p. 341), when in fact, the contrast more
accurately serves to provide a clear illustration of the impact of globalization. (Indeed, it should
have immediately been socioeconomically jarring to Diamond that one of the poorest nations in
the world is located only one and a half hours by jet or about 710 miles from one of the richest
nations in the world). As Diamond himself suggests, “A major difference [between
environmental dangers today and those faced by past societies] has to do with globalization” (p.
153
23). In truth, as is argued by Schwartz due to increases in globalization the U.S. has been able
to politically and economically dominate Haiti and deleteriously impact Haiti.
His incomplete portrayal of Haiti‟s “collapse” can be attributed to a shortcoming of
Diamond‟s: an underdeveloped understanding of globalization. Despite his passing
acknowledgment of the importance of globalization, Diamond does not write much about
globalization nor does he seem to have a grasp of the processes of globalization. His most
extended discussion of globalization only speaks to the “bad things transported from the First
World to developing countries” (p. 517), concentrating on “garbage transport” (p. 517) and
“poisonous chemicals” (p. 518), as well as the Third World sending “us [sic] their own bad
things . . . like AIDS, SARS, cholera, and West Nile fever” (p. 518). A reading in the literature
of world-systems theory and dependency theory would go far to raise the level of sophistication
in Diamond‟s discussion of globalization and to correct his superficial understanding of the
relationships between the First and Third Worlds.
Diamond‟s 1987 article about the invention of agriculture, “The Worst Mistake in the
History of the Human Race” has been influential, and his ecological explanations in Guns,
Germs, and Steel made a valuable contribution in countering a racist perspective on human
history and development. But Collapse is, frankly, a considerable disappointment. Stripped of
its rhetoric, the general thrust of what Diamond writes in Collapse is almost comically correct.
Yes, people can ruin their environments. Yes, this is going on now. Yes, we have been doing
this forever. Anthropologist Marvin Harris, another major figure in scholarly circles, famously
posited ecological explanations for various pivotal episodes in human history that are strikingly
similar to Diamond‟s, though Diamond never cites him. In fact, in the 1860s in his four-volume
Die Anthropologie der Naturvölker Theodor Waitz, the famous German anthropologist, reached
the same conclusions as Diamond and Harris, but Diamond has never cited Waitz.
Diamond labels himself “a cautious optimist” (p. 521), and buried at the very end of the
book, beyond the “Further Readings” section and covering only five pages, are Diamond‟s ideas
about how individuals can provide solutions to environmental problems (pp. 556-560). In
democracies, he says, people should find out the politicians‟ positions on environmental issues
and vote for ecological progressives (though politicians may overstate their commitment to
environmental issues to gain votes). Consumers should refuse to buy products that have harmed
the environment in their processing, (though this would, I am sure, leave us with very little to
buy, as most manufacturers have yet to implement sufficiently green measures). Religious
people can build support within their organizations, and homeowners can improve their own
environments. Everyone can donate to an environmental movement, (though Diamond tells us
that “one of the three largest and best-funded environmental organizations” [p. 559] in the world
has the minuscule budget of only US$100 million).
In short, the academic world should, indeed, produce people who can write for the
general public about the big picture, and academicians do, indeed, have to be careful not to
become carping specialists. But certainly the public and the scholars also deserve careful more
scholarship and well-formed arguments than Diamond provides in his Collapse: How Societies
Choose to Fail or Succeed.
Robert Lawless
Wichita State University
[email protected]
Duncan McCargo. Tearing Apart the Land: Islam and Legitimacy in Southern
Thailand. NY, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2008.
This is the book on southern Thailand that needed to be written. Much work, in
the form of journal articles or book chapters, has been produced on the violence in
Thailand’s Muslim south, which thus far has claimed around 3,700 lives and has
conferred upon the area the reputation of Southeast Asia’s most violent region. But no
full-length book, seriously outlining and examining the issues revolving around this
violence, has been previously attempted. McCargo’s effort, therefore, deserves praise.
As a political scientist, McCargo has resorted to both textual analyses as well as
fieldwork interviews to substantiate the data he presents. His textual data comes from
anonymous leaflets distributed in the deep south between 2004 and 2006, essays written
by suspected militants in an army-run “surrender camp,” depositions or “confessions of
arrested militants,” and published works in English and Thai on the current violence.
McCargo also carried out about 270 in-depth interviews with local and national
politicians, community leaders, National Reconciliation Commission (NRC) members,
human rights activists, Islamic teachers, imams, monks, academics, journalists, lawyers,
security officials, and victims and perpetrators of the violence.
McCargo is generally in agreement with the view of many of his informants that a
militant Muslim movement with post-separatist aspirations is behind the current violence.
As such, he takes on the task of understanding the nature of this movement by asking the
following questions: What conditions created this movement? How is the movement
organized, and who supports it? Is it essentially a political movement? How much
Islamist or jihadist thinking or rhetoric does it incorporate into its own rhetoric? In an
attempt to answer these questions and to explain the violence in southern Thailand,
McCargo applies the arguments of Mohammed Hafez, who argues in his work, Why
Muslims Rebel, that political-institutional exclusion, in combination with indiscriminate
repression, provides conditions that are ripe for large-scale rebellion. McCargo says the
disenfranchisement of the Thai-Malays, as well as repressive state actions by the former
government of Thaksin Shinawatra, have directly led to the current violence. McCargo
lays out the mix of factors, viz. politics, attitudes, and practices of security forces,
militancy, and Islam that have contributed to the violence that seems to have been fanned
furiously by Thaksin’s incompetent government. Though several other analysts have
alluded to these factors, none have explored them deeply or substantiated them with field
data as McCargo has, and for this, credit goes to him.
While his work is generally deserving of praise, much of McCargo’s argument
rests too specifically upon the principle of legitimacy, which he argues the Thai state
seems to have lost in the Muslim south. McCargo acknowledges that legitimacy is a
complex concept and relates the state’s loss of legitimacy in the southern region to two
factors: (1) participation/non-participation in elections, as seen in the high numbers of
spoilt Muslims votes in the 2001 parliamentary elections in Yala province and the
corresponding rejection of Muslim candidates, seen as supporters of Thaksin’s
government and (2) the level of political violence in the Muslim south since 2001.
Despite McCargo’s coherent presentation of this notion of legitimacy, however,
the idea that the role of legitimacy alone is responsible for a people’s acceptance or
Tearing Apart the Land: Islam and Legitimacy in Southern Thailand
156
rejection of a government seems highly exaggerated in McCargo’s work. A government’s
“legitimacy” to rule in many modern postcolonial Asian and African states is not
predicated upon a people’s wholesale acceptance of the government. The state has
various mechanisms that it uses to “coerce” a people to accept its rule. (One such
mechanism attempted in Thailand was the social contract that the Thai state formed with
southern Malay-Muslim elite in the 1980s, in which the Malay-Muslims were rewarded
with material and political rewards in exchange for peace in the region. However, even
this attempt to encourage acceptance of the government ultimately resulted in violence
when the Malay-Muslim elite concentrated on enriching their coffers rather than on
fulfilling the needs of the Malay-Muslim mass, the majority of whom were poor rural
villagers alienated from the riches and spoils of the land.) Political scientist Jason
Johnson, in his March 2009 review of Duncan McCargo’s book, concedes that the crisis
in legitimacy in southern Thailand may be a crisis for the Malay-Muslim elite, which is
quite disconnected from the Malay-Muslim masses. This, Johnson argues, may “explain
why slightly more than half the casualties of the violence have been Malay-Muslims.”
While the notion of legitimacy may be a well-conceived argument, it disregards
other social forces at the grassroots level, which, while focusing on helping MalayMuslim rural folks and the poor, also often increase the potential for violent conflict.
These forces include the many NGO organizations run by both Muslims and Buddhists,
as well as the lax immigration practices in both Malaysia and Thailand that allow
thousands of young Malay men and women to cross the border to work in Malaysia to
earn salaries sometimes higher than those of Thai bureaucrats and civil servants. Though
intending to help to make the lives of Malay-Muslims tolerable in Thailand’s Muslim
south, these forces can exacerbate the potential for violence, more so, perhaps, than any
lost legitimacy of the Thai government.
Despite McCargo’s tendency to overestimate the role of legitimacy in the history
of violence in southern Thailand, he does convincingly clarify some misperceptions that
continue to find a place in the analysis of Thai violence. McCargo argues that the
southern Thai conflict is neither an Islamic jihad, nor is it linked to international terrorist
outfits. While he acknowledges the involvement of pondok teachers and ustads in
mobilizing scores of young Muslim men to become militants, he asserts that “Islam
serves simply as a mobilizing resource and a means of framing increasingly shrill
justifications for the anti-civilian violence that all too often develops a chilling
momentum of its own” (p. 187). The real reasons for the violence, he argues, are local
historical and political grievances, not religious ones (p. 188). McCargo explains that
pondok teachers and ustads have been at the forefront of co-opting young men into the
movement, which the state has perceived as Islamic terrorism. In return, the government
then targets the Islamic provincial councils, interferes in the teaching of Islam, and coopts private Islamic school owners, thus seeming to re-affirm the fact that the conflict is
religious in nature.
In spite of his ability to analyze and clarify many critical elements of the violence
plaguing southern Thailand, McCargo does not answer some important questions. For
instance, why should the fight for Malay identity and independence be taken up by a new
generation of poor rural Muslims? Why have religious teachers and ustads taken up the
cause of historical and political grievances, especially when the earlier separatist
concerns were primarily echoed by the Malay elite and nobility, which lost its political
157
and economic power once the Thai state began to take over the administration of the
Malay-dominated southern provinces? Why is the call for an independent Malay-Muslim
state of Patani, which was earlier called for by the Malay elite, now being echoed by poor
rural Muslim religious teachers? The answers to these questions would be extremely
important to support McCargo’s argument of a crisis in legitimacy of the Thai state in
Muslim southern Thailand.
While the reasons for the violence as argued for by McCargo clearly need more
investigation, what McCargo’s book shows is a failed state’s efforts to deal
unsuccessfully with a group of Muslim militants who have used the state’s incompetency
and prejudices to their own advantage to continue to wage a battle of violence in the
Muslim south. The mighty Thai state, which in historical glory was one of the most
powerful kingdoms in Southeast Asia, today cannot even fend off a gang of militants
because of its own corruption, inefficiency, and failed government and security forces.
The study of violence in the Muslim south is really an illustration of an inefficient Thai
state.
Saroja Dorairajoo, Ph.D.
Chinese University of Hong Kong
[email protected]
The Journal of International and Global Studies is published for the Center for International and
Global Studies by the Lindenwood University Press. Submissions are invited that address
contemporary globalization issues. In particular, the Journal seeks high-quality, original work
that is based on both theory and practice. We encourage submissions from all fields, but pay
particular attention to anthropology, education, communications, geography, history,
international relations, international management, political science, religion, and sociology.
The editorial board prefers essay manuscripts that do not exceed 8,000 words oriented toward a
readership composed of multi-disciplinary scholars, but written to be accessible to nonspecialists.
Materials should be fully documented and have enduring value. Analyses of current affairs that
may quickly fall out of date, and pieces containing policy prescriptions, are rarely accepted.
Materials submitted to the JI&GS are judged on the following criteria: (1) use of a theoretical or
conceptual framework, (2) acknowledgment of relevant literature, (3) originality in analysis, (4)
appropriateness of methodological approach, (5) contribution to the advancement of knowledge,
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Materials must be submitted four months prior to the publication date. Please see the Center’s
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Material appearing in the Journal of International and Global Studies does not necessarily
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and the accuracy of facts published in articles rests solely with the individual authors.
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