European Cosmopolitanism: Colonial Histories and Postcolonial Societies 9781138961104, 9781315659992

Table of contents :
Introduction

1. Colonial Histories and the Postcolonial Present of European Cosmopolitanism , (Gurminder K Bhambra and John Narayan)

Part I: Theorizing European Cosmopolitanism Otherwise

2. Cosmopolitan Europe: Memory, Apology and Mourning, (Meyda Yeğenoğlu)

3. Ah, We Have Not Forgotten Ethiopia: Anti-Colonial Sentiments for Spain in a Fascist Era, (Robbie Shilliam)

4. Communist Cosmopolitanism, (William Outhwaite and Larry Ray)

Part II: Alternative Historical Groundings of Cosmopolitanisms in Europe

5. Always Already Cosmopolitan – Indigenous Peoples and Swedish Modernity, (Gunlög Fur)

6. The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy and European Cosmopolitanism, (M. J. Rodriguez-Salgado)

7. The Cosmopolitan Caribbean Spirit and Europe, (Shantelle George)

Part III: Contemporary Postcolonial Cosmopolitanisms

8. Rethinking Cosmopolitanism, Multiculturalism and Diaspora via the Diasporic Cosmopolitanism of Europe’s Kurds, (Ipek Demir)

9. Europe is over! Afro-European Mobilities, Former Colonial Metropoles, and New Cosmopolitanisms, (Sarah Demart)

10. Fanon’s Decolonized Europe: The Double Promise of Coloured Cosmopolitanism in the Age of Austerity, (John Narayan) 　

11. EPILOGUE: A New Vision of Europe: Learning from the South, (Boaventura de Sousa Santos)

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In sharp contrast to the anti-historical, methodological Eurocentrism that has ­permeated the greater part of scholarly work on ‘Cosmopolitan Europe’, this book applies a rare, let’s call it, methodological cosmopolitanism to its subject matter. In so doing, it not only successfully challenges numerous assumptions and claims concerning the cosmopolitanism in and of Europe (and vice versa). As the book’s contributions amply testify, it also opens the door to a new, highly enlightening and thus utterly central empirical terrain for the field. This book is an achievement that should define the context for future research and intellectual debate. —Peo Hansen, Professor of Political Science at REMESO, Linköping University At a time when the EU political project has been called into question as never before in its’ history, Bhambra and Narayan’s edited collection offers an insightful exploration of the hidden histories that have shaped cosmopolitan Europe, but are largely omitted by its’ historical canon. By recovering silenced histories, the book provides us with a novel perspective as well as expanded resources with which to address the challenges of our contemporary society. —Nando Sigona, Birmingham Fellow, Senior Lecturer and Deputy Director of IRiS, Univeristy of Birmingham This book makes a bold and crucial intervention. It simultaneously challenges the complacencies of elite European self-understandings, whereby an official ideology of European cosmopolitanism in fact reinstates postcolonial historical denial and Eurocentric insularity and excavates the richly cosmopolitan histories of imperial Europe’s inseparability from anti-colonial cosmopolitanisms, that go beyond ‘Europe’. The critical insight and rigor of this collection is indispensable for any serious reflection on the questions of ‘Europe’ and cosmopolitanism. —Nicholas De Genova, Reader in Human Geography, King’s College London Whether as idea or ideology, cosmopolitanism has often been seen as the ethical rationale of the trade in goods and meanings. This book presents a far more interesting case for cosmopolitanism. Through intriguing historical narratives, incisive political analysis and sophisticated argument, the authors show that Europe – if there ever was one – is cosmopolitan at its origins. This not because of some ideational kernel of European thought, but because of the presence and practice of subjected and colonized peoples, on whom Europe’s imperial states always relied for its development and prosperity, yet whose part in Europe continues to be unrecognized. This is indispensable reading: a first truly cosmopolitan approach to the history and theory of cosmopolitanism. —Stefan Jonsson, Professor at the Institute for Research on Migration, Ethnicity and Society, Linköping University

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This is an insightful, rigorous and well-timed book, highlighting the historical legacies behind the present migration crisis or the mourning for an enchanted multiculturalism, looking beyond Eurocentric self-reference. In the vast land of forgotten and silenced histories, the authors have found alternative narratives of cosmopolitanism that can help us to understand present European condition and the complex historical intertwinements that constitute it, offering an unconventional analysis of European cosmopolitanism’s sources and ambivalences. —Paola Rebughini, Professor of Sociology and Intercultural Communication, University of Milan

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European Cosmopolitanism

This book provides a fresh examination of the cosmopolitan project of post-war Europe from a variety of perspectives. It explores the ways in which European cosmopolitanism can be theorized differently if we take into account histories which have rarely been at the forefront of such understandings. It also uses neglected historical resources to draw out new and unexpected entanglements and connections between understandings of European cosmopolitanism both in Europe and elsewhere. The final part of the book places European cosmopolitanism in tension with contemporary postcolonial configurations around diaspora, migration, and austerity. Overall, it seeks to draw attention to the ways in which Europe’s posited others have always been very much a part of Europe’s colonial histories and its postcolonial present. Gurminder K. Bhambra is Professor and Research Director of Sociology at the University of Warwick and Guest Professor of Sociology and History at the Centre for Concurrences in Colonial and Postcolonial Studies, Linnaeus University, Sweden. She is author of Rethinking Modernity: Postcolonialism and the Sociological Imagination, which won the 2008 Philip Abrams Memorial Prize for best first book in Sociology, and Connected Sociologies. John Narayan is a Leverhulme Early Career Fellow in the Department of Sociology at the University of Warwick. His research interests are in the fields of globalisation, pragmatism and post-colonialism. He is the author of John Dewey: The Global Public and its Problems.

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International Library of Sociology Founded by Karl Mannheim Editors: John Holmwood and Vineeta Sinha

Recent publications in this series include: Theories of the Information Society, 4th Edition Frank Webster Visual Worlds Edited by John R Hall, Blake Stimson, Lisa Tamiris Becker Travel Connections Tourism, technology and togetherness in a mobile world Jennie Germann Molz Transforming Images Screens, affect, futures Rebecca Coleman Mobilising Modernity The nuclear moment Ian Welsh Illness as a Work of Thought A Foucauldian perspective on psychosomatics Monica Greco Social Class Language and Education Denis Lawton Housing Needs and Planning Policy Problems of housing need and ‘overspill’ in England & Wales J Barry Cullingworth, J.B. Cullingworth European Cosmopolitanism Colonial histories and postcolonial societies Edited by Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan

European Cosmopolitanism

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Colonial Histories and Postcolonial Societies

Edited by Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan

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First published 2017 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2017 Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan © 2017 selection and editorial matter, Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Bhambra, Gurminder K., editor. | Narayan, John, editor. Title: European cosmopolitanism: colonial histories and postcolonial societies / edited by Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan. Description: Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY: Routledge, 2016. Identifiers: LCCN 2016018719| ISBN 9781138961104 (hardback) | ISBN 9781315659992 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Cosmopolitanism—Europe. | Europe—Foreign relations. | Postcolonialism—Europe. Classification: LCC JZ1308 .E956 2016 | DDC 325/.3094— dc23LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016018719 ISBN: 978-1-138-96110-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-65999-2 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra

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Contents

Notes on Contributors 1 Introduction: Colonial Histories and the Postcolonial Present of European Cosmopolitanism

ix

1

G urminder K. Bhambra and John N arayan

Part I

Theorizing European Cosmopolitanism Otherwise

15

2 Cosmopolitan Europe: Memory, Apology and Mourning

17

M eyda Y e ğ eno ğ lu

3 Ah, We Have Not Forgotten Ethiopia: Anti-Colonial Sentiments for Spain in a Fascist Era

31

R obbie S hilliam

4 Communist Cosmopolitanism

47

L arry Ray and W illiam O uthwaite

Part II

Alternative Historical Groundings of Cosmopolitanisms in Europe

63

5 Always Already Cosmopolitan – Indigenous Peoples and Swedish Modernity

65

G unl ög F ur

6 The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy and European Cosmopolitanism M . J . R o dr Í guez- Salgado

82

viii Contents 7 The Cosmopolitan Caribbean Spirit and Europe: Cosmopolitan Sensibilities among Spiritual Baptist Adherents

106

S hantelle G eorge

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Part III

Contemporary Postcolonial Cosmopolitanisms

119

8 Rethinking Cosmopolitanism, Multiculturalism and Diaspora via the Diasporic Cosmopolitanism of Europe’s Kurds

121

I pek D emir

9 Europe is over! Afro-European Mobilities, Former Colonial Metropoles, and New Cosmopolitanisms

136

S arah D emart

10 Fanon’s Decolonized Europe: The Double Promise of Coloured Cosmopolitanism in the Age of Austerity

153

J ohn N arayan

11 Epilogue: A New Vision of Europe: Learning from the South

172

B oaventura de S ousa S antos

Index

185

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Notes on Contributors

Gurminder K. Bhambra is Professor of Sociology at the University of Warwick and Guest Professor of Sociology and History at the Centre for Concurrences in Colonial and Postcolonial Studies at Linnaeus University, Sweden. She is author of Connected Sociologies (Bloomsbury, 2014) and Rethinking Modernity: Postcolonialism and the Sociological Imagination (Palgrave, 2007) which won the 2008 Philip Abrams Memorial Prize for best first book in sociology. She set up the Global Social Theory (globalsocialtheory.org) website to support students and academics interested in social theory in global perspective. Sarah Demart is a sociologist at the Centre d’Études de l’Ethnicité et des Migrations (CEDEM) at the University of Liège, Belgium and at the Interculturalism, Migration and Minorities Research Centre at the Ku-Leuven, Belgium. She is the author of a series of articles in the Revue Européenne des Migrations Internationales (2008, 2013), Cahiers d’Études Africaines (2013), Brussels Studies (2013), African Diaspora (2013), SociologieS (2014; 2016) and Africa (2016). Her thesis on religious revival in Congo is the subject of a forthcoming work, ‘Les territoires de la délivrance: l’enchevêtrement spatio-temporel du Réveil congolais en RDC et diaspora’, to be published by Karthala in 2016. Ipek Demir (PhD, University of Sussex) is Associate Professor in Sociology at the University of Leicester. She previously taught social sciences at the ­Universities of Sussex and Cambridge, and the Open University and was an ESRC Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of Cambridge. She recently held an AHRC ­Fellowship, examining how ethno-political identity is represented and translated by Kurds (of Turkey) in London. She is the founder and co-­ coordinator of the British Sociological Association’s Diaspora, Migration and Transnationalism (DMT) Study Group and the former Vice-Chair of the European Sociological Association’s Sociology of Migration Research Network. Gunlög Fur is Professor of History at Linnaeus University, Sweden, and Research Director for Linnaeus University Centre: Concurrences in Colonial and ­Postcolonial Studies. She is author of Colonialism in the Margins. Cultural Encounters in New Sweden and Lapland (2006) and A Nation of Women: Gender and Colonial Encounters Among the Delaware Indians (2009). Her research focuses on colonial encounters, indigenous studies, Native American, Sámi, gender, and postcolonial history.

x  Notes on Contributors

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Shantelle George is a PhD Candidate and Senior Teaching Fellow in the Department of History at SOAS, University of London. Her PhD research, ‘Religion, Identity Formation and Memory among Liberated Africans and their Descendants in Grenada, 1836 to present’, examines the ethno-linguistic origins of recaptive Africans sent to Grenada and its impact on the formation of Orisha traditions. Her other research interests lie in the areas of black Atlantic religion and the production and transatlantic circulation of food commodities. John Narayan is a Leverhulme Early Career Fellow in the Department of Socio­ logy at the University of Warwick. His current research focuses on the global politics of Black Power. His first book John Dewey: The Global Public and its Problems (2016) was recently published with Manchester University Press, in the Theory for a Global Age series. William Outhwaite is Emeritus Professor of Sociology at Newcastle University, is the author of European Society (Polity 2008), Critical Theory and Contemporary Europe (Continuum 2012), Social Theory (Profile 2015), Europe Since 1989 (Routledge 2016), Contemporary Europe (Routledge 2017) and, with Larry Ray, of Social Theory and Postcommunism (Blackwell 2005) and ‘Prediction and Prophecy in Communist Studies’, Comparative Sociology 10, 5, 2011, pp. 651–709. He taught European studies and the sociology of contemporary Europe at the universities of Sussex (1973–2007) and Newcastle (2007–2015). Larry Ray is Professor of Sociology at the University of Kent, UK, and a Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences. His research and publications address socio­ logical theory, globalization, postcommunism, contemporary Jewish identities, and collective and interpersonal theories of violence. Recent publications include Violence & Society (Sage 2011) and Violence and Society – Towards a New Sociology (with Jane Kilby) Sociological Review Monograph (2014). M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado is Professor Emerita of International History at the London School of Economics and Political Science. She has published extensively on the Spanish Monarchy and the emergence of a Spanish identity, as well as on International diplomacy and war in the early-modern period, both between Christian states and between Muslim and Christian powers. She taught courses on Persecution in Europe to the present day; the Making of Europe, and on relations between Muslims, Christians and Jews in Europe. Boaventura de Sousa Santos is Professor of Sociology and Director of the Center for Social Studies at the University of Coimbra University (Portugal) and Distinguished Legal Scholar at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He has written and published widely on issues of globalization, sociology of law and the state, epistemology, social movements and the World Social Forum. His most recent publications are Epistemologies of the South: Justice against Epistemicide (Paradigm Publishers) and If God Were a Human Rights Activist (Stanford University Press).

Notes on Contributors  xi

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Robbie Shilliam is Professor of International Relations at Queen Mary University of London. He is author of The Black Pacific: Anti-colonial Struggles and ­Oceanic Connections (Bloomsbury Academic Press, 2015), and co-convener of the Colonial/Postcolonial/Decolonial working group in the British International Studies Association. Meyda Yeğenoğlu is Professor of Cultural Studies and Sociology at Bilgi ­University, Istanbul-Turkey. Currently she is a Senior Research Fellow at the Institute for Advanced Social Research at the University of Tampere, ­Finland. She is the author of Colonial Fantasies; Towards a Feminist Reading of ­Orientalism (Cambridge University Press,1998) and Islam, Migrancy and Hospitality in Europe (Palgrave-Macmillan 2012). She has published widely on postcolonialism, orientalism, Islam, secularism and religion, nationalism, cosmopolitanism, Europe, globalization and migrancy. She has held visiting appointments at Columbia University, Oberlin College, Rutgers University, New York University, University of Vienna and Oxford University.

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1 Introduction

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Colonial Histories and the Postcolonial Present of European Cosmopolitanism Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan As the post-war European project of union – whether ever-closer, or not – approaches its sixtieth anniversary, the continent is beset by the twin issues of austerity and migration. Since 2008, the financial crash and the related politics of austerity have enveloped both individual countries and the EU as a whole as it has sought to address the growing tension between its commitment to democratic values and the perceived need for a response that maintains the technical infrastructure of the Eurozone. This has been most evident in the response to the situation in Greece (although similar issues have arisen in Portugal and Spain and also in Ireland). Migration, intersecting with the politics of austerity in many ways, has become the other defining issue of our times, especially, once again, in its vivid manifestation in Greece as surrounding countries put up fences to restrict the movement of people. In the European context, however, it is important to note that migration refers both to the movement of EU citizens across internal borders as well as to the movement of peoples into Europe as a consequence of war, starvation, and the premeditated destruction of cities and countries in north Africa and across the Middle East. These, seemingly extraordinary, movements of people that are normal elsewhere are complemented by the continuing quotidian migrations of peoples via work permits, family reunion processes, tourism, and the suchlike (which is not to suggest that these are not also subject to politicization and increased scrutiny and control). However, it is the images of refugees and asylum seekers at Europe’s borders and their migrations north and west into Germany and Sweden primarily that has ushered up a moral panic of epic proportions across the continent. This Introduction is being written a few months after the pictures of the washed up body of the 3-year-old Syrian boy, Alan Kurdi, circulated around the world and prompted, for a moment, compassion over resentment, grief over antipathy. It pointed to the possibility that those of us in Europe might be better than we had hitherto demonstrated ourselves to be. That moment, unfortunately, quickly passed and usual service, in terms of rising xenophobia and racism, has since largely resumed (although this is not to diminish the immense outpouring also of welcome, volunteering, and everyday concern expressed by people who have taken in others and sought to support refugees and migrants, rather it is to point to

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2  Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan the tension between the generalized sentiments and those marginalized activities). There have been news-stories of trains taking people to camps without their knowledge, of people being forced to wear ID bracelets if they wanted access to food, of suggestions that migrants could be coerced to work for free. Which histories does Europe remember and which does it not wish to repeat again? It is in the midst of these conflicts and conflicting understandings of Europe that we question the growing distance between the claims of cosmopolitanism that are held to animate the European project and the turn to a parochial and dangerous nativism that threatens to send Europe back into the very pre-war history from which union was supposed to provide an escape.

I As Bhambra (2011, 2016) has argued previously, the cosmopolitanism of ‘cosmopolitan Europe’, for European intellectuals such as Habermas (2003, 2012) and Beck (2002), is one that is largely derived from the Western European philosophi­ cal tradition and associated with the development of liberal democracies there. Notwithstanding the emphasis on its historical roots, the tradition is generally understood in the light of ideals believed to be brought to fruition in the post-­ second world war period. That is, in terms of the development of sovereign nation states entering peaceful relations with each other and deriving their legitimacy from sovereign peoples expressing their individual rights and freedoms. Such an articulation rests on a particular understanding of European development; one that evades acknowledging European domination over much of the world through colonialism, dispossession, appropriation, and enslavement as significant to that history. It also disavows examining the consequences of domination for the contemporary multicultural constitution of European societies. Standard understandings of European cosmopolitanism, for example, rarely address those multicultural others who come to constitute European polities through imperial endeavours. European multiculturalism is not a phenomenon of the 1960s, but is rather associated with empire – as such, European states have been multicultural for as long as they have been imperial (see also Elliot-Cooper 2015). Yet, this colonial past does not figure in the deliberations of Europe’s intellectuals as they argue for the idea of cosmopolitanism to animate and ‘finish’ the European project of ‘Enlightenment’. As such, the focus of this book is to recover those other histories and narratives that have been as central to the shaping of cosmopolitan Europe, but omitted in the standard accounts of its history. The post-war European project, given institutional form as the EEC and then EU, is generally agreed to begin with European states wishing to make amends for the recent past which had seen two world wars and the first genocide on European land. As Bhambra (2009, 2016) argues, the project of cosmopolitan Europe was organized around an expressly stated wish for the diversity of nationstates to find an equilibrium between national and cultural differences and broader and longer-standing civilizational commonalities. This is most clearly manifest in the motto of the union which varies around the theme of ‘unity in diversity’. It is

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Introduction  3 telling, however, that the diversity that is referenced is simply that between states, not the diversity within states as constituted by those multicultural others created by empire and imperial activities. There is little explicit recognition of these differences or their long-standing constitution in and through the civilizational commonalities otherwise posited as European. These differences are presented within the standard literature as being of a completely other order. However, if we were to take the colonial histories of European countries seriously then we would be able to re-frame these differences as also within the European story. This would enable us to reshape our understandings of the past and, in so doing, intervene in the development of different possibilities for the future. The standard literature, for example, rarely discusses the fact that the majority of the initial countries constituting union were empires and, as such, union meant the coming together of imperial states together with their colonial constituencies (for exceptions, see Hansen 2002, Garavini 2012, Hansen and Jonsson 2014). Looking at four of the original six members of the European Economic Community, we see that Algeria was an integral aspect of France and France also controlled a number of other colonies in Africa and elsewhere; Italy controlled parts of Somaliland; Belgium controlled the Congo; and the Netherlands controlled Suriname and a number of Caribbean islands. With the accession of Spain, Britain, and Portugal in subsequent years, the idea that it was nation-states that were joining together is demonstrated as a clear fiction given the extent of overseas territories that they brought with them. As Hansen argues (2002, 2004), the European project was established by the coming together of colonial states and constituted itself in colonial terms, yet, colonialism is rarely mentioned in discussions of this project. The most significant example here is the fact that Algeria entered the EEC in 1957 on much the same basis as France – the main difference being that Algerian workers were not free to move between the member countries nor were they to receive wages or social insurance at European rates (Hansen and Jonsson 2014: 233). In this way, we can see that the European project was both a colonial project and a racial one from the very outset. Further, when Algeria fought for independence from France, it was simultaneously a struggle for independence from Europe, broadly speaking. Yet, as Hansen (2002) argues, the official history of the European project presents it as achieving peace in Europe since the end of the second world war. Its failure to recognize the colonies of European states as integral to its own project enables it also to evade consideration of war and violence as continuing since the end of the second world war; not as something that was resolved by the project. This error in its own self-perception is compounded by the award of the Nobel Peace Prize to the European Union in 2012 (see Hansen and Jonsson 2013). Alongside the member states having colonies, the European project was itself conceived as a colonial project, as Hansen and Jonsson (2011, 2013, 2014) have convincingly demonstrated. Depleted in resources and manpower after the second world war, there was a sense that Europe could only enter the world stage again if it could rebuild itself to its former stature. For this to happen required the land,

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4  Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan labour, and resources of Africa – that is, it required ‘bringing Africa as a dowry to Europe’ as Hansen and Jonsson (2011) argue quoting one of the key architects of union, Robert Schuman. Yet, Africa is absent from most considerations of the emergence and development of European project. Indeed, in the context of the current ‘refugee crisis’ many recent members of the European Union are questioning why they should offer support to peoples coming to Europe as a consequence of the imperial histories of other members. What they do not seem to realize is that if the European project as a whole was (and is) a colonial venture, then all those who join it are required to share the responsibilities emanating from the continuing legacies of this colonial history. It is inappropriate to wish to share in the benefits of union without also taking responsibility for how those benefits were accrued.

II The idea of a post-war European cosmopolitanism unifying the demoi of Europe in order to achieve peace and prosperity became even more pronounced with the end of the Cold War and ascension of neo-liberal globalization (Habermas 2001). Due to the perceived effects of globalization, such as the increased labour market participation of developing countries, increased transnational capital flows and the apparent decline of nation-state sovereignty, European cosmopolitanism and its institutional expression in the EU have been taken as the future of democracy in a globalized world. European cosmopolitanism is therefore not only seen as preserving the peace between European nations, but also as a model of post-­ national democracy which the globe can learn from and emulate. Moreover, such a cosmopolitan Europe is often heralded as providing the democratic means of managing the effects of economic globalization, achieving trans-European social and economic justice, and helping Europe to play an integral part in solving global governance issues such as climate change (Beck and Grande 2007, Bohman 2007, Habermas 2006). If the rights of individuals as subjects capable of property had expanded beyond those of individuals as members of democratic collectivities – that is, if ‘markets’ had supplanted ‘publics’ – then that was regarded as a temporal problem of adjustment. However, in light of the Eurozone crisis and the implementation of austerity policies by the EU, European Central Bank (ECB), and International Monetary Fund (IMF) across southern Europe, this judgement has been called into question. European intellectuals such as Beck (2013) and Habermas (2012, 2015), who had previously advocated the necessary advance of cosmopolitanism, have begun to see the actions of European leaders and technocrats as a betrayal of Europe’s cosmopolitan origins. This is exemplified in the evocation of a dual-speed Europe, where there is now a centre and periphery relationship between northern and southern European states; the autocratic enforcement of austerity in southern Europe through the disregard of democracy and enforcement of technocratic rule in Italy and Greece by the EU and IMF; and the rise of anti-EU sentiment amongst EU populaces more generally. All of this seems to reveal a democratic and cosmopolitan deficit at the heart of the EU, where cosmopolitanism has become little

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Introduction  5 more than a form of market sovereignty. This form of cosmopolitanism propagates the transnational enforcement of neo-liberalism and the safeguarding of the interests of Northern European finance capital. Advocates of a cosmopolitan Europe, such as Beck and Habermas, now argue that Europe must resist austerity and return Europe back to its cosmopolitan trajectory. Yet, this narrative of Europe’s deviation from its deeper cosmopolitan heritage inherently silences Europe’s earlier embracing of neo-liberalism and how this history is entwined with both its colonial past and neo-imperial present. Europe’s present turn to neo-liberalism has not simply arrived with the onset of the Eurozone crisis and the turn towards austerity. The nascent moves towards the establishment of the European Single Market in early 1980s, the signing of the Schengen Agreement (1985), and the expansion of the European Community to include Spain and Portugal (1986), were designed to increase the competiveness and technological advancement of Europe (Garavini 2012: 259–61). Moreover, these changes to the European Community were made in response to the rise of neo-liberalism in the Anglosphere and put Europe on a path towards what Abdelal (2007) has called ‘managed globalization’. This saw Europe head towards the neo-liberal targets of deregulation, liberalization and a reduction of the power of the nation-state, but with the added twist of attempting to impose Europe’s agenda within international financial institutions, such as the IMF. Europe’s idiosyncratic take on neo-liberalism not only transformed the life experiences and possibilities of its own citizens, but also marked a turning point in Europe’s interaction with its former colonies. As Garavini (2012: 260) points out, despite European socialism’s ideas about supporting the interests of the Global South, the move towards the European Single Market meant that ‘Anti-­ Fascism and the “colonial burden” were concepts entirely out of the tune’ with a neo-­liberal Europe. This was an allusion to the eradication of the belief that the European political project and its dreams of democracy were linked to the dream of democracy beyond Europe. Indeed, one can trace this line of thinking back to European anti-imperial activism at the start of twentieth century (see Shilliam, this book). The results of this neo-liberal eradication of the tying of Europe’s democracy to democracy beyond Europe was to be found in how its elites supported the IMF and World Bank’s Structural Adjustment Policies in the Global South. These neo-imperial policies ravaged the post-colonial states and populations of the Global South and brought them under the strictures of neo-liberal globalization (see Chossudovsky 2005, Klein 2007). This alternative history of Europe’s descent into neo-liberalism and its neo-­ imperial practices in the Global South (see Prashad 2007, Narayan, this book) highlight that austerity in Europe has a history that precedes the Eurozone crisis and which stretches beyond Europe itself. More to the point, they hint that Europe is no innocent victim of austerity, but rather the author of its own demise. What we call austerity in Europe was first unpacked in the Global South as Structural Adjustment Policies. What has happened in Greece had already happened in the Global South and there will likely be lessons to be learnt from those earlier experiences (Prashad 2015, Santos 2007). If we are to use this expansive history of austerity properly then we must question cosmopolitan Europe’s narration

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6  Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan of the Eurozone crisis and the European project itself. This means questioning the ‘fall from grace’ narrative that intellectuals such as Habermas have provided about Europe’s turn to austerity and asking whether the European project was anti-­cosmopolitan long before the Eurozone crisis. This also means questioning whether the silencing of austerity’s non-European history prevents the emergence of an adequate politics of anti-austerity. Moreover, these questions reveal, much like the chapters in this book, that if Europe is to survive as a political project we must become adept at seeing the colonial history and neo-imperial present, which lurk in the shadows of Europe and its ideas of cosmopolitanism.

III This book does not address the specific exclusions and omissions discussed in this Introduction nor is the focus on pluralizing narratives of Europe or ­European cosmopolitanism. Rather, the chapters seek to recover silenced histories as a mode of rethinking dominant narratives and examining how these broader engagements provide us with expanded resources with which to address the key issues of our contemporary times. Indeed, the explicit focus of the book on Europe is nicely balanced in many of the chapters by bringing in those histories which have also been central to Europe, but neglected in its self-understandings (see Demir, Narayan, Outhwaite and Ray, Shilliam, this book). Further, other chapters examine the development of cosmopolitan practices beyond Europe and remind us that understandings and practices of cosmopolitanism are themselves cosmopolitanly present in our world, if not our dominant understandings of that world (see Demart, George, Shilliam, this book). The intention across the chapters is to forge an understanding of European cosmopolitanism, its history, identity and politics, which is more adequate to its postcolonial and multicultural twenty-first century constituencies than most standard accounts narrate. It is to recover those absences and weave them into the central stories and to examine how the bringing together of what are posited as different narratives enables stronger and more forceful explanations for our present condition to be put forward. The book is divided into three parts. Part I explores the ways in which ­European cosmopolitanism can be theorized otherwise if we take into account those histories which have rarely been at the forefront of such understandings. In this section, Meyda Yeğenoğlu utilizes the thought of Jacques Derrida to argue that European cosmopolitanism cannot be founded upon asking for a form of forgiveness that would banish and forget its colonial past. Rather, Yeğenoğlu argues that Europe must base its cosmopolitanism upon an ‘ethical mourning’ that would remember Europe’s past crimes so as to inflect its present idea of cosmopolitanism with a distinct anti-Eurocentricism and openness to others from beyond Europe. On similar ground, Robbie Shilliam points forcefully to the need to theorize the anti-fascism that is otherwise central to understandings of European cosmopolitanism alongside the arguments for anti-colonialism. He uses the historical moment of internationalism in support of Ethiopia’s resistance to Italian invasion to argue that true anti-fascism was necessarily anti-imperial, and that the fate of

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Introduction  7 European democracy was therefore woven with the fate of European colonialism. In a different but related vein, William Outhwaite and Larry Ray seek to make the European communist experience central to a re-understanding of European cosmopolitanism. Overcoming the old divide between internationalism and cosmopolitanism, Outhwaite and Ray trace the cosmopolitan attitudes and practices that permeated the Soviet order both at home and in its interactions with others abroad. Although bathed in the contradiction of its own imperialism, such communist cosmopolitanism offers a unique snapshot into an alternative site and genealogy of European cosmopolitanism. Part II draws on neglected European historical resources to rethink the standard histories of European cosmopolitanism from the perspective of the experiences of indigenous peoples in Sweden and of Spanish Empire and imperialism. It further broadens our understandings of cosmopoli­tanism itself by drawing on the histories of cosmopolitan practices and ideas that animated Caribbean Baptist communities and the ways in which these were brought into Europe. Gunlög Fur urges us to take seriously the ways in which indigenous peoples in Sweden contributed to the emergence and development of modernity. In so doing, she argues for cosmopolitanism to be understood as shaped and informed by such practices, which are otherwise written out of dominant accounts. If Fur is arguing for an appreciation of micro-histories in reconsidering European cosmopolitanism, then Mia Rodríguez-Salgado pushes us in the direction of also including Europe’s lesser-appreciated macro- or global histories – in this case, of Spanish empire. Rodríguez-Salgado suggests that Europe’s early modern history demonstrates that the continent had combined elements of cosmopolitanism and exclusion throughout its history. Moreover, Rodríguez-Salgado highlights how such history holds lessons about how we approach modern issues such as identity, multiculturalism, and minority rights in present day Europe. These accounts are complemented by the chapter by Shantelle George, which recovers a little known history of the cosmopolitan practices and outlooks of adherents of the spiritual Baptist faith in the Caribbean. She argues that cosmopolitanism in Europe does not just arise from within the confines of the European continent, but also from its former colonies in the Caribbean, where cosmopolitan practices formed amongst colonized populations have subsequently returned back to the metropole in post-colonial Britain. This process brings to fore how ideas and practices of cosmopolitanism in Europe need not arise in Europe but rather come back to Europe through colonial and post-colonial journeys. The final part of the book looks at contemporary postcolonial configurations of European cosmopolitanism through examining the diasporic experiences of Kurds within Europe and of Belgian Congolese as they leave Europe on a second migration to Canada. It also focuses on the idea of how conceptions of cosmopolitan Europe have failed to register the problem of neo-imperialism in their reaction to Europe’s turn to austerity. Ipek Demir looks at the possibility of forming a non-Eurocentric cosmopolitanism through attempting to ‘diasporize’ and ‘multiculturize’ cosmopolitanism.

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8  Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan This sees her use the example of Kurds within Europe to highlight how such a diaspora, and its multicultural existence, have developed forms of cosmopolitanism that draw on both European and non-European influences. Such ‘diasporic cosmopolitanism’ offers insights for Europe’s approach to cosmopoli­tanism through providing real world lessons about how groups can both mobilize their own claims for justice in the midst of recognizing, learning from and forming solidarities with groups beyond their own communities. In a related vein, Sarah Demart tracks the movements and experiences of Congolese people as they move from Belgium to Canada and examines how the European context inflects their further movements. What she attempts to show is how the anti-cosmopolitan environment of Europe has led Congolese migrants to Europe to embark upon a second migration to Canada, where they believe they have a better future. This case study puts up a mirror to ideas about a cosmopolitan Europe, which reflect the inherent and residual colonial racism and discrimination in France and ­Belgium. John Narayan approaches Europe’s neo-imperial present through returning to Europe’s colonial past. This sees him use the thought of Frantz Fanon to uncover the Third World’s ‘coloured cosmopolitanism’, which not only offered a project of liberation for the darker nations but also offered the vision of a new, decolonized Europe. Moreover, Narayan shows how this theorization of the link between democracy within Europe and democracy beyond Europe holds prescient lessons about ideas of Cosmopolitan Europe. In the Epilogue, Boaventura de Sousa Santos argues that Europe’s embrace of neo-liberalism has exhausted both its political economy and democracy. For ­Santos, Europe must now abandon its centuries old tradition of Eurocentrism if it is to have any chance of surviving as a democratic project. This new Europe would not simply reflect on its colonial history but also use it to engage in a mutually cooperative and intercultural process of unlearning/learning with the Global South in order to frame new and decolonized ideas about issues such as human rights, development, and healing. Santos, much like the others in the book, thus calls for Europe to take a historical step back in order to enable a democratic leap forward. In sum, what this book hopes to contribute to elucidating is the ways in which Europe’s posited others have always been very much a part of Europe’s broader colonial histories and its postcolonial present. As such, the various chapters point to an urgent need to reconsider the presentation of people as ‘other’ and of the ways in which they are treated as a consequence within Europe’s societies and polities. If we want a different Europe in the present and the future, then we need to narrate the colonial past of its constituent countries and the implications of the colonial past in the very project of Europe itself.

Postscript We received the first proofs of this manuscript the day after the UK referendum on EU membership held in June 2016. We were still processing what a result for ‘Brexit’ – for Britain to leave the European Union – meant, and now we were having to think about the questions we had raised and asked contributors to respond

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Introduction  9 to in this book concerning the histories and legacies of European cosmopolitanism. The juxtaposition was challenging and, as editors, we felt the need to write at least a postscript for this book before going on to consider the issues further in the future. For some, Brexit has been seen as a moment for democratic rejoice. Much like Aimé Césaire’s (2000) castigation of colonial Europe fifty years ago, modern Europe appears ‘indefensible’. As we have outlined earlier in the Introduction, the EU has become a technocratic enforcer of neo-liberalism whose claims on ‘others’ at the edges and within its borders appear to offer only the justice of private property rights and to represent the interests of the advantaged few. Britain’s decision to leave the European Union, then, could be said to be a democratic domino, whose knock-on effect may break neo-liberal Europe’s stranglehold on political power and hand it back to the many. Perhaps Brexit will be followed by Grexit, Spexit, Itexit and even Frexit and Gerexit? Perhaps out of the ruins of the neo-liberal EU federation, nation-states could restart separate social democratic projects of welfare state capitalism and trans-European cooperation that were part of the founding of the European Union? This has been espoused by British Leftist approaches to Brexit under the banner of ‘Lexit’. But, the colonial histories and post-colonial realities of European nation-states mean that such a straightforward disintegration of the European project may harbour more horror than hope. This possibility is also prefigured in Brexit, though in what follows, where we draw out the nature of the Brexit vote, it should be remembered that the vote to leave was narrow (51.9%) and that many sharing the same characteristics and contexts voted to remain in the EU (48.1%). To understand how Brexit provides a window into such an ‘anti-cosmopolitan’ future, we have to get to grips with the drivers of the decision in the first place. The UK referendum on the EU was only granted because of the Conservative party’s own historic disgruntlement with Europe and the need to respond to the rise of a new nationalism that had found political succour with the United Kingdom Independence Party (UKIP). This new, largely English, nationalism had been roused by the consequences of the UK’s now three-decade long embrace of neo-liberal globalization and found political favour in three main constituencies. The most visible of these involves predominantly poor, white, north and west of London towns and cities, who have been left behind by the outsourcing and deindustrialization of neo-liberal globalization. They have been further demoralized by the savagery of austerity and have turned towards an anti-immigration and anti-establishment populism in the hope of taking ‘their country’ back. They were, in turn, joined by communities of often rural, propertied and pensioned lower and middle classes, who perceived no gain from the fruits of neo-liberal Europe and railed against migration and so called ‘EU bureaucracy’ in their own desire for a once-again sovereign and economically powerful ‘Great’ Britain (Dorling 2016). These two constituencies were galvanized and cajoled by a grouping of political and media elites and nationalistic capital who either fully believed in the reclaiming of ‘Great Britain’ or who were intent on using such feelings to achieve political power through presenting Brexit as a form of democratic radicalism.

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10  Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan The foundational claims made by the leaders of the Brexit campaigns were largely false: the scapegoating of EU migrants for pressures on housing and welfare services masked how successive governments, in the name of neo-liberalism and then austerity, had eroded the welfare state; despite EU regulation, the UK remains one of the most deregulated countries in the world; and, in reality, UK economic sovereignty will always be affected by the single market in Europe and markets beyond Europe. The immediate consequences of Brexit are likely to be an economic downturn in the UK, with a drop in the value of Sterling and the withdrawal of investment geared towards access to the single market, and the reshuffle, rather than revolutionizing, of the political class. A scenario that will likely see the extension of neo-liberal polices in the UK rather than a rebooting of social democracy. Why then did the UK opt for Brexit? What united all of Brexit’s disparate constituencies was the redefining of citizenship and belonging around simulacra of British history. For the poor, predominately white, communities outside of London this centred on an idea of a post-war welfare capitalism, where jobs and services were free from the perceived competition and demands of immigration and democratic institutions were accountable. For their propertied counterparts this history centred on a powerful and sovereign Great Britain, who had fought World War II in order not to be ruled by Germany. These visions were in turn strengthened by media and political elites painting visions of a post-Brexit future that centred on redistributing money from UK contributions to the EU budget back to UK welfare services (‘£350 million to the NHS per week’), curbing immigration to worthy and useful migrants (‘points systems’) and restoring Britain’s trading links with the world (mainly the ‘Commonwealth’, but more likely to be signified by signing a free trade agreement, TTIP, with the USA). The inconvenient facts of Britain’s colonial and post-colonial history were seemingly erased. There was no time to consider that since at least the Act of Union in 1707, Great Britain had never been a sovereign island nation but part of geo-political formations such as Empire, the Commonwealth and latterly the EU (Bhambra 2016b). Nor was there time to consider that imperial extraction of both monetary and human capital had been and continues to be pivotal to the UK welfare state, most recently through migrant labour providing a low paid workforce in the NHS and personal care. Moreover, it was not lost on some, that the visions of Britain being recalled by Brexit were increasingly ideas of a homogenous white, Anglo Britain (Emejulu 2016). This vision is seemingly at odds with the post-colonial reality of non-white British subjects whose ‘return’ to the mother country highlighted that Britain and her Empire were never white in the first place. Yet, what emerged from Brexit’s intersection of class, race and post-colonial melancholia was a xenophobic nationalism not seen since the anti-‘coloured’ racism shown towards New Commonwealth migrants in the 1960s (Narayan and Andrews 2015). The fruits of Brexit’s apparent dismissal of Britain’s colonial history and post-colonial reality were to be found in the old and new racism it generated. The resounding ‘remain’ majorities within the UK’s Black and Minority Ethnic (BME)

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Introduction  11 were emblematic of how old fault lines were readily brought into conflict by Brexit’s xenophobic nationalism. According to Ashcroft (2016), this saw Black (73%), Asian (67%), Mixed (67%) and Chinese (70%) vote in much higher numbers to remain in comparison to their White counterparts (47%). This was despite many within these BME groups, due to Britain’s institutional racism, often experiencing worse labour market conditions and greater ramifications of austerity than their white counterparts. What the majority of Britain’s BME communities seemed to understand was that the EU referendum was increasingly not about Europe, but a battle over British identity and history (Shilliam 2016). As such, their faces and history did not fit with Brexit’s reclaiming of Britain’s achievements of Empire and welfare capitalism, but rather represented decolonization and the anti-racist struggles to decolonize Britain’s welfare state. These feelings were exemplified by the political murder of MP Joanne Cox in the week before the referendum. Cox had celebrated ethnic diversity and campaigned against Islamophobia. The declaration by the man charged with her murder of “death to traitors, freedom for Britain” seemed to underlie the steep rise of hate crime immediately prior to and after the referendum, whose victims included not only EU nationals, but also non-white British citizens and anyone else who appeared to be ‘foreign’. Crimes included attacks on women in hijabs, threats against an Afro-Caribbean OAP Centre and increasing racism against non-whites on the street, but also attacks on Eastern European migrants, businesses and community centres. Brexit may apparently ‘give the country back to its people,’ but the definition of who constitutes such a people became a divisive and increasingly violent question that ran over old (colonial) and new (post-colonial) fault lines. What lessons can Europe learn from Brexit? The racist and xenophobic foundations and effects of Brexit should make it clear that the abandonment of the European project, even a neo-liberal Europe, without dealing with the colonial histories and post-colonial settlements within which Europe’s nation states and the European Union itself are entangled, may lead to disaster. This is because Britain’s failure to come to terms with its own colonial history and its post-­colonial realities is not an exceptional state of affairs. What, for example, would a Frexit campaign mean for France’s already ostracized and discriminated against North African and Muslim populations? What would a Gerexit campaign mean for the hundreds of thousands of Syrian refugees who Germany accepted last year or its sizable and long-standing Turkish population? What would a Nedexit mean for the Turkish, Kurdish and Caribbean communities of the Netherlands? And how would the disintegration of the EU impact upon the Eastern European countries that have recently joined or those who are seeking to do so? From the jubilation that far-right parties in Europe expressed at the Brexit decision we can infer that racism, xenophobia and regressive nationalism, invigorated by Europe’s economic stagnation and austerity, would be highly likely to be both visible and visceral. After all, what unites these various European nationalisms is a rejection of post-colonial Europe and the desire for a return to a supposed splendour of a white, Christian Europe. This would seemingly reveal the likelihood of an undemocratic rather than democratic future for post-colonial national polities

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12  Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan within a disintegrating supranational Europe. Brexit also signals that the future of cosmopolitanism in Europe cannot hinge on a simple return to a nostalgic and historically inaccurate idea of the nation state. While European intellectuals, such as Streeck (2014), point towards the disbandment of the EU for smaller democratic units, such as the nation state, because of their ability better to buffer the power of global capital, such an analysis is compromised by a failure to address Europe’s colonial history and its post-colonial reality. Brexit brings home the historically racist and xenophobic inscription of Europe’s national welfare states, where labour is hierarchically differentiated and ordered both inside and outside the state, and reveals that a return to the ‘nation’ holds the potential for further anti-cosmopolitan horizons. It is rather telling that after the referendum the UK has collapsed into an existential crisis about its own democratic and economic union, with the possibility of Scotland leaving the UK and a referendum on unification of Ireland as an alternative to the re-establishment of borders between Northern Ireland and the rest of Ireland. But what of the world beyond the UK in a post-Brexit climate, where both Europe and the wider world are narrated simply as threats or market opportunities rather than potential partners and sites of democratic engagement? It remains to be seen just how the UK will now involve itself in global affairs such as climate change negotiations, development and increasing flows of forced migration, given the majority decision to assert the apparent national interest over transnational political cooperation. We do not have to romanticize the nature of pre-Brexit Britain, or to accept the remain side’s often unquestioning loyalty to a neo-liberal Europe, to assume that the unleashing of such xenophobia might lead to anti-cosmopolitan policy outcomes in a post-Brexit Britain. What then is the alternative for Europe and an idea of European cosmopolitanism in the future? Habermas (2016) has responded to Brexit with the argument that action must be taken if the cosmopolitan trajectory of the European project is to be saved. His recommendation is that the class cleavages and resurgent nationalism roused by Europe’s neo-liberalism and austerity can be tempered with the trans-Europeanization of welfare capitalism from core to periphery. Habermas’s recommendations come with the best democratic intentions but suffer from a naivety that relegates issues of racism and xenophobia to epiphenomenal outcomes of class. Just as a simple return to social democracy would not solve the problems of post-colonial polities, neither too would a trans-European welfare state capitalism simply solve problems generated by Europe’s colonial history. Habermas also fails to see how trans-European welfare state capitalism could become as racially inscribed as national welfare states have been. We do not have to imagine such a scenario for a trans-European welfare state, but merely reflect on how Europe has approached the refugee crisis and delineated between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ refugees. Both Brexit’s resurgent nationalism and Habermas’s limited idea of European cosmopolitism not only silence Europe’s colonial history and post-colonial realties, but also the cries of thousands drowning within European waters. Both they and we deserve better. As the chapters in this book thus gesture

Introduction  13 towards: it is only through taking on the full weight of Europe’s colonial history and post-colonial realities that Europe can create a cosmopolitanism that can adequately deal with its past, present and potential futures. With present events in mind, our task to achieve such a Europe becomes ever more urgent.

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References Abdelal, Rawi (2007). Capital Rules: The Construction of Global Finance. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Ashcroft, M. (2016) ‘How the UK Voted on Thursday and… Why?’ http://lordashcroftpolls.­ com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/How-the-UK-voted-Full-tables-1.pdf (accessed 13/07/16). Beck, Ulrich (2002). “The Cosmopolitan Society and Its Enemies.” Theory, Culture & Society 19 (1–2): 17–44. Beck, Ulrich (2013). German Europe. Cambridge: Polity Press. Beck, Ulrich and Grande, Edgar (2007). Cosmopolitan Europe. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bhambra, Gurminder K. (2009). “Postcolonial Europe, or Understanding Europe in Times of the Postcolonial.” In The Sage Handbook of European Studies, edited by Chris Rumford, 69–85. London: Sage. Bhambra, Gurminder K. (2011). “Cosmopolitanism and Postcolonial Critique.” In The Ashgate Companion to Cosmopolitanism, edited by Maria Rovisco and Magdalena Nowicka, 313–28. Farnham: Ashgate. Bhambra, Gurminder K. (2016a). “‘Whither Europe? Postcolonial versus Neocolonial Cosmopolitanism,” Interventions: Journal of Postcolonial Studies 18 (2): 187–202. Bhambra, Gurminder K. (2016b). ‘Brexit, Class and British ‘National’ Identity’ Discover Society, July 2016 http://discoversociety.org/2016/07/05/viewpoint-brexit-classand-british-­national-identity/ [accessed 13/07/16]. Bohman, James (2007). Democracy Across Borders: From Demos to Demoi. Massachusetts: MIT Press. Césaire, A. (2000 [1955]). Discourse on Colonialism. New York: Monthly Review Press. Chossudovsky, Michel (2005). The Globalization of Poverty and the New World Order. 2nd ed. Québec: Global Research. Dorling, D. (2016). ‘Brexit: the decision of a divided country’, The BMJ, 2016; 354 doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1136/bmj.i3697 [accessed 13/07/16]. Elliott-Cooper, Adam  (2015). “When did we come to Britain? You must be mistaken, Britain came to us,” Verso Blogs http://www.versobooks.com/blogs/2294-when-didwe-come-to-britain-you-must-be-mistaken-britain-came-to-us [accessed 10 February 2016]. Emejulu, A. (2016). ‘On the Hideous Whiteness of Brexit: Let us be honest about our past and our present if we truly seek to dismantle white supremacy’ www.versobooks.com/ blogs/2733-on-the-hideous-whiteness-of-brexit-let-us-be-honest-about-our-past-andour-present-if-we-truly-seek-to-dismantle-white-supremacy [accessed 13/07/16]. Garavini, Giuliano (2012). After Empires: European Integration, Decolonization, and the Challenge from the Global South 1957–1986. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Habermas, Jürgen (2001). The Post-National Constellation. Cambridge: Polity Press. Habermas, Jürgen (2003). “Toward a Cosmopolitan Europe.” Journal of Democracy 14 (4): 86–100. Habermas, Jürgen (2006). The Divided West. Cambridge: Polity Press. Habermas, Jürgen (2012). “The Crisis of the European Union in the Light of a Constitutionalization of International Law.” The European Journal of International Law 23 (2): 335–48. Habermas, Jürgen (2015). The Lure of Technocracy. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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14  Gurminder K. Bhambra and John Narayan Habermas, J. (2016). ‘Core to the Rescue: a conversation with Jurgen Habermas about Brexit and the EU Crisis.’ https://www.socialeurope.eu/2016/07/core-europe-to-therescue/ [accessed 13/07/16]. Hansen, Peo (2002). “European Integration, European Identity and the Colonial Connection,” European Journal of Social Theory 5 (4): 483–98. Hansen, Peo (2004). “In the Name of Europe,” Race and Class 45 (3): 49–62. Hansen, Peo, and Stefan Jonsson (2011). “Bringing Africa as a ‘Dowry to Europe’: European Integration and the Eurafrican Project, 1920–1960.” Interventions 13 (3): 443–63. Hansen, Peo, and Stefan Jonsson (2013). “A Statue to Nasser? Eurafrica, the Colonial Roots of European Integration, and the 2012 Nobel Peace Prize.” Mediterranean Quarterly 24 (4): 5–18. Hansen, Peo, and Stefan Jonsson (2014). Eurafrica: The Untold History of European Integration and Colonialism. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Klein, Naomi (2007). The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. London: Penguin Books. Narayan, J. and Andrews, K. (2015). ‘Malcolm X, Smethwick and BME Politics’ Discover Society, April 2015 http://discoversociety.org/2015/04/01/viewpoint-from-malcolm-xand-smethwick-to-bme-politics-in-election-2015/ [accessed 13/07/16]. Prashad, Vijay (2007). The Darker Nations: A People’s History of the Third World. New York: The New Press. Prashad, Vijay (2015). “What if Greece were in the Third World?” http://www.alaraby.co.uk/ english/comment/2015/7/1/what-if-greece-were-in-the-third-world [accessed 20/11/15]. Santos, Boaventura de Sousa (ed.) (2007). Another Knowledge is Possible: Beyond Northern Epistemologies. London: Verso. Shilliam, R. (2016). ‘Racism, Multiculturalism and Brexit,’ Robbie Shilliam Blog, July 2016 https://robbieshilliam.wordpress.com/2016/07/04/racism-multiculturalism-and-brexit/ [accessed 18/7/16]. Streeck, W. (2014) Buying Time: The Delayed Crisis of Democratic Capitalism. London: Verso.

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Part I

Theorizing European Cosmopolitanism Otherwise

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2 Cosmopolitan Europe Memory, Apology and Mourning

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Meyda Yeğenoğlu

Introduction Apologies offered to victims or to the descendants of victims of past wars and colonial atrocities are becoming politically global. This global trend of offering apology and the desire to redress the past for historical wrongs involve the acceptance of unjust relations between two nations or between a state and its minority groups. However, it is highly debatable whether the recognition of past atrocities at the national or official level institutes new national imaginaries that are capable of delinking the European colonial history and European m ­ emory from its Eurocentric bind. The admission of wrongdoing and acceptance of responsibility can be instrumental in the establishment of a new morality and repositioning of identities. However, it is dubious whether apology can contribute to the democratization of European memory. It is the acknowledgement of the repressed debt to otherness, which by destabilizing the sanctified sovereign position of Europe, can signal the birth of a new and cosmopolitan European imaginary. In this chapter, I suggest that revisiting the memories and ghosts of European identity from the perspective of its margins, colonies and migrants is of great signifi­ cance for reimagining and reinstituting a different Europe. To engage with this question, I ask whether the practice of apology can conjure up a new cosmopolitan vision from the murky archives of colonialism. Following Jacques Derrida, I point to the Judeo-Christian heritage in the act of apology, for many instances that seek forgiveness and offer apology become a political gesture resembling the religiosity of confession. Discussing how forgiveness is heterogeneous to the juridico-­political field, I suggest that to be able to overcome what Jacques Derrida calls, ‘the tyranny of the logic of reciprocity’ (Ahn 2010: 464) in acts that seek forgiveness, we need to address the ethical dilemmas involved in apology and forgiveness. There is a global epidemic of public apologies expressed in different forms by world political leaders.1 They are generally offered to victims or to the descendants of victims of past wars and colonial atrocities. What these gestures imply are worthy of sceptical scrutiny. This global trend of offering apology and the desire to redress the past for historical wrongs of the states implies the acknowledgement of unjust relations between two nations or between a state and its minority group.

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18  Meyda Yeğenoğlu However, a simple recognition of past atrocities and offering apology for them cannot have the power to institute new national imaginaries that are capable of interrupting the sovereign constitution of the nationalist narratives and thereby subvert their nationalist, colonialist or Eurocentric predicaments. We need to ask what we encounter when we revisit the repressed memories and ghosts of the alleged European identity. Such a revisit entails deconstructing Europe from the perspective of its margins, colonies and migrants and examining the colonial history and the consequent racist and nationalist imaginaries in an effort to envision another Europe that we might want to call cosmopolitan. That is, a Europe that is democratic, non-sovereign and one that is capable of opening itself up for a non-appropriative relation to otherness. To inaugurate such an understanding of Europe we need to develop an understanding of cosmopolitanism that has a critical and transformative potential. Such a cosmopolitan understanding needs to cultivate a specific relation to the history and the past that one inherits. Thus our relation with the memory of what Europe is, is something that needs to be reconfigured in this attempt to foster a new Europe. As I suggest in the following pages, the negotiation of the past that one inherits is necessary in our efforts to engender critical cosmopolitanism. Memories about past national histories, based on unitary national narratives are at the same national mechanisms of exclusion. How one engages with the past and how the history that one inherits is compiled, organized, presented and remembered in contemporary social, cultural, political and juridical discourses are important ingredients of the form European identity takes in the present. It is only when we start interrogating these ingredients that the possibility of a cosmopolitan and democratic Europe can emerge. In an attempt to engage with these questions, I devote a section on the question of history, inheritance and how to remember and engage with what one inherits. I suggest that the memory of the European self-understanding needs to be problematized in the name of a future cosmopolitan imagination that is connected to the democracy-to-come of Europe. It is only a certain understanding of cosmopolitanism, one that has the capacity to go beyond limiting cosmopolitanism’s horizon to citizenship and territoriality of the nation-states that can pave the way for a new European identity. Although the question of how the European history is remembered and narrated appears to pertain to events that have happened in the past, they are not simply about past events, because the past of Europe continues to haunt its present in quite powerful ways. To quote Derrida, ‘it is a being-past that does not pass’ (2001b: 31–32). Thus the events of the past do not simply belong to past, but are about the present and more importantly about the future. After discussing the aporias as well as the problems involved in seeking forgiveness for past atrocities, I suggest that offering apologies and seeking forgiveness is not conducive for cultivating a cosmopolitan, democratic and non-sovereign Europe. A simple admission of wrongdoing and acceptance of responsibility by offering apology can perhaps be instrumental in the institution of a soothing and healing cultural atmosphere, but by themselves such apologies cannot be the harbingers of a non-appropriative and non-assimilative relation with the other.

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Cosmopolitan Europe  19 In the last section, I discuss what is entailed in the mourning for the loss of a friend and how a particular form of remembering of a lost friend and a particular process mourning might be instrumental in the institution of Europe’s cosmopolitan and non-sovereign relationship with Others. Mourning, as I will discuss in detail in the following pages, entails being responsible to the friend that continues to inhabit the subject despite the fact that s/he is no longer present. If Europe gestures towards, what Derrida call ‘ethical mourning’, then European sovereignty will be compromised and the other will be recognized as a constitutive part of European identity. Therefore, rather than abandoning the otherness that Europe had encountered in the past (say in the colonies) or totally assimilating and repudiating and thereby encrypting its presence today (say the immigrants in Europe who are the remnants of the colonial past) an ethical mourning implies the recognition of the continuing presence of otherness in the midst of European identity and thereby keeping the otherness of the other intact. Such a process brings about an unending dialogue and openness to the other and undermines the sovereign constitution of Europe.

Cosmopolitanism and Critique Like Gerard Delanty (2012), I prefer to use the notion of cosmopolitanism as critique. Cosmopolitanism as critique alludes to its critical and transformative potential within the present (41) and thus can ‘open up new horizons … (where) cultures undergo transformation in light of the encounter with the Other’ (42). In other words, engendering a cosmopolitan Europe is about how a non-sovereign form of relation can be instituted with Europe’s others today and in the future. Although the process that is to be set in motion for instituting a cosmopolitan Europe pertains to future, as it entails forming a different ethico-political arrangement with Europe’s others, it is inextricably linked with the past. As Max Pensky’s (2012) concepts of ‘cosmopolitanism’ and ‘cosmopolitan memory’ make it clear, there is a projection of a coming political arrangement and therefore ‘cosmopolitanism is a futural term’ (256) in that ‘it projects a coming political arrangement in which the parochial constraints of particular national attachments and identities has been jettisoned… in favor of a mode of universal membership …’ (256). But even though cosmopolitanism has connotations for future, Pensky rightfully suggests that cosmopolitanism has ‘a peculiar relation to memory’ (256). The connection Penksy establishes between a cosmopolitan future and memory is of critical importance. He suggests that we see memory as a dynamic and inter-subjective process, not as an ‘individual psychological or neurological’ process, but as a ‘creative process where images, symbols, stories and meanings are dynamically interpreted and reinterpreted, challenged and revisited, formed and transformed’ (257). He also emphasizes how the creativity of memory also implies a constant recombination and renegotiation of the symbolically constructed social identities. This creativity can also entail negotiation of the past where ‘uncritical and exclusionary nationalist narratives became unpalatable’ (258). Using Jeffrey Olick’s notion of ‘the politics of regret’ in this context, Pensky suggests that it can reverse

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20  Meyda Yeğenoğlu the narratives of national past from an ‘unreflective form of patriotic belonging’ to a critical examination of an ‘un-mastered past: unexamined or un—reconciled narrative of violence and oppression; of violent exclusion of a nation’s ethnic or religious minorities or its brutal exploitation of the indigenous populations of its colonies’ (258). I am in full agreement with Penksy’s suggestion that a cosmopolitan configuration of European identity needs to embroider the past to the present in a new and creative fashion. Unfortunately, Pensky’s analysis does not deepen the nature of the connection between memory and cosmopolitanism as a future oriented project. For this reason, I find his concept of ‘cosmopolitan memory’ highly useful, but underdeveloped. I would like to venture in this paper for a further engagement with issues of the past and memory in the context of cosmopolitanism. To be able to do so, I will make a detour by discussing what it entails to envisage or cultivate a new, perhaps a cosmopolitan Europe and how this relates to inheriting a particular tradition or history and what possible ways are imaginable to relate to this past.

Europe: Inheritance and Tradition In a context in which the nation-state sovereignty is being destabilized by processes of globalization and/or Europeanization, particularly the desire of the European Union to establish a ‘united Europe’ and accomplish the so-called European integration, the need to rethink what Europe is and what the deliberation of a ‘new Europe’ entails is imperative. Many of Jacques Derrida’s (1992; 2006) writings express a persistent critique of Eurocentrism in philosophy and in other forms. While wary of every appearance of Eurocentrism, Derrida attempts to think of a new Europe without discarding or repudiating it entirely. He invites us to engage, in the name of Europe, with complicated issues such as our relation to European history, European memory, inheritance and questions of responsibility and the opening of Europe onto future possibilities. While being critical of the European tradition, most conspicuously that of Enlightenment values (such as democracy, freedom of thought and speech, liberalism and so on) Derrida does not suggest that we simply abandon them. Rather, a call for Europe implies gesturing towards the expectation and promise of these values, which remain beyond their existing intonation and modulation. This gesture towards a Europe, which is rooted in a tradition and history, is however an invitation to Europe to inhabit a space that is heterogeneous to that particular tradition and thus yields itself open to a future. Derrida does not hold tradition to be homogenous and identical to itself. Rather tradition must remain heterogeneous to that tradition by going beyond the universally defined geography and political entity called Europe. The new Europe that needs to be envisaged, cultivated and built invites us to be responsible to the memory of the Enlightenment while being aware and critical of the colonialist and nationalist bend of that history. The European experience cannot be embraced without critical appraisal, as that experience also involves

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Cosmopolitan Europe  21 genocide, racism, colonialism, nationalism and totalitarianism. A critical and responsible relation to the European past is indispensable for a future Europe, for a new Europe to be instituted. Thus, Derrida’s suggestion is an invitation to interrogate, and not simply become heir to Europe’s past and tradition. By inviting the development of this critical relation to the European past, Derrida encourages us to rethink what it means to inherit and what it means to be responsible to the memory of Europe. The critical relation to the European past involves a certain responsibility to the discourses that we inherit. Thus inheritance is not about being simply faithful to tradition or developing a nostalgic relation to what we inherit. In that sense, to inherit does not entail a simple affirmation of what is bequeathed and entrusted to us. Inheritance also requires that we abide by the responsibility that comes with it, which includes changing what has been passed onto us. For this reason, responsibility towards what we inherit involves a task, as task that not only calls for the affirmation of what has been inherited but also for the radical transformation of the heritage. Hence, inheritance comes with a double command: it requires that we be loyal to and affirm what we inherit, but at the same time transform and deconstruct it by not letting that tradition close itself off and thereby allow that tradition to open itself to its heterogeneity, open it up to a relation with alterity. The double command that comes with responsibility attests to the aporetic nature of inheritance. Responsibility in the case of Europe, then, involves both claiming the tradition of European discourses, in particular the tradition of Enlightenment, but also transforming that tradition by exposing it to conflicting demands. For this reason, being responsible to the memory of Europe is to bear this aporetic nature of inheritance and attend simultaneously to the conflicting and mutually exclusive demands and opposite traditions. This inexorably implies inventing new ways of imagining Europe. This responsibility involves not letting one tradition overrule, overthrow and surpass the other. Rather than recoiling from incompatible demands and injunctions, European responsibility involves opening up Europe to other traditions and demands. It is this radical openness and unconditional hospitality to non-­European Otherness, this negotiation with more than one tradition that characterizes European responsibility. The unconditional receptivity to non-European demands and injunctions goes hand in hand with being responsible to what one inherits. When one discusses the history of Europe and its memory, one inevitably has to plunge into the dirty water of the history of colonialism and its convoluted relationship with racism. That is to say, one has to attend to the ways in which colonialism is remembered and/or forgotten and how the inventory of racism is peculiarly disavowed as part of that history. We therefore need to discuss the ways in which European memory and heritage in relation to colonialism and racism, both at the individual and collective level are to be engaged in Europe so that the possibility of a new Europe, a Europe-to-come can stem from such engagement. Colonialism refuses to disappear and fade away in the abyss of the past. Its always-already present nature can be seen in the way painful and traumatic events are re-experienced and re-remembered. Rather deflecting and denying it as an

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22  Meyda Yeğenoğlu essential part of European history, if we develop a critical relation to European history and locate the intertwined nature of the colonial past and today’s racism as it pertains to immigrants, then we will not repeat the dogmas of the previous constitution of European identity in sovereign terms, but gesture towards transforming that tradition by exposing it to conflicting demands, injunctions and traditions. This is a gesture of yielding Europe to heterogeneity and opening it to a future. By opening European history to otherness and difference we can contribute to the compromising of a unified and sovereign sense of Europe based upon the phantasm of an omnipotent, self-sufficient and self-identical European subject. The postcolonial immigrant is the spectre that haunts Europe. Rather than being a repressed or hidden secret whose knowledge has to be deciphered, the undaunted presence of the past by way of the ex-colonial immigrants indicates a productive ethical opening in the phantasm of purity of Europe and a deconstructive gesture toward an opening of European sovereignty to counter-sovereignties. Europe is haunted by its colonial history and violence. Can seeking forgiveness and apology pave the way to such openness?

Apology/Seeking Forgiveness As is well known, Jacques Derrida (2001a; 2001b) has written quite extensively on the issue of forgiveness and apology. Although Derrida is not entirely unsympathetic to these political gestures, he is nevertheless unequivocally distrustful of the ethico-political implications of occasions where public officials, political groups, and non-governmental organizations have either acknowledged past misdeeds or apologized on behalf of their states and asked for forgiveness. As Bernstein (2006) notes, Derrida is sceptical about the theatricality and hollowness of these gestures. There are several reasons for Derrida’s scepticism. First of all, he points to the problems in the globalization of forgiveness which he thinks resonates with confession: ‘the globalization’ of forgiveness resembles an immense scene of confession in progress, thus virtually Christian convulsion-conversion-confession, a process of Christianization which has no more need for the Christian Church (Derrida 2001a: 30–31). Derrida calls this process globalatinization by which he refers to the globalized normalization of the influence of Roman Christianity ‘which today overdetermines all language of law, of politics, and even the interpretation of what is called the “return of the religious”’ (2001a: 32). The spread of the idiom of forgiveness denotes to Derrida once more the theological quality of the field of politics and insufficient secularization that our political categories have gone through. The engulfing of the process of apology or forgiveness within the Christian tradition of confession and reconciliation, redemption, repentance, salvation and so on, should signal to us how these religious metaphors attest to the deeply ingrained nature of theological concepts within the process of secularization of political society, which preserves the sense of transcendental authority, perhaps not in the divine but by transforming it to the immanence of people (Schaap 2006). Therefore, for Derrida, forgiveness, as it is practiced today on a global scale, has been inherited from Abrahamic or three

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Cosmopolitan Europe  23 monotheistic religious traditions. This tradition, or what Derrida calls heritage, attests also to the inadequate or radical secularization of our political categories. One of the defining characteristics of forgiveness in the Abrahamic religious tradition is that forgiveness is conditional and therefore there is an exchange economy ingrained into the process of asking forgiveness. This quality is of prime importance for Derrida and leads him to disqualify many instances of apology or seeking forgiveness as a ‘therapy of reconciliation’ and not of forgiveness at all. Derrida asks whether forgiveness can bring up reconciliation or whether it can be appropriated in the service of national unity. Commissions such and Truth and Reconciliation or other agents asking for apology might have in the end some public healing capacities and functions, but for Derrida forgiveness has nothing to do with reconciliation, redemption, atonement, compensation, repentance, salvation or healing. In this case, apology becomes a political response to resembling the tradition of confession. When forgiveness is appropriated by the tyranny of the logic of reciprocity in the political field, it becomes instrumentalized and is appropriated in the service of finality (Schaap 2006) such as national unity, reconciliation, healing, etc (Bernstein 2006). To be able to make sense as to why Derrida regards such gestures as not forgiveness at all, it would be necessary to make a detour of the characterizing features of conditional and pure forgiveness as well as what he means by the paradoxical structure or the aporetic nature of the concept of forgiveness. Derrida suggests that forgiveness only truly occurs when one forgives the unforgivable (Kaposy 2005) because all other forgiveness remains within the logic of economic transaction and as such they are contaminated by conditionality. When forgiveness is fused within the logic of economy, its horizon is seized by the logic of reciprocity, of the relation of give and take, supply and demand, borrow or return, credit and debt (Ahn 2010). A deconstructive register of forgiveness has to resist the conditional logic ingrained in reciprocity and exchange. Relations founded on reconciliation, amnesty, reparation, repentance and atonement is all based on the logic of reciprocity. For Derrida, they are not necessarily bad or should be avoided. But what he underlines is that such conditionality makes these relations not forgiveness. In such occasions forgiveness disappears and it only shares a name with true and pure forgiveness. Moreover, pure forgiveness should not have an intervening third party, such as law or a context. This is why for Derrida unconditional forgiveness cannot be approached by the juridico-political because the essence of forgiveness has to remain beyond any strategic calculation. All contextual and reasonable explanations have to be avoided (Kaposy 2005) for they arise from the logic of reciprocity. When forgiveness becomes normative and normal or normalizing, it is then not forgiveness. For example, if one forgives or grants clemency for the sake of reconciliation, then an economy of exchange intervenes. When forgiveness is conceded for some hidden reason, one can never be confident that it is true forgiveness (Kaposy 2005). These are usually arrangements made in response to some need of normalcy or for political expectations. But true forgiving remains beyond the domain of juridical and legal domains. Therefore, for Derrida conditional forgiveness is

24  Meyda Yeğenoğlu not forgiveness at all or there is no such thing as conditional forgiveness because it depends upon obtaining some kind of advantage in return. Therefore, it is based on some kind of strategic planning or computation. The possibility of intervention of a hidden motive or the desire to achieve some end or some finality (such as national unity) is what makes conditional forgiving not forgiving at all.

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Power or Force of Sovereignty For Derrida what is ‘unbearable or odious, even obscene’ in acts of forgiving is the proclamation of sovereignty. Acts of forgiving are often addressed from the top down and therefore are affirmations of sovereignty as it ‘assumes for itself the power of forgiving’ (2001a: 58). The fundamental problem here is that acts of forgiveness assume sovereign power as it is exercised. It does not matter whether forgiveness is granted by ‘the power of a strong and noble soul’ or by a ‘power of State exercising an uncontested legitimacy, the power necessary to organise a trial, an applicable judgment or, eventually, acquittal amnesty, or forgiveness’ (2001a: 59). One forgives what one can evaluate, judge and hence can punish. This entails arranging institutional provisions to make the judgment operational and keeping at one’s disposal to establish the law, judge and condemn or pronounce innocence. All these entail the power and force of sovereignty. To reiterate my point about delinking European identity from its colonial and Eurocentric bind, gestures that seek forgiveness for past colonial violence cannot destabilize the sovereign position of Europe thereby attest to the emergence of a new and cosmopolitan Europe.

Democracy to Come and Past and Future To overcome, what Jacques Derrida calls, ‘the tyranny of the logic of reciprocity’, we need to think forgiveness in conjunction with sovereignty so as to be able to accommodate the to-comeness of a cosmopolitan Europe. Moreover, thinking forgiveness in conjunction with sovereignty and democracy-to-come implies thinking forgiveness in relation to past and future. Does one ask for forgiveness for things happened in the past or does one ask forgiveness for rebuilding a relation with alterity in the future? I will discuss the past and future of forgiveness in the following sections. There is a movement of temporalization here. Even though what seems to bind forgiveness to a past, which is in a certain way does not pass, makes forgiveness an experience irreducible to that of the gift, to a gift one grants more commonly in the present, in the presentation of presence of the present (Derrida 2001b: 22). Forgiving is not forgetting (2001b: 23). For Derrida, In all cases one should not and/or cannot go back over a past. The past is past, the event took place, the wrong took place, and this past, the memory of this past, remains irreducible, uncompromising. This is one way in which forgiveness is different from the gift, which in principle does not concern the

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Cosmopolitan Europe  25 past. One will have never treated forgiveness if one does not take account of this being-past, a being-past that never lets itself be reduced, modified, modalized in a present past or a presentable ore re-presentable past. It is a being past that does not pass, so to speak. It is in this im-­passableness, this impassivity of the past as well, and of the past event that takes on different forms, which we would have to analyze relentlessly and which are those of the irreversible, the unforgettable, the ineffaceable, the irreparable, the irremediable, the irrevocable, the inexpiable, and so forth. Without this stubborn privileging of the past in the constitution of temporalization, there is no original problematic of forgiveness. …the experience of forgiveness, of the being-forgiven, of the forgiving-each-other, of the becoming-­ reconciled, so to speak, an essential and onto-logical (not only ethical and religious) structure of temporal constitution, the very moment of subjective and intersubjective experience, the relation to self as a relation to the other as being of time insofar as it involves the indisputable and the unmodifiable past (2001b: 31–32). If forgiveness is not simply about the past and does not pass, and if granting of forgiveness takes place in the present, it has repercussions for the sovereign Europe’s relation with its alterity today, then we need to connect the non-sovereign form of forgiveness with the future, with the democracy-to-come or cosmopolitanism of Europe, then we perhaps need to look more closely into what Derrida means by democracy-to-come and how this relates to the sovereign’s relation with alterity or Otherness. To remind us of the question that is motivating this paper, my aim here is to discuss whether apologies offered by the public officials or sometimes by the States for their past misdeeds are capable of interrupting sovereign European imaginaries and narratives and instate a cosmopolitan sense of Europe. The dilemmas and problems of apology I have discussed above make the answer to this question obvious. Let’s say an apology from former colonies for the violence and murder they endured, as part of Europe’s civilizing mission, is not capable of instilling a cosmopolitically oriented Europe. What would be the constituents of envisioning European cosmopolitanism that is not solely connected to a nation-state and to citizenship? Derrida suggests that it is only by imagining democracy that is not simply tied to the nation state that we can talk about universal democracy, a democracy that is not cosmopolitical but universal (Derrida 2008: 44). Even though for Derrida cosmopolitical is a respectable term, it is nevertheless associated with the nation-state and of politics linked to the polis of the nation-state and territoriality. However, for him beyond all cosmopolitanism, there is universal democracy, which goes beyond citizenship and nation-state. Envisioning a democratic Europe that is not tied to the territoriality of the nation-state and citizenship entails engaging with otherness or as Derrida puts, is about ‘speech addressed to the other recognized as Other, recognized in his alterity’ (2008: 44). This universal democracy is beyond sovereignties of national states and territorialities. For this reason, Derrida’s discussion of universalism

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26  Meyda Yeğenoğlu of democracy is tied to questions of alterity and this inevitably implies placing sovereignty at the centre of the discussion because for any universal democracy to be possible, dialogue with and openness to otherness must take place. How can the nation-states, seeking forgiveness, be thought in conjunction with democracy-to-come/cosmopolitanism and the state’s alterity and its dialogue with otherness? To be able to engage with these questions I will make a detour through Derrida’s argument about mourning, because the discussion about mourning, in particular what Derrida calls ethical mourning is about not repressing, eliminating, burying or discarding the dead or non-present other. It implies an unending attempt to overcome detaching otherness from the interiority of the self. Such an unending attempt to continue to interact and dialogue with the friend through ethical mourning means a continual engagement with otherness without assimilating their difference within the sovereign self.

Mourning and Memory How one mourns, the kind of processes involved in mourning, the nature of the relation the self establishes with its lost other in the process of mourning and how to respond to the lost Other’s memory in the process of mourning are all questions that are highly relevant for rethinking how Europe remembers its violent past. One of Derrida’s question in his explication of the dynamics involved in mourning is how to be responsible to the friend and to the memory of the lost friend. For this reason, mourning is central for the constitution of the self and the self’s relation to the other as well as the interruption of the sovereignty of the subject. To be able to understand what mourning implies in Derrida’s work, we need to grasp how it differs from the classical psychoanalytical account of mourning according to Freud’s (2001) as well as from Abraham and Torok’s (1986) understanding of what a successful mourning should be like. According to the psychoanalytical account of mourning, the mourner must relive and consequently renounce his/her attachment to the lost other. This would imply removing and disconnecting the memories and images that connects one to the dead and eventually this process will enable the mourner to establish its linkages with the world of the living (Freud: Mourning and Melancholia 1984: 252–253). This implies that the mourner, in order to continue his/her life in the world of the living, must slowly detach its libido from a loved object and has to put to death the dead one. Abraham and Torok (1986), thinking about Freud’s unsuccessful mourning, suggest the term ‘incorporation.’ Incorporation involves ‘encrypting of the other within oneself in a tomb carved out within the ego’ (Deutscher 1998: 164). This process of encryptment is a process of keeping the other within oneself, that is, the subject continues to live with it but the other’s voice cannot be heard; it is encrypted. The other is there, continues to haunt the subject, but the other’s presence and voice is denied. Neither Freud’s nor Abraham and Torok’s so-called successful mourning offers a satisfactory alternative for Derrida, for both narratives result in the vanishing of the other from the world of the self (Kirby 2006: 466).

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Cosmopolitan Europe  27 Derrida’s understanding of mourning is based on the question of how to be responsible to the other/friend one mourns for and enables its voice to be heard. The fact that the other inhabits the subject but exists as incorporated signals to Derrida that the other cannot be completely assimilated. This failure of completely assimilating the other totally leads Derrida to suggest that true morning is impossible, because if it becomes successful, then it means we haven’t been faithful to the radical exteriority of the other. The central question in mourning for Derrida has to be about how to be faithful to the other. He develops the notion of ‘impossible mourning’ to foster an understanding of the relation with the other where the other’s alterity is respected and left intact. A relation that does not take or absorb the other with the self and leaves the other’s difference intact; it remains other to the self as it is not assimilated, repressed or discarded. Crypting refers to retaining the other within ourselves as foreign but not engaging with the other or simply enfolding it around a shell so as not to let the voice be heard. This means being unfaithful to the otherness of the other and keeping it inside the self so as to nourish oneself with the other. When the otherness of the other is recognized, the self’s sovereignty is destabilized, which is the condition of a non-sovereign self and of a non-appropriative relation to otherness. According to Derrida, mourning, or rather the ethical mourning, implies an unending dialogue with the dead other. Therefore, the dead other cannot be completely detached from our interiority but is constitutive of our subjectivity. It is the memory we keep of them that enables our continuing interaction with the lost friend. However, this memory is not simply about the past but is a future oriented one. This is because this is an externalizing memory, which enables us to think and write ‘in a future oriented engagement with the dead,’ (Kirby 2006: 467). The other who is dead, although is radically other to us, nevertheless is within us and hence constitutes our subjectivity and self-relation (Kirby 467). Our memory of them brings about a future oriented responsibility. Derrida suggests that the dead other is part of us and speaks through us and because the other is infiltrated to us, it speaks through us; it resists all kinds of annexation and ‘the closure of our interiorizing memory’ (Derrida 1989: 34). Therefore, memory is not simply about reviving a condition or emotion that happened in the past, but an act that is connected to the present. More importantly it slants to future. Derrida’s model of mourning thus suggests an engagement with the other but this engagement is a productive, generative and future oriented one. It does not depend on abandoning the dead one, but entails a new responsibility, response to the voice and legacy of the other. Unlike the process of mourning purported by the psychoanalytic discourse, which entails either assimilating or abandoning the other, Derrida’s model of mourning implies an unending process where the relation with the other is maintained in a non-appropriative way so as to enable the voice of the other incessantly heard. As Kirby notes, history has demonstrated that cultures that foreclose mourning have tended towards violence to other (Kirby 2006: 470).2 Either through assimilation or appropriation, what takes place is a denial of mourning, which forecloses the possibility of a relation

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28  Meyda Yeğenoğlu with the other. However, ethical mourning would imply a non-assimilative and non-appropriative relation with the other and it would be based on the recognition of the fact that the dead look at us because it is still within us but yet separate and distinct from us. While mourning for the other, we attend to their voice and difference as to give them some kind of survival (Derrida 2001c: 23). Ethical mourning entails responsibility and fidelity while the friend’s proximity and distance to us is simultaneously maintained. This is the aporia of mourning. That is, we should neither be absorbing the otherness of the other and completely close off the distance between the self and the friend and thereby assimilate it within us, nor we should abandon the other. The key is to leave the friend’s alterity intact. By mourning, we must recognize that the friend is now both only in us and yet beyond us.

Conclusion How we deal with our losses, that is, how we mourn for our loss and allow or disallow others to mourn is crucial. The way in which the politics of mourning is shaped, allowed or disallowed at the national level is crucial for the ways in which the legacies of various historical traumas, wars, genocide and colonialism are experienced, interpreted and engaged both collectively and individually. This entails an open and ongoing relationship with the past. When the continual engagement with the loss is blocked, encrypted or interdicted, the articulation and signification of the past is arrested. Releasing this arrest, that is, starting to mourn for our losses through remnants and unfastening the lace on interdiction on mourning has significant implications on how we open up the present towards the future. This is the only possible way of bringing past to bear witness to the present and future. To put it differently, given that the past never passes, it remains persistently alive in the present, then it is up to us whether we would like to engage with the loss and its remnants and allow a productive encounter of the sovereign self with otherness or continue to encrypt the loss and thus prevent mourning and thereby maintain sovereignty. It is only such a will to engage with the lost otherness that can pave the way for a democratic or cosmopolitan Europe, a Europe-to-come, a Europe whose cosmopolitan horizon will go beyond citizenship rights. A democratic and cosmopolitan Europe is one that does not shy away from approaching its history, memory and past, but approaches them with an ‘ethos of cosmopolitanism as critique’ so as to institute a transformative self-understanding. This new self-understanding cannot be accomplished by a gesture that seeks forgiveness through apology. Gestures of seeking forgiveness are not capable of signalling the birth of a new and demo­ cratic national imaginary, which has the potential to destabilize the sanctified prominence of sovereignty of modern Europe and the sense of unified national culture individual nation-states have sustained through incessantly reproducing historical memories of Europe in Eurocentric ways. A cosmopolitan and democratic European identity can only be based on the undoing of the sovereignty of Europe. And this undoing cannot simply be

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Cosmopolitan Europe  29 achieved by either assimilating the otherness of the other within the European self and hence by encrypting the colonial past, but by allowing the voice of the other incessantly heard. Such an enhancement entails a development of new forms and capabilities to mourn. Such a mourning will be different than the ones that are allowed by the nationalist imaginaries that are based on the glorification and heroization of national wars, but also attend to the historical traumas, genocide, wars and colonial violence that are engraved in Europe’s history. It is such critical cosmopolitan efforts that can orientate the present Europe toward new possibilities in the future. Attempts of overcoming the interdictions on mourning and thereby fostering a mode of mourning that is conducive for the interruption of a sovereign sense of Europe will enable its yielding itself open to otherness. Such a process will herald the flourishing of a cosmopolitan Europe.

Notes 1 The following web site offer a chronological and comprehensive list of the many public apologies made by the politicians and various other public figures. http://www.upenn. edu/pnc/politicalapologies.html. 2 The most obvious example that comes to mind is the continual official denial of the Armenian massacre for over a Century in Turkey. This denial also helps to maintain the interdiction on mourning for the Armenian loss. This can help to explain how the continual violence against the Kurdish population in Turkey can gain legitimacy.

References Abraham, Nicholas and Torok, Maria (1986). The Wolfman’s Magic Word: A Cryptonomy Trans. Nicholas Rand (Minneapolis: U of Minnesota Press). Ahn, Ilsup (2010). “The Genealogy of Debt and the Phenomenology of Forgiveness: Nietzsche, Marion, and Derrida on the Meaning of the Peculiar Phenomenon” Heythrop Journal, pp. 454–470. Bernstein, Richard (2006). “Derrida. The Aporia of Forgiveness?”, Constellations, Vol. 13, No. 3, pp. 394–406. Caton, Lou F. (2004). “The Impossible Humanism for Today’s Cosmopolitan: Jacques Derrida’s Recent Books on Mourning, Forgiveness, and Secrets” Critical Sociology, Vol. 30, No. 3, pp. 799–815. Delanty, Gerard (2012). “The Idea of Critical Cosmopolitanism” in Gerard Delanty (ed) Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitanism Studies (New York: Routledge), pp. 38–36. Derrida, Jacques (1986). “Fors: The Anglish Words of Nicholas Abraham and Maria Torok.” Trans. Barbara Johnson. The Wolfman’s Magic Word: A Cryptonomy, Nicholas Abraham and Maria Torok, Trans. Nicholas Rand (Minneapolis: U of Minnesota Press) pp. Xi–Xivıii. Derrida, Jacques (1988). The Ear of the Other. Trans. Peggy Kamuf (Lincoln and London: University of Mebraska Press). Derrida, Jacques (1989). Memories for Paul de Man, Trans. Cecile Lindsay, Jonathna Culler, Eduardo Cadava and Peggy Kamuf (New York: Columbia University Press). Derrida, Jacques (1992). The Other Heading: Reflections on Today’s Europe, translated by Pascale-Anne Brault and Michale B. Naas (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press). Derrida, Jacques (2001a). Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness, Trans. Mark Dooley and Michael Hughes (London and New York: Routledge).

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30  Meyda Yeğenoğlu Derrida, Jacques et al. (2001b). “On Forgiveness: A Roundtable Discussion with Jacques Derrida” in John Caputo, Mark Dooley and Michael Scanlon (ed) Questioning God (Bloomington: Indiana University Press). Derrida, Jacques (2001c). The Work of Mourning, ed. Pascale-Anne Brault and Michael Naas (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Derrida, Jacques (2004). “Choosing One’s Heritage” in For What Tomorrow: A Dialogue, trans. Jeff Fort (Stanford: Stanford University Press) pp. 2–19. Derrida, Jacques (2006). “A Europe of Hope.” Translated by. Pleshette DeArmitt, Justine Malle, and Kas Saghafi, Epoché 10, no. 2. Spring, pp. 407–412. Derrida, Jacques (2008). Islam and the West: A Conversation with Jacques Derrida, Mustapha Cherif, trans. Teresa Lavender Fagan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Deutscher, Penelope (1998). “Mourning the Other, Cultural Cannibalism, and the Politics of Friendship (Jacques Derrida and Luce Irigaray), differences: A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies, Vol. 10, No. 3, pp. 159–184. Eng, David and Kazanjian, David (2003). “Introduction: Mourning Remains” in David L. Eng and David Kazanjian (ed). Loss: The Politics of Mourning (Berkeley: University f California Press), pp. 1–25. Freud, Sigmund (1917[1915]). “Mourning and Melancholia”. SE XIV. (London: Hogarth Press), pp. 237–257. Freud, Sigmund (2001). “Mourning and Melancholia”, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Vol. 14, trans. James Strachey, (London: The Hogarth Press), pp. 237–258. Gasché, Rodolphe (2009). “European Memories: Jan Patocka and Jacques Derrida on Responsibility”, in Derrida and the Time of the Political, edited by Pheng Cheah and Suzanne Guerlac (Durham: Duke University Press), pp. 135–157. Kaposy, Chris (2005). “‘Analytic’ Reading, ‘Continental’ Text: The Case of Derrida’s ‘On Forgiveness’”, International Journal of Philosophical Studies, Vol. 13, No. 2, pp. 203–226. Kirby, Joan (2006). “Remembrance of the Future”: Derrida on Mourning, Social Semiotics, Vol. 16, No. 3, September, pp. 461–472. Pensky, Max (2012). “Cosmopolitan Memory” in Gerard Delanty (ed) Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitanism Studies (New York: Routledge), pp. 254–266. Schaap, Andrew (2006). “The Proto-Politics of Reconciliation: Lefort and the Aporia of Forgiveness in Arendt and Derrida”, Australian Journal of Political Science, Vol. 41, No. 4, December, pp. 615–630. Thompson, Janna (2010). “Is Apology a Sorry Affair? Derrida and the Moral Force of the Impossible” The Philosophical Forum, Vol. 41, No. 3, pp. 259–274. Verdeja, Ernesto (2010). “Official Apologies in the Aftermath of Political Violence” Metaphilosophy, Vol. 41, No. 4, July, pp. 563–581.

3 Ah, We Have Not Forgotten Ethiopia

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Anti-Colonial Sentiments for Spain in a Fascist Era Robbie Shilliam Introduction Early 1938. Nancy Cunard, famous English heiress, activist and editor of Negro Anthology, writes a set of dispatches from Spain to Sylvia Pankhurst in ­London. They are for publication in the latter’s influential newspaper, New Times and Ethiopia News. The Spain that Cunard is travelling through is now in the grip of a civil war, and, buoyed by his invasion of Ethiopia, being part of a colonial fascist project, Mussolini is now in military league with the Spanish nacionales. But, aside from Mexico and the USSR’s official support, the republicans, on their side, are complemented by ‘international brigades’ - groups of fighters who have crossed borders without the official sanction of their governments. Amongst them are ­Russians, Italians, Irish and British, to name a few. An American contingent forms the ­American Lincoln brigade, and in its ranks are around ninety African-Americans. Cunard (1938b) is interviewing Salaria Kee, in Cunard’s estimation, the ‘only Negro nurse from America in republican Spain’. Kee, having been in charge of Vilapaz Hospital in Valencia, is now on her way to Benicasim. In the ten months that Kee has been in Spain she has met her husband, Sean O’Reilly, one of the first Irish fighters to join the international brigades. Although issues of racism and discrimination are not absent (Featherstone 2014, 25), the couple must be valuing their time together in Spain because, Kee admits, ‘I couldn’t go to the Southern States with him’ (Cunard 1938b). Kee also confesses to Cunard that she has only been a political person for a couple of years. And she remembers an incident in Harlem Hospital that might, possibly, have contributed to her rising internationalist conscience: …there were some German doctors who’d had to leave Germany because of Hitler. We thought at first they might acquire the American colour feeling against us. One of them bought a Scottsboro badge; later I talked to him; I told him frankly what we’d thought. And this is what he said: ‘Listen Miss Kee. I have a little niece here who goes to school. Shared some of her sweets with a white and a coloured child, and when her mother asked her why she’d given the coloured girl most she said, “because I remember

32  Robbie Shilliam school in Germany; the Jewish children there were as badly spoken of, as badly treated as the Negro children are here.” Now Miss Kee do you think I am going to be outdone by my niece? Don’t you realise that we Germans who’ve left our country understand these race matters very well. Don’t you know we feel very sympathetic to your people?

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Of the Valencians’ assessment of Kee and O’Reilly, Cunard reports: valour comrades whose good hearts have brought them to us; not only hearts, but intelligence, for they’ve understood our victory will help both the poor Irish and the Black peoples who are worse off yet – ah, we have not forgotten Ethiopia. African American rights struggles, Irish self-determination, anti-Nazi confrontations with anti-Semitism: they all coincide and articulate through the anti-fascist struggle in Spain. But forming the background noise that enables the conversation to form as such is sentiment for the original victim of fascist military invasion Ethiopia. Indeed, many African Americans who fight in Spain do so because they have previously opposed Mussolini’s invasion of Ethiopia due to a Pan-African race consciousness cultivated in the preceding Garvey era (see for example Yates 1989, 91–97). Their reasoning is iconically expressed by one volunteer as ‘this ain’t Ethiopia, but it’ll do’ (see Collum, Berch, and Abraham Lincoln Brigade Archives 1992). Likewise, a similar sentiment is possible to glean from the internationalism of some of the Spanish fighters that Cunard speaks to and reports of: When this is over, when we have won … when we have conquered the foreign invaders, we shall go and help to liberate other people who are suffering, like the Ethiopians; we want to aid them to become as free as we shall be ourselves (Cunard 1938a). Witness, also, such a sentiment directly from the pen of republican fighters: Solidaridad Obrera (1938), the Workers’ Solidarity newspaper of the Confederación Nacional del Trabajo, write to Pankhurst’s newspaper and ‘trusts that Ethiopia will soon regain her independence.’ The International Brigades have not been entirely rehabilitated into the memory of cosmopolitan Europe, largely due to questions regarding the extent of their involvement with the Communist International (see Richardson 1982). Nevertheless, it is still interesting to observe the general lack of presence of Ethiopia in the literature on the Brigades and the tendency to paint their spirit of internationalism in fundamentally European – or at a push, European/North ­American – colours (for example Johnston 1968; Stradling 2003). Take, for instance, commentary on the ­British contingent of the brigades. During commemorations, fifty years on, the struggle is articulated as a ‘race … to save not only Spain, but eventually Europe from barbarism’ (Kaye 1985, 3–4). Elsewhere, the wider context in which the British members volunteered is painted as a ‘struggle of democracy against international fascism’, taking place ‘across Europe from Germany to ­London’s east end’ (Baxell 2004, 32).

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There is no expansion of this context to take in Ethiopia as constitutive of the international struggle. Occasional mentions of Mussolini’s invasion of Ethiopia might be made, even accompanying references to the presence of colonial subjects in the battalions, but usually only in passing and with no challenge to the Eurocentric cartography it is placed within (for example Alexander 1982, 22, 35–36). Interestingly, Richard Baxell, in his book on ­British volunteers, quotes Sam Wild, a leader of the British battalion, explaining his reasons for volunteering: Well, to me it was elementary. Here was fascism spreading all over the world, the rape of Abyssinia, the rise of fascism in Germany and the persecution of the Jews there, and the rise of the blackshirts in Britain with their anti-Semitism, and especially their anti-Irishism. (Baxell 2004, 37) Yet immediately afterwards, Baxter comments that ‘Wild makes no distinction between fascism in Germany, Italy, Britain or, crucially, Spain …’. Ethiopia has instantly disappeared from Baxell’s interpretation; Wild’s explanation has become sui generis European (Baxell 2004, 37). This disappearing act is quotidian in wider narrations of Europe’s struggle against fascism, narrations that are designed to service a cosmopolitan European project. In these narratives it is as if fascism was only ever a fraternal challenge either a mutation or realisation of Europe’s birthing of modernity – but, nonetheless, a challenge absent of a colonial dimension. This is especially the case for German theorists. Despite relying on the colonially induced language of social anthropology to make key arguments, Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer’s 1944 explanation of fascism sidesteps an engagement with colonial legacies when it chooses to allegorise Greek myth in order to explicate the ‘dialectic of enlightenment’ (see Broeck 2013). More recently Jürgen Habermas (Dietz 2011), in his plea to save European cosmopolitics from the imperialism of the EU, traces the commitment to freedom and democratisation back to the Second World War and the fight against fascism. Again, the colonial dimensions of fascism remain unremarked upon. This chapter addresses the second theme of this edited collection, a complication and rethinking of Europe’s cosmopolitan foundations by dwelling on Europe’s colonial pasts. In many ways, anti-fascist internationalism in the 1930s, exemplified for instance in the Spanish brigades, is considered to be the modern genesis of European cosmopolitanism as a workable political project. But instead of a political tradition of anti-fascist internationalism, largely sui generis to Europe, I want to retrieve the tradition of anti-colonial anti-fascism, in which ‘Europe’ is posited as not just part of the problem but as unable to express or solve the problem of fascism sui generis without addressing its colonial project and the conjoined struggles that this problem and project give rise to. For this purpose, I excavate contemporaneous considerations of the relationship between the violent Italian colonization of Ethiopia and the violent civil war in Spain. And, rather than focusing on the African American presence in the International Brigades (see most recently Featherstone 2014; Soto 2014),

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34  Robbie Shilliam I  examine perhaps the most important anti-colonial anti-fascist archive of the time - Pankhurst’s newspaper, New Times and Ethiopia News (NTEN). In what follows I firstly introduce the contours of NTEN and the ways in which it introduces the Spanish cause into a newspaper originally devoted to the Ethiopia cause. I then excavate an anti-colonial anti-fascist position from Pankhurst’s editorials between 1936–1939 (for an overview see R. Pankhurst 2006). Subsequently, I extract a broader living knowledge tradition of anti-colonial anti-fascism that is suggested by the various letters and extracts printed in the newspaper. I conclude by asking what lessons might this tradition impart for contemporary Europe, beset now, as it was in the 1930s, by austerity and racialized resentment.

New Times and Ethiopia News Pankhurst’s anti-fascist sentiments predate the Ethiopia crisis. They consolidate around the murder by Italian fascists of the socialist deputy Giacomo Matteotti in 1924 and lead Pankhurst to subsequently convene the Women’s International Matteotti Committee (R. Pankhurst 2006, 773). However, it is the first foreign military adventure of Italian fascism – Mussolini’s invasion of independent Ethiopia – that returns Pankhurst to anti-fascist activities. Ethiopia, like Italy, is a full member of the League of Nations, the organization convened in the aftermath of the first world war to ensure peace and security for all sovereign states. In light of Ethiopia’s recognized independence and Italy’s clear aggression, Pankhurst begins publication of NTEN in May 1936 with a clear statement: ‘the cause of Ethiopia cannot be divided from the course of international justice’ (S. Pankhurst 1936a). NTEN is published far and wide, with a distribution network in Sudan, Djibouti, India, West, East and South Africa, North America, South America and the Caribbean as well as mainland Europe. Hundreds of copies are sent gratis to politicians and other notables in Britain. And soon after the uprising of Nacionales in July 1936, two months into publication of NTEN, Pankhurst begins to fold the evolving struggle over fascism in Spain into the narration of the existing struggle over fascism in Ethiopia. The newspaper relates the struggles over Ethiopia and Spain via a number of techniques. The changing front-page tagline of NTEN prompts the reader towards this relation. For example, the 29th August 1936 edition features two front page headlines – ‘How Ethiopia stands today’ and ‘The present Spanish conflict’ – while it’s tagline confirms ‘Two victims of fascism – Spain and Abyssinia’. Indeed, the front pages regularly use juxtaposition to relate the two struggles. For example, on the 21st November 1936 front cover a headline of ‘Fascism at work’, accompanied by pictures of Spanish children killed by fascists earlier in the month, sits alongside a secondary headline of ‘An Ethiopian woman tells of the Italian occupation’. Hence, the fascist violence of women and murder of children are revealed to span the continental divide between supposedly civilized Europe and savage Africa. Just as NTEN is designed to be a transmitter of information as well as opinion on the Ethiopian cause, so does the newspaper, between 1936 and 1939, reprint extracts from the Spanish press and anti-fascist press bureaus. In fact, for a while,

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Ah, We Have Not Forgotten Ethiopia  35 NTEN makes room in its eight pages for a section entitled ‘What we hear from Spain’, comprised of information compiled from statements issued by the press bureau of the Barcelona Generalitat. The paper also reproduces texts from the Spanish government, including a broadcast by the Spanish prime minister in its August 29th 1936 edition, letters from Spanish intellectuals, a statement from the Madrid Regional Defence Committee in early 1937, and, for a short time, eye witness accounts by English residents of Madrid and Barcelona. As the fascist powers expand their operations in 1938 so does the newspaper introduce a section on its back page entitled ‘New Times [note, minus Ethiopia News]: for justice and freedom against fascism’. The front-page tagline of the newspaper around this period becomes a slightly more generic: ‘the voice of victim nations and defenceless minorities’. The newspaper is also well aware of the African-American influence in the international brigades, an influence that has more recently been remembered. NTEN regularly publishes Langston Hughes’ poems, including his famous ‘Addressed to Alabama’ (Hughes 1938a), ‘Madrid’(Hughes 1938c), ‘Poem for Clarence’ (on the Scottsboro case) (Hughes 1938b), and ‘Song for Ourselves’ wherein Hughes exclaims ‘Czechoslovakia! Ethiopia! Spain! One after another! … Where will the long snake of greed strike again? Will it be here, brother?’ (Hughes 1938d). NTEN also publish some poems by Nicolas Guillen the Afro-Cuban poet who has been travelling in Spain and reporting on the war, and who is translated into English by Hughes in Madrid, November 1937 (Guillen 1938). Pankhurst is by far the most important navigator who takes the newspaper through its various engagements with fascism. And for this reason I want to now spend some time tracking her own editorial commitment to Spain as she continues to pursue the Ethiopian cause.

Pankhurst’s Anti-Colonial Anti-Fascism On August 1 1936, soon after hostilities between the Spanish Government and the Nacionales begin in earnest, Pankhurst writes an editorial entitled, presciently, ‘The fascist world war – Ethiopia and Spain’. This war against democracy began in Ethiopia, observes Pankhurst (1936b), and ‘now it has spread to Spain’ with Italian and German assistance. Pankhurst then compares the military strictures suffered by both Ethiopia in 1935 and the Spanish government in 1936: both were debarred by key members of the League from purchasing munitions to defend themselves while having to reckon with a murderous Italian air force (see also S. Pankhurst 1936g). Crucially, Pankhurst notes that much of the fascist fighting force is composed of African ‘mercenaries’ from Spanish Morocco. In this respect, Pankhurst deploys a trope formulated by Haile Selassie I in his ground-breaking speech at Geneva to the League in 1936 and picked up again, post-war, by Aimé Césaire (2000) in his Discourse on Colonialism: the brutality that Europe visits upon the colonial world eventually returns to visit Europe itself. Or, as Pankhurst (1936b) puts it, ‘the evil which Mussolini did in taking mercenary black troops to exterminate the Ethiopians is now being done in Europe.’

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Additionally, Pankhurst claims that the racial disavowal of Ethiopians as victims of fascism is a technique that is now being deployed to disavow the new Spanish victims: People stood by while Ethiopia was vanquished: this is only Africa; this is not a White Man’s country. They listened to the Italian propaganda: these are primitives, their customs are barbarous. Now people stand by again: they do not like Spanish politics; these are a disorderly people, fighting amongst themselves; they are anarchists, socialists, reds, strikers; it does not matter to us. (S. Pankhurst 1936b) Pankhurst underlines this point, once more, in the following issue, by referring to ‘race prejudice, class prejudice and religious prejudice’ as a means by which government could ‘befog and distort the issues’ so as to arrive at a pretence of ‘neutrality’ with regards to both the Italian occupation of Ethiopia and growing Italian and German intervention in the Spanish civil war (S. Pankhurst 1936c). Alternatively, Pankhurst notes the institutional strength of voices in Britain who protest against ‘alleged atrocities’ carried out by Spanish government supporters. These protests, she argues, are hypocritical in so far as those self-same voices ‘took no notice of the disgusting form of warfare conducted by the Italians in Abyssinia’ (S. Pankhurst 1936e). Pankhurst is adamant, from the start, that the fascist excursions into Spain should, just as was the case for Ethiopia, be placed on the agenda of the League. Pankhurst challenges the League to defend the democratic principles upon which it is putatively based. And if the League fails to ‘prevent the indefensible attacks which the Fascist Dictatorships are making on peaceable populations outside their own territory’, then it will have become practically useless (S. Pankhurst 1936d). In delivering this prognosis Pankhurst makes no colonially-induced division between the rights of populations living within and without of Europe. Indeed, Pankhurst categorises Ethiopia and Spain both as ‘small states’ which have ­‘witnessed with horror what collective neutrality means in the hands of the powerful governments which control the League’ (S. Pankhurst 1936f). The ­Mediterranean, in this cartographic imagination, is an inland sea rather than a frontier of civilization. Throughout 1937 Pankhurst folds the ever increasing victims of fascist expansion - Czechoslovakia, China, etc. – into a global story of anti-fascist struggle that begins in Ethiopia. This is not to say that within this narrative each situation remains entirely equivalent. For example, there is, Pankhurst believes, an intensification of fascist barbarity. In April, she publishes news that some of the fascist troops in Spain have been instructed in chemical defence. Pankhurst muses, with great simplicity of mind we had thought that the lowest depth of infamy had been touched when Rome ordered the use of poison gas against the unarmed population of Ethiopia; we have to confess our error,

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for poison gas in crowded Spanish cities will be yet more devastating than on Abyssinian highlands. (S. Pankhurst 1937b) Nevertheless, Pankhurst’s narrative does not leave Ethiopia to cool in Africa as the conflict heats up on the European continent. In fact, at the beginning of 1938 she is still daring to believe that ‘the heroic struggle of Ethiopia and Spain will precipitate the fall of fascism in Italy and Germany’ (S. Pankhurst 1938a). By the summer of 1938 Pankhurst is reflecting on the ascendency of the Nacionales. ‘The French frontier is sealed [to internationalist fighters for the republic]’, she notes, ‘as Ethiopia was left to fight her lone, heroic fight, with her own unaided resources against the combined force of two foreign invaders’ (S. Pankhurst 1938b). On February 11th 1939, writing just after Barcelona falls, and facing the defeat of the republic, Pankhurst restates the position of the newspaper: ‘our policy is international justice and good faith for small nations and great. Our policy is democracy against fascism’ (S. Pankhurst 1939a). In this respect, Pankhurst admits ‘no withdrawal’ from the position that ‘the Italians must clear out of Abyssinia, lock, stock and barrel, with all their blackshirts; the Japanese out of China, and the Italians and Germans out of Spain and all her possessions overseas’ (S. Pankhurst 1939a). In two subsequent editorials, on the eve of World War Two, Pankhurst ­re-­narrates the recent ascendency of fascism. The invasion of Ethiopia, she asserts, ‘was the first adventure of fascism on the international plane’ (S. Pankhurst 1939b). Pankhurst also argues that the army assembled to invade Ethiopia could not be demobilized in Italy for fear of an outbreak of revolution, and that the outlet for this martial force was none other than Spain. Pankhurst, then, intimately connects Ethiopia and Spain through the martial rise of fascism. And it is the European colonial project that is ultimately responsible for the connection. After all, European powers have always desired ‘to exploit the African people for the creation of wealth’ and for this reason have feared the ‘one Black Empire’ that might ‘stimulate aspirations throughout Africa’ for self-rule (S. Pankhurst 1939c). Now, both Ethiopia and Spain have been declared ‘conquered and superseded’ and the ‘two great powers’ most responsible for the covenant of the League and the preservation of democracy in Europe – Pankhurst means Britain and France – are precisely the two colonial powers that have recognized fascist Italy’s geo­ political claims (S. Pankhurst 1939c). Through the historical and causal connection between African adventures and Spanish wars Pankhurst makes a moral case for debts Europeans owe to disavowed Ethiopia: The Ethiopian question, though seemingly obscured and thrust into the background by other tragedies, remains today a fundamental part of all the problems of the day … Only by giving justice to Ethiopia may we hope for the moral regeneration of Europe. (S. Pankhurst 1939b)

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And so ‘Ethiopia therefore remains, as heretofore, the acid test of European politics. More so today than ever at the time of the sanctions’ (S. Pankhurst 1939c). Indeed, it seems that for Pankhurst, courage to continue the anti-fascist struggle in Europe must be learnt from the Ethiopian struggle: Remember Ethiopia and her glorious recovery, the great areas of her country now freed by her brave refusal to bow to the invader. At the fall of Addis Ababa few believed that Ethiopian Resistance could continue – and yet it does, and grows in strength. The end of the struggle between Fascism and justice has not yet come in Spain, any more than it has come to Ethiopia. (S. Pankhurst 1939d) Crucially, Pankhurst does not rescind her anti-fascist and anti-colonial narrative with the arrival of World War Two. In the 30th September issue, barely a month after Britain’s declaration of war against Germany, Pankhurst reminds readers that her paper has always believed fascism to be ‘a disease that would expand beyond national frontiers, polluting the world at large, unless extirpated root and branch’; and that ‘the special Northern brand of Fascism, against which we are at war, … commonly called Nazism, does not alter this essential fact’ (S. Pankhurst 1939e). Even at this point, Pankhurst pays homage to Haile Selassie I, now (but not for long) suffering in ‘silent exile’. This is no ‘servile homage paid to mere social position’, Pankhurst cautions, but rather the ‘expression of the earnest and impassioned feelings of people who are now themselves bearing the stress of a mortal context’. Pankhurst (1939e, 3) enjoins her readers to ‘remember his noble, prophetic words uttered at Geneva’ in 1936, namely, that international morality was at stake, and for this reason ‘justice is one …the battle of Ethiopia is ours: for freedom’. Nevertheless, the relationship between anti-colonialism and anti-fascism is never simple or smooth. And in this respect, it is important to dwell upon a qualification that Pankhurst makes in early 1939 when, describing the newspapers position on ‘democracy against fascism’, she bids the Italians and Germans to clear out of ‘Spain and all her possessions overseas [my emphasis]’. Reading this one might ask: does Pankhurst wish to make Spain safe again for democracy or for Spanish empire? Certainly the use by Franco of the ‘Army of Africa’, composed in the main of recruits from Spanish Morocco, complicates any mapping of discrete racial coordinates onto the anti-fascist struggle; the republic is supported by peoples of ­African heritage, and African soldiers fight on the side of the Nacionales. On the one hand this complication leads African-American commentators such as Langston Hughes to problematise the mapping of Black solidarity directly onto the Spanish cause, as had been done more easily with the Ethiopian cause (although, even with the latter, ascari from Eritrea and Somalia fight on the Italian side) (Soto 2014, 141). On the other hand, the presence of these African soldiers prompts

Ah, We Have Not Forgotten Ethiopia  39 some Spanish anti-fascists to reveal their colonially induced racism such that the Mediterranean becomes, once more, a frontier of civilization:

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They’ve brought to Spain with the help of money of capitalists all over the world, the Moslem Moors, eternal enemies of Spain, who, in former times were fighting against them for seven centuries. (New Times and Ethiopia News 1936d) Pankhurst’s own navigation through the tension between Spanish republicanism and imperialism can be gleaned quite early on in the publication of her newspaper. In November 1936 she is compelled to reply to a critique of NTEN by Light, a Muslim weekly journal printed in Lahore (New Times and Ethiopia News 1936c). Light has taken issue with NTEN’s stand on international justice: ‘to an oriental this sounds a mere platitude, for the orient knows by now too much to associate justice with a western people.’ If, by Orient, Light means ‘the coloured peoples of the colonies of the European Powers’, then to these words Pankhurst replies ‘we can subscribe’. However, she takes issue with the subsequent claim from Light that Western democracy and fascism are the same condition to the Oriental world. Light even asks ‘if it would not be, after all, a piece of good luck if the Moors come back to the rule of Spain?’ Pankhurst counters: To assume that the great medieval Arab civilization could be restored by hired soldiers in the service of just those forces by which centuries ago, it was destroyed, is playing on words. She also seeks to remind Light that her newspaper, in face of great difficulties defends the cause of Ethiopia, the cause of an African people, just as, years ago, the present editor of our paper defended the Moors of Morocco against the Spanish generals, who, it should be noted, were the same who to-day use hired Moors … to fight Spanish democracy. Pankhurst takes the position that the Spanish colonies are precisely the part of the polity most vulnerable to fascist rule and, hence, fascist oppression (a phenomenon that will manifest soon in Vichy France). In this respect she is aided by her publication of reports from Nancy Cunard, sojourning in Spain and Tunisia, that variously point out how many of the Moors have been forcefully conscripted into Franco’s army and that there exists resistance to such conscription across North Africa (for example Cunard 1938d; Cunard 1938c). Rightly or wrongly, then, Pankhurst believes, along with Hughes, that democracy for the Moors can only be delivered by a democratic Spain. It is through this strategic logic, I suggest, that Pankhurst agitates for foreign fascist forces to ‘clear out’ of Spanish colonies. Through Pankhurst’s editorials we therefore receive a sketch of anti-colonial anti-fascism. But it is also possible to glean in the letter columns, and various

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40  Robbie Shilliam snippets of news and reports, cognate commitments that tie the fate of Spain to the fate of Ethiopia by various subjects of the British empire and beyond, including, but not only, African-Americans. We must remember that Pankhurst is empathi­ cally not a lone genius. As much as she constructs a framework through her editorials she is also mobilizing for this purpose materials from many intellectuals and commentators - white, Black and otherwise. In what now follows I shall use these additional fragments to excavate a broader political tradition of anti-colonial anti-fascism that is being expressed through the pages of NTEN.

Anti-Colonial Anti-Fascism: A Living Knowledge Tradition Similar to Pankhurst, various commentators in the paper make a point of arguing for an African point of departure to the problem of European fascism and the Spanish civil war. Opening the London Trades Council conference at Westminster central hall in September 1937, the secretary A.M. Wall argues: All we see happening in Spain and in China today is a consequence of what history will call the ‘great betrayal’, of the incapacity of the League to protect a member state against the most obvious and cruel aggression. There is every day a new reason to remember Ethiopia. (New Times and Ethiopia News 1937b) Later, in 1939, and on the cusp of a new world war, Alberto Cianca of the Giustizia e Libertà (the Italian anti-fascist resistance movement), speaking in New York, updates the same line of reasoning: The invasion of Ethiopia is the starting point, the primary cause of the present uncertain political situation. Ethiopia explains the ‘Anschluss’ [the joining of Austria to Nazi Germany]; it also explains the Spanish war. It is from the Ethiopian crisis that descends, by logic development, the Munich Crisis. (Cianca 1939) This chronology of inter-war fascism is succinctly stated by W.S. Auguste (1938) of Mauritius: ‘Ethiopia is the first victim of fascism, Spain second, China is third.’ The African point of departure is salient because it allows some commentators to take a comparative approach to analysing the character of fascist foreign policy as it comes back to affect domestic polities within Europe. And for that they find commonalities – rather than differences – between the brutality of the struggles in Ethiopia – an African polity – and in Spain – a European polity. Pierre van Paassen, a special correspondent in Spain, working for the Toronto Daily Star, comments in September 1936: Here in Spain fascist civilisation is at work. There is no difference between the Blackshirts ‘civilising’ Ethiopia and the Blueshirts of general Mola now establishing order and decency in Spain. The Spanish rebels, just as did the

Ah, We Have Not Forgotten Ethiopia  41

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Italian fascists in Ethiopia, systemically destroy every Red Cross establishment, and where they pass every hospital is burned. (New Times and Ethiopia News 1936b) Upon hearing ‘the horrible news from Spain’ of the bombing of towns, Muganda Patriot (1937), ‘an African’, similarly writes to the NTEN in August 1937 that ‘as it was in Ethiopia, so it is now in Spain; thousands of people, men, women and children are being killed’. For this writer, fascism has now twice revealed itself to be a gospel of barbarism rather than a ‘gospel of peace’. African points of departure also reveal the nature of great power politics in the League, and the way in which it has facilitated the proliferation of fascism. In ­September 1936 the national executive of the Council of Action for Peace and Reconstruction reaffirms its pledge not to recognize Italian sovereignty over Ethiopia. With reference to the growing international collusion between Spanish rebels and Mussolini’s armed forces, the executive considers that ‘some of the very unfortunate international aspects of the Spanish crisis … are directly attributable to the lack of a firm policy on League questions and the consequent weakening of its authority’ (New Times and Ethiopia News 1936a). This point speaks directly to the failure of key League members to meaningfully act when Italy invades another full sovereign member of the League – Ethiopia. In fact this failure, now repeated in Spain, even leads the Federated India paper to argue that ‘Abyssinia and Spain would have managed their crisis much better if left to themselves, in the absence of deceptive assurances by great Britain and France’ (New Times and Ethiopia News 1937a). I would suggest that such comparisons enable the cultivation of a deep sense of solidarity with Spain from those of African heritage who have supported Ethiopia. This is certainly the case with African American support, as is evident from the introduction to this chapter. In November 1937 the National Negro Congress in New York City pass a resolution demanding that ‘our government refuse to grant official recognition, in any way whatsoever, to the claim of conquest of Ethiopia by Italian fascism.’ But whilst the congress hails the continued struggle of the people of Ethiopia it recognizes that the ‘struggle of the freedom of that country is also being carried out in the fight of the Spanish people against the forces of fascism’ (New Times and Ethiopia News 1937c). Likewise, Britain’s Black subjects in the Caribbean and African colonies express their solidarity with Spain. A poem written by W.R. Waddy, a sojourner of the continent and Caribbean waxes lyrical: We pray to help Abyssinia, China and Spain, whose precious blood was shed wantonly. May these martyrs be numbered with the brave saints! O lord, save blood-stained Europe, and save England. Lift her out of sin and deception, and keep her far from the nauseous deceit of fascism. (Waddy 1937)

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42  Robbie Shilliam Note well: this solidarity is also self-interested. Influential Sierra Leonean activist Wallace Johnson reminds his readers in April 1937 that ‘the aggressors against European peace are playing their part in Spain and plotting other attacks’. Mussolini now ‘has eyes on the British Empire’, and Germany wants its colonies back. ‘Let Britain beware’ – and Africans too. For if Spain is disavowed Il Duce and der Führer might become their new overlords (Johnson 1937). Meanwhile in the United Kingdom many supporters of the Ethiopian cause make clear their support for republican Spain. Mary Downes from Croydon protests that to recognize Mussolini’s title over that of Haile Selassie I ‘is to agree not only with murder and massacre in Ethiopia but with the same thing in Spain and in China’ (Downes 1938). Around the same time people of Worthing sign a protest against the British recognition of Italian sovereignty over Ethiopia. In the same spirit of ‘elementary justice’ they also urge: that it is the duty of our government to insist that non-intervention in Spain should be rigidly enforced by all members of the non-intervention committee, or that the government of Spain should be enabled to enjoy its rights under international law to obtain necessary supplies and munitions. (New Times and Ethiopia News 1938a) On a more practical assignment, workers on Tyneside pack a full cargo of foodstuffs for Spanish relief. The generosity of firms and especially ordinary sympathisers is to be noted, for as the organizers point out, ‘Tyneside is a poor place due to unemployment’. Additionally, ‘some of our Abyssinia workers here aided in this grand effort’ (New Times and Ethiopia News 1939a). In the metropolises of northern Europe more cosmopolitan arrangements are being executed. At a service in July 1938, organised by Rev E. O. Iredale at St  Clements, north London, the flags of Ethiopia, Spain, China and Austria are hung from the wall. Songs sung include: the Austrian worker’s traditional das Lied der Arbeit, Chinese soldiers farewells, the Catalan song of freedom - Els Segadors, an ­ epublic. old Irish melody for the fallen, and the national anthem of the Spanish R Representatives of the embassies and delegations of Ethiopia, China, Spain and the Basque country enter. Rev Iredale works his sermon around Matthew 25:40: ‘Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ And the congregation join in intercession for the peoples of Ethiopia, Spain and China (New Times and Ethiopia News 1938b). August 6, 1938, Paris. The Universal Conference against the Bombing of Open Cities and for the Peace Campaign convenes. Lord Cecil, a prominent figure in the League of Nations Union, presides, and present in the hall are Langston Hughes, René Maran (celebrated French Afro-Guyanese poet and novelist), Lorenzo Taezaz (Ethiopia’s delegate to the League in Geneva) and Jawaharlal Nehru (future first prime minister of India) (Cunard 1938e). Also in attendance is William Pickens, the field secretary of the American National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). Pickens, en route to Barcelona, declares ‘I shall do everything I can to help the Spanish republicans’ (Cunard 1938f).

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Ah, We Have Not Forgotten Ethiopia  43 But perhaps the most powerful enunciation, in NTEN, of anti-colonial anti-­ fascism and its principled account of justice for all despite and beyond colonial and colour lines, comes from an anonymous Ethiopian student, published originally in the weekly paper of Giustizia e Libertà (Anonymous 1937). Writing in 1937 the student begins by acknowledging the ‘epic fight’ being waged against the ‘same enemy’ by the Spanish people. Yet he requests European democracies to not ‘lose sight of the struggle which a people in a distant land still pursues for the same idea of freedom.’ Simply because the location is Africa does not mean that a different idea of freedom pertains to that of Europe. Ethiopia is a term that encompasses ‘all the Africans now under fascism, be they Libyan, Eritrean, Somalian …’ And the student reaffirms that, regardless of the prejudices of Europe, Ethiopia has ‘a profound sympathy with the Spanish cause’. The student even charges Ethiopia with a responsibility to ensure that Franco and Mussolini ‘shall not be able to use black troops in the last battle of despotism against the Italian people.’ Crucially, the student berates anti-fascists whose narratives of modernity have made them forgot their anti-colonialism. One such socialist writer is the prolific H.N. Brailsford, who, the student reminds the audience, has recently proclaimed that ‘Spain interests us more than Ethiopia’, because, despite being ‘victims of unjust aggression’, Ethiopia’s ‘feudal monarchy has nothing to offer civilisation’. While Brailsford claims that the case of Ethiopia ‘is only that of the failure of the League’, in Spain ‘on the contrary, they are fighting for us’. The student begs to differ: ‘We shall not be unjust to Spain, by being just to Ethiopia’, and he reminds Brailsford that even Marx never attacked independence movements, even if the peoples were ‘semi-feudal’. In any case, the student asks, ‘is it really true that Africa, and more especially Ethiopia, has nothing to offer to civilization?’ Italy is not as old as Ethiopia. Still, muses the student, let us define civilization as has been done by the great modern thinkers of Europe: Montesquieu, Voltaire, Vico, Hegel, Burckhardt and Croce. The conception all these great thinkers had of civilisation can be condensed in this formula: Civilization is consciousness of the universality of the human race.

Conclusion: We Have Not Forgotten Ethiopia The first winter of the new world war; and a reunion for supporters of the Ethiopia cause. Dr Charles Martin, head of the old Ethiopian legation, makes a speech in which he bemoans the disinterest shown to Ethiopia by the present government. Eleanor Rathbone MP replies: But you are not forgotten. I cannot tell you in the constant discussions I have had lately over the origins of the war and of the peace terms, how often people have said to me that if we had stood firmly by Abyssinia, none of the other tragedies would have happened. (New Times and Ethiopia News 1939b)

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44  Robbie Shilliam To not forget Ethiopia is to remember that true anti-fascism was necessarily anti-imperial, and that the fate of European democracy was therefore intricately woven into the fate of its colonial rule. Of course, this anti-fascist anti-colonial memory holds many different political projects, all vying for life within its matrix. Some projects were radical, others reformist; some driven by class consciousness, others by race consciousness; liberal, socialist, communist positions collide. Yet in many ways, these differences are not as important as the deeper principle that they were all invested in: accountability for all, by all. Sylvia Pankhurst was one of those Europeans who sought to recover a tradition of natural justice that had been twisted and fractured by liberal imperialism and civilizing missions so that ‘their’ justice always required ‘our’ sacrifice: Europeans/Africans; civilized/ primitives; Spain/Ethiopia. But Pankhurst begged to differ with this logic. ‘In the scales of international justice’, she asserted, ‘it is not, and cannot be, a question of Ethiopia versus Spain, but of justice and righteousness for each and all’ (S. Pankhurst 1937a). Pankhurst and her honourable colleagues at NTEN were not the only proponents of an anti-fascist and anti-colonial global justice. In truth, the seedbed of this movement lay in the Ethiopian defenders of Ethiopia, in the thoughts and actions of African-Americans fighting a proxy – yet for that fact no less principled - war in Spain, and in the multitude of organizing groups in the Caribbean and African colonies who sent precious pence and shillings to the Ethiopian relief funds. The seedbed lay with those who worried that Britain might hand over their colonies to Germany just as it had effectively surrendered Spain and Ethiopia to Italy, and with the Africans in all the Italian – and subsequently French – occupied territories and colonies who experienced fascism at its cutting colonial edge. These peoples could intimately apprehend that the fate of Spain would be that of Ethiopia would be that of themselves. Such an acute awareness was the kernel that made anti-­ colonial anti-fascism a political tradition that enjoyed such a wide constituency. Yet (apart from within Ethiopia itself) none of these peoples raised grand armies, albeit not for want of trying. And so they have since receded into fragmented details on the margins of large history books on fascism, world wars, and miraculous European rebirths. They are largely marginalised even in memories of the International Brigades. Why is it difficult to remember such a profoundly democratic impulse that resonated so deeply and widely across the imperial, colonial and occupied world during the inter-war period? Why, when we do remember, should the writers, contributors, activists and fighters featured in NTEN feel to us, nowadays, so out of place, so precociously … cosmopolitan? I suggest that one reason might be the comforting but suffocating myth of a sui-generis cosmopolitan Europe. It is a myth that has lasted the sixty years of the project for European unity. It is still with us. The inheritors and purveyors of this myth have yet to summon the courage to embrace ‘and’. They have instead opted to defend ‘versus’. Austere white futures are currently placed in opposition to black and brown bodies. Racial/cultural hierarchies of moral investment are made by cosmopolitans who would know better if they only were aware of their colonial European pasts. For other traditions are always retrievable, and they reach across the race divide:

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We [the Spanish people] are working and will always work to smash this modern beast called fascism. … [I]t is necessary to take revenge for our dear dead friends and relatives. It is necessary not to leave the ground clear for them in Spain and Abyssinia, to enable them to go on to other countries. (Guelke 1938)

References Alexander, Bill (1982). British Volunteers for Liberty: Spain, 1936–1939. London: ­Lawrence & Wishart. Anonymous (1937). “My Country.” New Times and Ethiopia News, January 16. Auguste, W.S. (1938). “Letter.” New Times and Ethiopia News, March 5. Baxell, Richard (2004). British Volunteers in the Spanish Civil War: The British Batallion in the International Brigades, 1936–1939. London: Routledge. Broeck, Sabine (2013). “The Legacy of Slavery: White Humanities and Its Subject.” In Human Rights From a Third-World Perspective: Critique, History and International Law, edited by Jose-Manuel Barreto, 102–16. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishers. Césaire, Aimé (2000). Discourse on Colonialism. London: Monthly Review Press. Cianca, Alberto (1939). “No Title.” New Times and Ethiopia News, February 25. Collum, Danny Duncan, Victor A. Berch, and Abraham Lincoln Brigade Archives (1992). African Americans in the Spanish Civil War: “This Ain’t Ethiopia, but It’ll Do.” New York: G.K. Hall. Cunard, Nancy (1938a). “The Moors in Spain Today.” New Times and Ethiopia News, January 1. Cunard, Nancy (1938b). “Salaria Kee.” New Times and Ethiopia News, February 26. Cunard, Nancy (1938c). “Tunisia.” New Times and Ethiopia News, June 25. Cunard, Nancy (1938d). “Arabs Are Against Fascism.” New Times and Ethiopia News, July 2. Cunard, Nancy (1938e). “All for Peace.” New Times and Ethiopia News, August 6. Cunard, Nancy (1938f). “Negroes Help Republican Spain.” New Times and Ethiopia News, September 10. Dietz, Georg (2011). “Habermas, the Last European: A Philosopher’s Mission to Save the EU.” Der Spiegel. http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/habermas-the-last-­ european-a-philosopher-s-mission-to-save-the-eu-a-799237.html. Downes, Mary (1938). “Letter.” New Times and Ethiopia News, January 1. Featherstone, David (2014). “Black Internationalism, International Communism and Anti-Fascist Political Trajectories: African American Volunteers in the Spanish Civil War.” Twentieth Century Communism: A Journal of International Jistory, no. 7: 9–40. Guelke, A.E. (1938). “A Letter from Barcelona.” New Times and Ethiopia News, April 23. Guillen, Nicolas (1938). “Soldiers in Ethiopia.” New Times and Ethiopia News, January 1. Hughes, Langston (1938a). “Addressed to Alabama.” New Times and Ethiopia News, May 21. Hughes, Langston (1938b). “Poem for Clarence.” New Times and Ethiopia News, July 16. Hughes, Langston (1938c). “Madrid.” New Times and Ethiopia News, September 17. Hughes, Langston (1938d). “Song for Ourselves.” New Times and Ethiopia News, November 12. Johnson, Wallace (1937). “Ethiopia Decieved – What Next?” New Times and Ethiopia News, April 3. Johnston, Verle B. (1968). Legions of Babel: The International Brigades in the Spanish Civil War. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. Kaye, Solly (1985). In Defence of Liberty, Spain 1936–9: International Brigade Memorial. London: International Brigade Memorial Appeal.

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46  Robbie Shilliam New Times and Ethiopia News (1936a). “Abyssinia and Spain – Council of Action’s Resolution,” ­September 19. New Times and Ethiopia News (1936b). “The Same Thing,” September 19. New Times and Ethiopia News (1936c). “The Moors,” November 7. New Times and Ethiopia News (1936d). “A Spanish Woman’s View of the Civil War,” November 28. New Times and Ethiopia News (1937a). “No Title,” July 24. New Times and Ethiopia News (1937b). “London Trades Council Opens Conference,” September 18. New Times and Ethiopia News (1937c). “Resolutions,” December 24. New Times and Ethiopia News (1938a). “Worthing Stands for Justice,” June 11. New Times and Ethiopia News (1938b). “Abyssinia, Spain, China, Solemn Commemoration of the Victims of Fascism,” July 23, sec. Supplement. New Times and Ethiopia News (1939a). “Tyneside and District Food Ship for Spain,” February 18. New Times and Ethiopia News (1939b). “No Neutrality Towards Aggression,” December 16. Pankhurst, Richard (2006). “Sylvia Pankhurst, Ethiopia and the Spanish Civil War.” Women’s History Review 15 (5): 773–81. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1936a). “Editorial.” New Times and Ethiopia News, May 9. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1936b). “The Fascist World War - Ethiopia and Spain.” New Times and Ethiopia News, August 1. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1936c). “Fair Play: Ethiopia Will Not Die.” New Times and Ethiopia News, August 15. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1936d). “Shall the Betrayal of League Principles Continue?” New Times and Ethiopia News, September 5. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1936e). “No Title.” New Times and Ethiopia News, September 12. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1936f). “Plain Truths.” New Times and Ethiopia News, October 24. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1936g). “Non-Intervention in Spain.” New Times and Ethiopia News, November 7. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1937a). “The Licensed Bullies.” New Times and Ethiopia News, January 16. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1937b). “Poison Gas for Spain.” New Times and Ethiopia News, April 10. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1938a). “1938.” New Times and Ethiopia News, January 1. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1938b). “No Title.” New Times and Ethiopia News, July 2. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1939a). “Are You With Us or Against Us?” New Times and Ethiopia News, February 11. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1939b). “Why Abyssinia Still?” New Times and Ethiopia News, February 18. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1939c). “Ethiopia and Now Spain.” New Times and Ethiopia News, March 4. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1939d). “Courage, and Again Courage.” New Times and Ethiopia News, March 11. Pankhurst, Sylvia (1939e). “October 3rd 1935.” New Times and Ethiopia News, September 30. Patriot, Muganda (1937). “The Gospel of Peace.” New Times and Ethiopia News, August 28. New Times and Ethiopia News. Richardson, R. Dan. (1982). Comintern Army: The International Brigades and the Spanish Civil War. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky. Solidaridad Obrera. (1938). “Letter.” New Times and Ethiopia News, February 19. Soto, Isabel. (2014). “‘I Knew That Spain Once Belonged to the Moors’: Langston Hughes, Race, and the Spanish Civil War.” Research in African Literatures 45 (3): 130–46. Stradling, R.A. (2003). History and Legend: Writing the International Brigades. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Waddy, W.R. (1937). “Laudamus.” New Times and Ethiopia News, December 11. Yates, James. (1989). Mississippi to Madrid: Memoir of a Black American in the Abraham Lincoln Brigade. Seattle: Open Hand Publications.

4 Communist Cosmopolitanism

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Larry Ray and William Outhwaite

For much of the twentieth century around half the world’s population lived under ‘communist’ regimes. Despite attempts to impose uniformity across these systems they became socially, culturally and economically diverse especially as they entered more stable post-revolutionary phases, even if for most this stability proved to be short-lived. As well as actual regimes (what used to be called ‘actually existing socialism’) communism was also a political philosophy and world-wide socio-political movement. We offer some reflections on the possible meanings of cosmopolitanism in relation to communism although given the scale and geographical scope of communism this will necessarily be selective. At the same time, the diversity of these systems – the Soviet Union for example included 15 Soviet Socialist Republics and around 100 languages and nationalities – meant that there were inevitably encounters between cultures and different ways of life on both official and informal levels. The latter Hiebert (2002: 212) calls ‘everyday cosmopolitanism’ where ‘men and women from different origins create a society where diversity is accepted and is rendered ordinary’. Mobility, at least for some, created a kind of cosmopolitanism in which intellectuals and cadres from across the socialist world went to study in the Soviet Union. There were many other cultural exchanges, such as a shared literary canon of (approved) translated texts from across the socialist world, from North Korea to Poland. Maxim Gorky claimed that nowhere in Europe were so many books translated from foreign languages as in the Soviet Union and by the 1970s 70 per cent of titles published were translations (Gould 2012).1 At the same time, the question of the autonomy and recognition afforded to diverse cultures, and the extent to which the cosmopolitan idea had any meaning in these societies will be assessed here. In answering this question, a lot hangs on how we understand ‘cosmopolitan’ and ‘cosmopolitanism’. Perhaps like Hannah Arendt’s table it is the ‘in between’ that unites and divides people at the same time. Cosmopolitanism is the ‘extension of the moral and political horizons of people, societies, organizations and institutions’ which ‘implies an attitude of openness as opposed to closure’, and ways of imagining the world that are bound up with the expansion of democracy (Delanty 2012: 22). This is a shared cognitive order that permits different value interpretations especially the ‘triple contingency’ of personalities capable of intercultural

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48  Larry Ray and William Outhwaite and intercivilizational communication (Styrdom 2012: 53). Cosmopolitanism can also (Pensky 2012: 276) be a ‘futural’ term that projects a coming political arrangement. While communism was ‘futural’ (the promise of the higher stage to come) a system of varying but largely authoritarian political and cultural controls did not permit this kind of distanced and nuanced self, although we suggest below that such cosmopolitan forms might have emerged in the interstices of ‘dissident’ cultural practices. It is true that cosmopolitanism, in the sense of internationalism, was at the heart of the communist movement, with the much-used slogan from the Manifesto of ‘Proletarians of all countries, unite’. Following the precedent of the French Revolution, which had granted French citizenship to a number of foreigners, notably Thomas Paine who was also elected to the Convention, the Paris Commune of 1871 proclaimed all foreigners citizens, and that Paris was no longer the capital of France but part of a ‘Universal Republic’. Eugène Pottier, the author of the Internationale, condemned in another revolutionary song the ‘cell-form of nationality’ (Ross 2015). Marx and Engels did not systematically address the ‘national question’, believing that capitalism had pushed it into the background. As Enzo Traverso and Michael Löwy (1990: 136) noted, In a work such as The Communist Manifesto, cosmopolitanism and internationalism tend to fuse. There, the internationalization of the capitalist mode of production and the formation of the world market are seen as a process which has made cosmopolitan (kosmopolitisch) the production and consumption of all the countries… Where Kant would associate a cosmopolitan principle with ‘bourgeois republicanism’ Marx’s internationalism attempted to transfer cosmopolitan ideas to the revolutionary class (Balibar 2012: 316). For Marxist internationalism the world market was effacing national differences and ‘national oppression is the outcome of social oppression’. This, however, meant that there was a continual tension between actual struggles for national independence that might not have a class dimension versus the claim that the proletariat is the only consistently revolutionary class – a tension that arose, among many other issues, in the Revisionist Controversy in the late nineteenth century. Indeed, the ‘question of nationalism’ was a permanent, unresolved theoretical difficulty of socialist movements. ‘It is not easy to reconcile the principle that class divisions were fundamental to social analysis … with the historical fact that people always had been divided on a national basis’ (Kolakowski 1989, 2: 88). Later Marxist accounts tended to divide between economistic (Kautsky and Stalin in their different ways) and the more culturally sensitive approaches of Trotsky and the Austro-Marxists, notably Otto Bauer (Löwy 1976; Connor 1984). For those who regarded themselves as orthodox Marxists, such as Rosa Luxemburg, the ‘national question’ was inherently bourgeois and undermined a class viewpoint, thus she regarded the Bolsheviks’ commitment to self-determination as a mistake (Kolakowski 1989, 2: 92). Lenin opposed

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Communist Cosmopolitanism  49 Luxemburg and in principle at least favoured national self-determination (albeit ‘in exceptional circumstances’) and condemned ‘Great Russian chauvinism in the Party’. He spoke of ‘the inevitable merging of nations’ requiring a prior passage through the ‘transition period’ of national liberation, just as the abolition of classes requires first the phase of the dictatorship of the proletariat (Achcar 2013). Emergent communism diverged from the mainstream of social democracy in Europe in its opposition to World War I; the Zimmerwald Conference of 1915 brought together the Bolshevik and Menshevik wings of Russian social democracy and other anti-war fractions of European socialist and social democratic parties (Nation 1989). The Bolsheviks themselves, like other radicals in the Russian Empire, …were largely ethnic minorities. Ethnic Russians were a significant minority, but Jews, Latvians, Georgians, Armenians, Poles, and others comprised nearly two-thirds of the revolutionary elite. …Bolshevism’s Russian-inflected class universalism was especially appealing in those social locations across the Russian Empire most affected by socioethnic or imperial exclusions. (Riga 2012: 4) Lenin’s famous journey through Germany in a sealed train symbolised his rejection, not just of this war, but of the national principle. As Edward Crankshaw (1954) wrote: ‘His sustaining faith, his scientific base, as he would have called it, was that the world revolution, which alone could sustain the Russian revolution, was at hand. He was wrong.’2 Celebrating ‘Two Years of Soviet Power’, Lenin (1919) wrote that ‘It will end in the victory of the World Soviet Republic’. This dream was already fading, but it remained a strand of Soviet foreign policy, where until 1943 the Comintern coexisted and competed with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and of the self-understanding of the Soviet Union and to a considerable extent of its people. Its internationalism was also central to communism elsewhere. There were though significant limits to multinationalism – at the 1903 Congress of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party (RSDLP) which split into ­Bolshevik and Menshevik factions, Lenin rejected the demand of the Jewish Labour Bund (Algemeyner Yiddisher Arbeter Bund in Rusland un Poyln) for recognition as the representative of Jewish workers. The Bund’s claim to ‘national’ status was based on language (Yiddish) rather than territory, and could therefore satisfy only one of Kautsky’s definitions that language and territory are the two defining claims to nationality. Klavdia Smoller (2015) notes that in the Soviet Union the public orientation towards ‘major imperial values’ (‘velikoderzhavnye, imperskie tsennosti’) did not provide for an independent place for Russian Jews, who did not correspond to the Soviet concept of nation. Paradoxically a gesture towards Jewish nationhood in the Soviet Union was made in the Birobidzhan autonomous oblast in 1934 although in later purges the Soviet authorities arrested and executed Jewish leaders (including remnants of the Bund) and Yiddish schools were shut down.3

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50  Larry Ray and William Outhwaite Early congresses of the Comintern between 1922–26 spoke of founding a ‘world union of Socialist Soviet Republics’ although this global ambition ended with Stalin’s dominance and the policy of ‘socialism in one country’ which was entrenched by 1935 when defence of the Soviet Union overrode any other commitments (Achcar 2013 ebook). Indeed, according to Maria Todorova (1994: 107) in Russia the ‘hegemony of classical Marxist doctrine was a brief caesura in a national continuum of the eighteenth through to twentieth centuries’ and soon gave way to ‘communist nationalism’. Communism and nationalism were two rival moderni­ zation strategies that belonged (according to one’s metaphor) to first, heroic, ‘heavy’ modernity. By contrast cosmopolitanism, at least in the sense of ‘feeling sort-of-at-home in lots of places or languages but not quite at home anywhere’ (Outhwaite 2015: 121) is located more within second, fluid or post- modernity involving a decentring of the subject’s point of view in a world of multiple cultures and identities. In this sense the Soviet Union and the rest of the state socialist world does not on the face of it look like a promising place to find cosmopolitanism. Craig Nation (1989: 210) notes that, The international communist movement was never a simple expression of solidarity with the October revolution. It possessed its own conceptual identity and institutional infrastructure. Archie Brown (2009: 112–4), who lists internationalism as one of communism’s defining features, quotes the historians Eric Hobsbawm and Raphael Samuel on the sense of being part of an ‘international army’ (Hobsbawm) and ‘a cosmic process’ (Samuel). For Samuel (2006: 48), ‘Internationalism was not an option but a necessity of our political being…’ Inside the USSR, however, the leading role of the Party also meant the leading role of Russia, and in the communist bloc the leading role of the USSR, but with Russification, including of personnel after Lenin’s death in 1924 (Riga 2012: 9), coexisting with a more than cosmetic attempt to develop the role of other nationalities in the Union and later of its satellite states (Martin 2001). Engels (1896) had referred to Russia as ‘the detainer of an immense amount of stolen property, which would have to be disgorged on the day of reckoning’. In 1916 Lenin (2002: 162n) spelled out the point that Engels had been referring to ‘oppressed nations’ and recalled his critique of overseas colonies. Lenin’s policy on ‘the national question’ was on the more cosmopolitan end of the Bolshevik spectrum: he wrote to Kamenev in 1922 that he ‘declared war to the death on Great Russian chauvinism’ (Lenin 1960–70: 372). But this view did not prevail. Lenin’s draft of a key resolution in 1919 on Ukraine, criticising ‘attempts at Russification’, was watered down by the Politburo to a weaker formulation which was eventually, in 1963, inserted into Lenin’s collected works (Svoboda 1982: 88). The Soviet State was not envisaged as a ‘nation’ in the traditional sense but as a ‘new form of human community’. Nonetheless, it displayed key components of a traditional colonial power constellation – the presumption of the superior value of one’s own culture and compulsion of the Other to become civilised, cultured

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Communist Cosmopolitanism  51 and modernised. These characterised the Soviet Union for much of its history and were evidenced in the way that during the Cold War it presented itself as an alternative route to modernization from the capitalist west. Further there were the campaigns in the Soviet Union against nomadism, religion (trials and executions of priests and desecration of synagogues in the 1920s), Stalin’s ‘purification’ of ‘reactionary’ Muslim elements from Turkish-language epics at the beginning of the 1950s and Russia asserting its role as the ‘elder brother’ to other nationalities, including those in the Eastern Europe. Most significantly, though, were the mass deportations of Latvians, Tartars, and Caucasians and the annihilation of subject peoples, including the ‘Holodomor’, the death by famine in the Ukraine in 1932–33 that killed over 3 million.4 On the crucial issue of the right to secede from the Union, also formed in 1922, the policy towards the non-Russian republics was a bit like allowing the provision of contraceptives to early teenagers: they should have the right to secede but it was hoped that they would not want to use it. Soon after the revolution, though, this ‘right’ became an empty flourish as the Red Army’s 1921 occupation of the Democratic Republic of Georgia indicated. In the longer term, the Union’s multinational character, which included the results of a policy of reshaping nomadic peoples into ‘nations’, was expected to develop into a harmonious unity.5 In the meantime, this policy was also intended to impress and attract peoples outside the Union.6 With the Bolshevik Revolution, the formation of the Comintern and finally the personal rule of Stalin, communist cosmopolitanism was substantially reshaped or even denatured by the communist dictatorship, the foreign policy of the USSR and Russian domination within it. Cosmopolitanism survived however as a framework justifying the leading role of the new ‘homeland of socialism’ and of the Russian proletariat within it. In a speech in 1931 Stalin squared this circle: although Marx and Engels had been right to say that the proletariat had no fatherland, ‘now, since we’ve overthrown capitalism and power belongs to the working class, we have a fatherland and will defend its independence’ (Brandenberger 2002: 28). Later in the 1930s, David Brandenberger (2002: 2) argues, ‘Stalin and his inner circle eventually settled upon a russocentric form of etatism as the most effective way to promote state-building and popular loyalty to the regime.’ Press campaigns, along with books like Gorky’s History of Plants and Factories and his History of the Civil War in the USSR, history textbooks incorporating the tsarist past and socialist realist art and films, ‘expanded the notion of “Soviet” from a party-oriented affinity based on class to a broader understanding that would henceforth encompass geographic and cultural semantics as well’ (Brandenberger 2002: 29). In 1940, for example, Kalinin, the notional head of state whose name was given to Königsberg, celebrated Soviet patriotism as the heir to an earlier Russian ‘national culture’ which had united Russians and the ‘most conscious elements of the oppressed nationalities’ (Brandenberger 2002: 62). This theme was reinforced in the war years. As Tillett (1969: 61) writes, ‘Whatever the fine points of distinction may have been between the new Soviet patriotism and old Russian nationalism, they were soon lost sight of in the great emergency.’ A Pravda article of 1941 celebrating the Bolsheviks as the ‘continuators of the best patriotic

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52  Larry Ray and William Outhwaite traditions of the Russian people’ had sub-headings characterising the Russians as ‘Great Builders, Versatile Artists, Bold Reformers, an Industrious People and Bold Inventors, Persistent Researchers and Fearless Pathfinders’ (Tillett 1969: 61–2). One writer was so irritated by Stalin’s harping on the greatness of Russia that she said she would henceforth call herself a Tatar. This theme continued after the war and after Stalin’s death in 1953, with the call for ‘study of the fundamental stages and dynamics of the history of the peoples of the USSR, the history of the USSR’s proletariat and peasantry, the progressive role of Russia in the history of humanity, science, and culture, the development of the international revolutionary movement, and the leading role of the Russian people in the USSR’s brotherly family of nations’ (quoted by Brandenberger (2002: 242)). This theme was combined in the 1950s, and right through to the dissolution of the USSR, with the notion of a Soviet ‘people’ (narod).7 As summarized by Chinn and Kaiser (1996: 75): During the 1960s and 1970s, the creation of one united Soviet people became the focal point of research on the national question. According to the national dialectic, nations had blossomed (rastsvet) as a result of the twin policies of korenizatsiya [indigenization] and federalization. By the 1980s, the nationalization that was the product of this rastsvet was said to be essentially complete. Nations were also said to be drawing together (sblizheniye) into one Soviet people, even when they retained their sense of national identity. As late as the autumn of 1989, Gorbachev was still stressing this theme: We have grown up in a social atmosphere literally permeated with internationalism. Friendship of the peoples was not some kind of abstract slogan for us, but an everyday reality. Can we really forget that? Can we renounce the internationalist legacy of the revolution? (Chinn and Kaiser 1996: 75–6)8 He pursued this theme in his address to the Council of Europe (Strasbourg, 6 July 1989) where he called for ‘a common European home’ based on mutual respect for difference but united in a higher purpose (Gorbachev 1989: 6), a theme he developed subsequently in calls for global government, which soon became overtaken by events. In this speech, while stressing Europe’s ‘accomplishments’ and ‘world historic role’, he also reminded his audience …that the metastases of colonial slavery spread around the world from Europe. It was here that fascism came into being. It was here that the most destructive wars started. (Gorbachev 1989: 4) Soviet nationality policy remains a contentious topic and, apart from anything else, it was structurally complex, with a hierarchy of national territories

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Communist Cosmopolitanism  53 comprising Union Republics, Autonomous Republics, Autonomous Regions and National Districts (Connor 1984: 218–221). The Union Republic constitutions of 1937, based on the 1936 constitution of the USSR, recalled (Article 2) that they were based on the ‘destruction of nationalist counterrevolution’ and the USSR constitution proclaimed the ‘equality of rights of all citizens of the USSR, regardless of their nationality or race’ and proscribed any discriminatory practices or the ‘preaching of racial or national exclusiveness’ (Svoboda 1982: 91). This coincided however with massive deportations for ‘security reasons’, first of Chinese and Koreans to Central Asia, then, after 1939, from the Baltic States and other previously foreign territories. After the German attack in 1941, Soviet Germans were also moved from the Volga region to Central Asia, and their autonomous region was abolished. Later in the war, Soviet Muslims and Greeks were moved away from border areas. ‘Six of the deported nationalities – the Volga Germans, Crimean Tatars, Chechens with Ingushi, Balkars, and Kalmyks, constituted, or belonged to, autonomous republics … [whose territories were] … altered or abolished without their consent’ (Svoboda 1982: 92–4). As Alexander Nekrich (1978: 187), argued, fears or accusations of collaboration reflected a ‘traditionally suspicious attitude toward non-Russians’ In an appendix to his book, he records a conversation in 1975 on a train with a woman who says: To me all nationalities are the same – Chechens, Jews [giving me a meaningful look at this point], Ingush. But during the war there were so many bandits among ‘them’. The deportations were also justified after the event with claims that, for example, ‘The Tatar population was never industrious’. (Nekrich 1978: 167) This coexisted however with an official line since World War 2 on relations between Russians and non-Russians ‘that not only does no hostility now exist, but that it has never existed … The obvious purpose of this new version of the history of the non-­ Russian peoples and their relations with Russians is to support Soviet efforts to solve lingering nationality problems’ (Tillett 1969: 6).9 Linking these internal policies with the international role of the Soviet Union in the 1930s, Katerina Clark (2011: 5) has described the imperial image of Moscow as a ‘fourth Rome’, a beacon in the Union and the world. Arguably, in the 1930s the causes of nationalism, internationalism, and even cosmopolitanism were not distinct but to a significant degree imbricated with one another in a mix peculiar to that decade. In the case of Soviet cosmopolitanism in this decade, it was of a distinctive kind, inextricably bound up with Soviet internationalism and patriotism, yet not reducible to either. An important aspect of this international policy was what Michael David-Fox (2012) calls ‘cultural diplomacy’ and, relatedly, the arrangements for the reception of foreign visitors. The same organisation, the All-Union Society for Cultural Ties Abroad (VOKS), was responsible for both from 1925 until its dissolution

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54  Larry Ray and William Outhwaite in 1957. Its staff and associates, the latter including figures as eminent as Gorky, are described by David-Fox (2012: 6–7) as ‘Stalinist Westernizers’, embodying the characteristically Soviet oscillation between a sense of inferiority to the West and, especially in the later stages, the ‘Stalinist superiority complex’ (David-Fox 2012: chapter 8). As Ilya Ehrenburg put it, ‘Unending talk about one’s superiority is linked with grovelling before all things foreign – they are but different aspects of an inferiority complex’ (quoted by David-Fox, 2012: 286). The Stalinist westernizers and the less cosmopolitan officials who followed them in the late 1930s interacted with more or less sympathetic intellectuals abroad, applying an often unreliable political litmus test to distinguish ‘friends of the Soviet Union’ from those more hostile to it (David-Fox 2012: chapter 6). David-Fox (2002: 227) provides an interesting angle on Western sympathizers and ‘fellow-travellers’ – a term (poputchiki) which he points out was used by Trotsky to describe non-party, non-proletarian littérateurs who collaborated with the Soviet regime. The most celebrated visitors tended also to be literary intellectuals.10 If, as was often the case, they were known to be, or turned out to be, sympathetic to the regime, so much the better. For all the vast differences between the political and cultural contexts in which they operated, Western intellectual friends of communism and Soviet mediators had a number of traits in common. Sometimes, the Soviet Westernizers were motivated in their political service by considerations similar to those prompting Western intellectuals to assume the status of friends – most notably anti-fascism. More frequently, a powerful cultural romance pulled them either to Soviet Russia or to the West. As intellectuals in politics, both groups eagerly mobilized themselves to crisscross the divide between culture and power. Above all, they had one another to admire. Surely it made a difference to the fellow-travellers that their Soviet ‘handlers’ were among the most brilliant and accomplished figures in Soviet culture. Gorky played an exceptionally important role here, as an exile from Imperial Russia and de facto also from the USSR for most of the 1920s, describing himself ironically around the time of a visit in 1929 as a ‘foreign notable’ (­znatnyi inostranets). (David-Fox 2002: 142) Returning definitively on Stalin’s invitation in 1932, he combined his cosmopolitan activity and reputation with public loyalty to the regime: ‘… European and cosmopolitan, the internationally famous face of the regime facing West … and … the sharp-tongued purveyor of ressentiment and Soviet/ Russian superiority over bourgeois European barbarism’ (David-Fox 2002: 146). The anticosmopolitan campaign initiated in the middle of the War (1943) was revived in 1947, including a speech by Molotov, then foreign minister, who declared that the Soviet people are resolute in their determination to bring an end to the remnants of the past as soon as possible and to launch unrelenting attacks on all manifestations of groveling before and slavish imitation of the West and its capitalist culture. (Azadovskii and Egorov 2002: 66)

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Communist Cosmopolitanism  55 By 1949 the campaign was explicitly antisemitic, with the satirical magazine Krokodil publishing in March a cartoon of the rootless cosmopolitan intellectual on the road.11 As the story illustrated by this cartoon demonstrates, the anti-­ cosmopolitan motif has long survived the communist epoch in Russia and is now often oriented around the critique of ‘Russophobia’ (Feklyunina 2012). On the specifically antisemitic dimension of the campaign, Stalin’s daughter wrote of his ‘well-known tendency to see “Zionism” and plots everywhere.’ After his death and the exposure of the ‘Doctors’ Plot’, antisemitic letters were still being sent to Khrushchev (Brandenberger 2002: 240–1). The anti-cosmopolitan campaign was not discussed in print in the USSR until 1989, when a number of critical commentaries were published. Cosmopolitanism remained a pejorative term throughout this period. The entry in a Soviet encyclopaedia characterises it briskly as a ‘reac(tionary) bourg(eois) ideology’ (Vvedenskii 1949: 263–4). In East Germany, the Kleines Wörterbuch der marxistisch-leninistischen Philosophie (Dietz 1979) defines it thus: Term for views and theories … that the nation is anachronistic and must be replaced by transnational unions. Whereas cosmopolitanism played a relatively progressive role in the period in which the bourgeois nations were being developed … it has now become a reactionary ideology which serves as a means for imperialism to oppress other nations under the rubric of integration. … ‘Internationalism’, by contrast, usually specified as ‘proletarian’ or ‘socialist’ internationalism, was a positive term in Soviet discourse (Rupprecht 2015: 9–10). It was described in 1976 by Mikhail Suslov, the guardian of Soviet ideology, as the ‘holy of holies’ and ‘the most valuable achievement and inexhaustible source’ of world communism (Valdez 1993: 74). The context of Suslov’s speech was however a substantial disagreement at the CPSU Party Congress two weeks earlier, in which the Italian Eurocommunist Enrico Berlinguer had repudiated the term, speaking only of ‘internationalism’ and for ‘full independence of every country’ (Valdez 1993: 74–5). For the Western communist reformers, prominent in Italy and Spain though less so in France and Portugal, ‘proletarian internationalism’ had been irredeemably discredited by its use to justify the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968. Interestingly, Suslov, along with the later General Secretary Yuri Andropov, had opposed the invasion precisely because of its likely impact on the world communist movement (Valdez 1993: 164). Eurocommunism was, among other things, an attempt by Western European communists, with some support within the bloc from Yugoslavia and Romania, to resist the long-standing Soviet tendency to subordinate them to Soviet policy as if they were in one of the satellites. Historians have probably not yet fully got the measure of the astonishing transformation in the fate of the USSR in the late 1940s, from having been invaded and almost overrun by Nazi Germany to finding itself with a massive ally in communist China and a smaller but even more important quasi-empire in Eastern and

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56  Larry Ray and William Outhwaite Central Europe. This colossal surprise, which might have been expected to make the regime more secure and less paranoid, is matched only by the Bolsheviks’ earlier surprise at finding themselves in control of Russia after the Revolution. The Soviet relationship with the Chinese communists had always been rocky, but as late as 1957 Mao was acknowledging the leading role of the USSR with the compliment that ‘China has not even one-fourth of a Sputnik while the Soviet Union has two’ (Sharp 1991: 231). In Europe, despite the protest movements in Germany in 1953 and Poland and, most seriously, Hungary, in 1956, communist rule seemed secure. The Cuban Revolution in 1959, though initially without much Soviet input, was a further gain.12 The USSR’s foreign policy was however also influenced to a limited extent by ideological themes of internationalism and cosmopolitanism, especially when they converged with its interests as a world power surrounded, as they saw it, by a largely hostile world. Even more than the VOKS workers discussed above, Soviet foreign affairs specialists, the ‘internationalists’ (mezhdunarodniki), were well informed and privileged (Eran 1979; Rupprecht 2015). The socialist countries were the only really substantial support for anti-colonial liberation movements, with the US suspicious of the continuation of European colonialism but pursuing its own imperial role in its ‘near abroad’ and, from the late 1940s, an anticommunist crusade which often involved propping up western stooges in the Third World. As Craig Nation notes, …Lenin never abandoned the conviction, an inheritance of classical Marxism, that the industrial proletariat of Europe and North America held the key to the socialist future. All the same, by arguing the existence of an organic link between proletarian class struggle and anti-imperialist national movements, he provided international communism with a “third-worldist” orientation that has been the source of some of its greatest triumphs. Within the anti-colonial movements themselves, notably the ANC in South Africa, communists, along with other socialists, played a major role. The South African regime provided an ironical recognition of this in its Suppression of Communism Act of 1950, which included most oppositional activity under the label. Other anti-colonial activists, such as George Padmore, moved in the 1930s from communism to socialist Pan-Africanism, in Padmore’s case because of Soviet collusion with the British. By the mid-twentieth century, the Indian sub-continent and Latin America had largely emerged from colonial rule, but Latin America was of particular importance from the early 1960s to the Soviet Union and the other socialist countries, as a relatively advanced region where there were substantial socialist and populist movements. Tobias Rupprecht (2015: 126), in his comprehensive analysis of these interactions, argues that ‘… Soviet internationalism after Stalin [was] … a functioning principle within Soviet society … a combination of socialist internationalism of the 1920s and cultural internationalism of the 1950s and 1960s’.13 For some reform-minded Soviet intellectuals and functionaries, Latin American

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Communist Cosmopolitanism  57 communists were an impressive contrast to the grey figures who ruled at home (Rupprecht 2015: 280–81).14 The communist bloc also engaged in a number of more informal political and cultural activities on a world scale, such as the World Festivals of Youth and Students, held first in Czechoslovakia, in 1947, and for the rest of the century mostly in communist states, notably in the USSR in 1957. In such events, like those organised by the very well-funded Soviet Peace Committee (probably linked to the KGB), state propaganda aims are hard to disentangle from a genuine enthusiasm on the part of those involved for cultivating international friendship. Campaigns against the war in Vietnam and on behalf of Nelson Mandela or the US academic and communist activist Angela Davis were perceived by many participants as genuinely cosmopolitan interventions, however much they may have also have served propaganda and foreign policy goals (Mark et al 2015). Internally, too, the USSR can in many ways be described, as it has been by David Martin, as an ‘affirmative action empire’ – at least, as he suggests, for the period up to 1938. ‘Russia’s new revolutionary government was the first of the old European multiethnic states to confront the rising tide of nationalism and respond by systematically promoting the national consciousness of its ethnic minorities and establishing for them many of the characteristic institutional forms of the nationstate’ (Martin 2001: 1).15 Even after 1938, and the new valorisation of Russian leadership and Friendship of the Peoples, ‘Affirmative Action and nation-building would continue …’ (Martin 2001: 461). If as Papastergiadis (2012: 220) says ‘cosmopolitanism is the product of an idea of the world and an ideal form of global citizenship’ then the Soviet ideal of a community of socialist nations that transcended existing national boundaries appeared to reflect this ideal. However, the Soviet citizen had definitely to belong somewhere – every internal passport stated the holder’s nationality – and the cosmopolitan aesthetic of ‘belonging nowhere’ was anathema to Soviet authorities. This cosmopolitan threat was indeed epitomized by the Jewish intellectual or ‘rootless cosmopolitan’. The image of the Jew is thus the embodiment of negative cosmopolitanism – stateless and rootless. By end of the nineteenth century cosmopolitanism had transferred from an avant-garde ideal to a vital threat to the sanctity of national unity (e.g. Treitschke) and the ‘bored cosmopolitanism’ that Marr claimed ruled Germany in the 1870s and 80s (Miller and Ury 2012). Similarly, for Grüner (2010) ‘the concept of “cosmopolitan” or “cosmopolitanism” has in general rarely if ever been understood as something positive in Russian lands’. The Zhdanovshchina campaign from the late 1940s to Stalin’s death in 1953 – to subjugate the intelligentsia and re-establish Party control believed to have slipped during the War – focussed on the ‘discovery’ of cosmopolitans, especially Jews, purges in arts and culture to culminate in the purge of the Doctor’s Plot.16 Although this overt antisemitism waned after 1953 there were recurrent revivals, notably the Moczar purges in Poland in 1968, and discrimination against Jews in the Soviet Union continued (for example in the numerus clausus for all Soviet university students who were identifiable as Jews) at least until the Gorbachev period. Further, as Smoler (2016) points out these campaigns were an unmasking – usually accompanied by a continuous investigation into true Jewish names hidden behind Russian pseudonyms

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58  Larry Ray and William Outhwaite which, she argues exemplifies Homi Bhabha’s ‘unhomely’ as the repression and projection of what one fears about oneself onto the colonised peoples, particularly in this case of concerns the expulsion of Others who are already domesticated, have been culturally conquered for decades, but who, because of this, have become dangerous. Delanty (2014) suggests that ‘the point [of cosmopolitanism] is not … simply to find within the cultures of the world common values or instances of exchange and plurality, but to identify sources of critical dialogue and the cultivation of critical thought’. As terroristic rule diminished and by the 1960s and 70s a partially tolerated samizdat culture emerged alongside the official Soviet culture creating an alternative network of political comment and cultural expression. Here the ironic figure of the marginalized censored Leningrad poet dreaming of a life in Paris or New York might be a more subversively ‘cosmopolitan’ figure than the ersatz Georgian Folk Dance Ensemble performing at a theatre in Moscow. More poignantly though as Gould (2012) argues, and as noted above, translation was an important cultural activity in the Soviet Union. It was often open to those (including many Jewish intellectuals) whose own work was banned or publicly condemned and for whom it became a medium of cultural resistance. Further for Smoler (2016) translation is an act of mediation and self-concealment and when successful is a sensitive cultural transfer entailing knowledge of the foreign that is based on recognition of both equivalence and difference. Both Gould and Smoler draw attention to the work of Semyon Izrailevich Lipkin (1911–2003) a Soviet writer and poet who was renowned as a literary translator and often worked from the national languages which Stalin tried to obliterate, thereby ‘honouring ethnic difference even where toleration had been replaced by annihilation’ (Gould 2012: 404). Increasingly excluded from Soviet academies after 1968 (after a poem about the Yi people on the Chinese border brought accusations of ­‘Zionism’) his translations of Persian, Turkic and Caucasian literature became chronicles of deportation and dispossession. In his novel Dekada (serialized in 1982 but published in the Soviet Union in its entirety only in 1990) he addresses ethnic conflicts that are legacies of the colonial deportations of populations and the violence that ensues when departed Chechens return to reclaim property now occupied by Russians (Adler 2012: 88). Lipkin reveals the imperial cultural exploitation of Muslim peoples, by seeking to empathise and to explain the non-Slavic and non-­European alterity of their literary thinking (Smoler 2016). He further condemns the arrogance of colonial powers by ridiculing their ‘barbarian translators, sawbones translators’ when for example in the Kazakh dekada (ten days) literary festival hurried rhymed translations would appear by people who had never seen a line of Kazakh poetry before (Witt, 2011: 164). Meanwhile translation was not just a way of earning a living but also ‘became an area of clandestine, coded messages’ frequently unmasked the myth of the harmonious, ethnically liberal communist family of peoples and at the same time links itself with the problem of translation (Smoler 2016). We have concentrated in this chapter on the question of internationalism and cosmopolitanism in relation to communist states, rather than the undoubted

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Communist Cosmopolitanism  59 cosmopolitanism (and sometimes the anti-cosmopolitan ‘national communism’) of individual communists. Yet even at the state level, communist cosmopolitanism is not an oxymoron but more like a complex mixture of contradictory elements which some might like to call dialectical. As Rupprecht (2015: 290) concludes, ‘… Soviet internationalism after Stalin … stood in a context of rather similar developments in Europe and North America at the same time.’ Communism is certainly not to be equated with national socialism, pace the cruder versions of theories of totalitarianism, but in the Soviet Union and the Soviet bloc it could in a sense be called an imperial socialism, with the imperial motif surviving in post-­Soviet Russia17.Cosmopolitanism has an aspirational dimension and the goal of creating a post-national union of soviet peoples was certainly that, although it failed on pretty much all levels – social, economic, political and humanitarian. In the end perhaps the cosmopolitanism of the system was evidenced in the interstices – of those who attempted to give some reality to the utopian claims of the system and those who struggled to find inter-cultural forms of expression that circumvented and transcended the rigid formulas of hypostasized national identities.

Notes 1 Gould (2012: 420) also points out that ‘Soviet ideology figured world literature as a communal apartment that could accommodate ethnic difference so long as all Soviet peoples agreed to live in proximity to each other; and be collectively enfolded into a common destiny’. 2 It could be argued that, after the Bolshevik victory, continuing the war with Germany would have strengthened the prospects for a more radical revolution there, and there was some discussion of this at the time. (Castles 1982: 56) This more ‘cosmopolitan’ policy would however have meant a radical volte-face by the Bolsheviks and perhaps endangered the revolution in Russia. But as Craig Nation (1989: 217) points out of the Comintern, ‘With the prospects of Soviet power so uncertain, the creation of an international organization pledged to world revolution was an act of almost desperate defiance’. 3 In his nonconformist novel ‘Pokhorony Moishe Dorfera’ (‘The Funeral of Moishe Dorfer’, 1977), Iakov Tsigelman describes with great bitterness the suffocating atmosphere in the ‘Jewish Republic’ of Birobidzhan, the degeneration of Jewish culture under Soviet dictatorship, and the lie of the self-rule declarations (Smoler 2015: 83). 4 http://www.holodomorct.org/index.html. 5 There is a parallel here with the ‘dialectical’ idea that the ultimate ‘withering away’ (absterben) of the state envisaged by Engels under conditions of full communism had to be preceded by its further development. On the colonial theme, Viola (2014) argues (p. 25) that ‘Moscow’s relations with its peasantry … exhibited commonalities with other empires …’. 6 The word soyuz also has the weaker sense of ‘alliance’, as does community or commonwealth (‘sodruzhestvo’) in the post-Soviet ‘Commonwealth of Independent States’. 7 See however the qualification by Martin (2001: 451) that this was not understood as a nationality but as ‘our multinational sovietskii narod’. 8 The collection of letters to the weekly magazine Ogonyok in the late 1980s reprinted by Cerf and Albee (1990) includes a substantial section on the nationalities issue. 9 Alexander Motyl (1990: 88) makes the point: ‘As an inevitable consequence of the contradiction between a centralized Communist Party and an Austro-Marxist state, national Communism has been a recurrent and irrepressible feature of Soviet history.’

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60  Larry Ray and William Outhwaite 10 As Katarina Clark (2011: 10) notes, in the 1930s ‘culture began to take off both as a value for its own sake and as emblem of national glory …’ Some ‘fellow travellers’ wagered the lack of freedom in the Soviet Union against international solidarity. In 1950 Sartre (who subsequently became disillusioned) responded to Raymond Aron’s defence of western toleration that the orphans of Vietnam and Kenya were not interested in the liberal climate of Paris or London (Caute 1988: 335–6). 1956 (the ‘secret’ speech and invasion of Hungary) jolted many fellow travellers and Communist Party members into a more critical stance. 11 See http://www.interpretermag.com/moscow-needs-a-new-anti-cosmopolitan-campaignrussian-historian-says/ and http://www.interpretermag.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/ Cosmopolitan.jpg). 12 For an interesting analysis of Stalin’s perception and misperception of internal and external threats, based on the Stalin archives, see Davies and Harris 2014, esp. ch. 3, pp. 92–130 (‘Capitalist Encirclement’). They avoid the term paranoia (p. 275). See also Snyder and Brandon 2014. 13 He notes the irony that the magazine Kultura i Zhizn, ‘with an inglorious past in the forefront of the anti-cosmopolitan campaigns in the late 1940s, was available from 1957 as Cultura y Vida’ (Rupprecht 2015: 35). 14 One of us recalls visiting an East German academic in the 1980s whose office was decorated with exotic posters from Cuba. 15 As he notes, the Austro-Hungarian empire had faced similar problems, dealing with them by assimilation in Hungary and defensive concessions in Austria, ‘whereas the Soviets pursued an active, prophylactic strategy of promoting non-Russian nation-building to prevent the growth of nationalism’. Martin (2001: 15–16) later relates this strategy to Miroslav Hroch’s model of nationalism and notes that Lenin used the terms ‘positive’ and ‘affirmative’ (polozhitel’naia). 16 Literaturnaya gazeta exposed Yahovlev as actually called Kholzman, Sanov as Smulson, Maxtich as Finkelstein and so on. ‘Protivanti patrioticheskoy kritiiki’12.2.1949. 17 See, for example, Outhwaite 2016: chapter 6).

References Achcar, G. (2013). Marxism, Orientalism, Cosmopolitanism. London: Saqi Books. Adler, N. (2012). Beyond the Soviet System – the Gulag Survivor New Brunswick: Transaction. Azadovskii, Konstantin and Boris Egorov (2002). ‘From Anti-Westernism to Anti-­ Semitism’, Journal of Cold War Studies, 4(1), Winter, pp. 66–80. Balibar, E. (2012). ‘Citizenship of the World Revisited’ in Delanty, G ed Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitanism Studies London: Routledge, pp. 291–301. Brandenberger, David (2002). National Bolshevism. Stalinist Mass Culture and the ­Formation of Modern Russian National Identity. London: Harvard University Press. Brandenberger, David (2011). Propaganda State in Crisis: Soviet Ideology, Indoctrination, and Terror under Stalin, 1927–1941. New Haven: Yale University Press. Brown, Archie (2009). The Rise and Fall of Communism. London: Bodley Head. Castles, Francis (1982). ‘What was the nature of the transformation effected by the Russian Revolution?’, in The Origins of the Soviet Regime. Milton Keynes: Open University Press, pp. 45–60. Caute, D. (1988). Fellow Travellers – Intellectual Friends of Communism. New Haven: Yale University Press. Cerf, Christopher and Marina Albee (eds) (1990). Voices of Glasnost. Letters from the Soviet People to Ogonyok Magazine 1987–1900. London: Kyle Cathie. Chinn, Jeff and Robert Kaiser (1996). Russians as the New Minority. Ethnicity and Natiobnalism in the Soviet Successor States. Boulder: Westview Press.

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Communist Cosmopolitanism  61 Clark, Katerina (2011). Moscow, the Fourth Rome. Stalinism, Cosmopolitanism, and the Evolution of Soviet Culture, 1931–1941. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Connor, Walker (1984). The National Question in Marxist-Leninist Theory and Strategy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Crankshaw, Edward (1954). ‘When Lenin Returned’, The Atlantic, October 1. David-Fox, Michael (2012). Showcasing the Great Experiment. Cultural Diplomacy and Western Visitors to the Soviet Union, 1921–1941. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Davies, Sarah and James Harris (2014). Stalin’s World. Dictating the Soviet Order. New Haven: Yale University Press. Delanty, G. (2012). ‘Introduction: the emerging field of cosmopolitanism studies’ in Delanty G ed Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitanism Studies London: Routledge, pp. 1–8. Delanty G. (2014). ‘Not All Is Lost in Translation: World Varieties of Cosmopolitanism’ Cultural Sociology 8(4): 374–391. Engels, Friedrich (1896). ‘What have the working classes to do with Poland?’ – II, The Commonwealth, 160, 31 March. Eran, Oded (1979). The Mezhdunarodniki: An Assessment of Professional Expertise in the Making of Soviet Foreign Policy. Ramat Gan, Israel: Turtledove. Feklyunina, Valentina (2012). ‘Constructing Russophobia’, in: Ray Taras (ed.), Russia’s Identity in International Relations: Images, Perceptions, Misperceptions. Routledge, pp. 91–109. Goodman, Melvin A. (1990). ‘Gorbachev and Soviet Policy in the Third World’, Mc Nair papers Number 6. Washington: Institute for National Strategic Studies. Gould, R. (2012). ‘World Literature as a Communal Apartment: Semyon Lipkin;s Ethics of Transnational Difference’ Translation and Literature (21): 402–421. Gorbachev, M. (1989). ‘Europe as a Common Home’ http://polsci.colorado.edu/sites/ default/files/1A_Gorbachev.pdf. Grüner F. (2010). ‘Russia’s battle against the foreign’: the anti-cosmopolitanism paradigm in Russian and Soviet ideology’ European Review of History 17(3): 445–472. Hiebert, D. (2002). ‘Cosmopolitanism at the Local Level: The Development of Transnational Neighbourhoods’, in S. Vertovec and R. Cohen (eds) Conceiving Cosmopolitanism: Theory, Context and Practice, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 209–226. Kolakowski, L. (1989). Main Currents of Marxism vols 1–3 Oxford University Press. Lenin, V.I. (2002). ‘The Discussion on Self-Determination Summed Up’, in Lenin, Marxism and Nationalism. Chippendale, Australia: Resistance Books, pp. 145–176. Löwy, Michael (1976). ‘Marxists and the National Question’, New Left Review 96, pp. 81–100. Mark, James, Péter Apor, Radina Vučetić and Piotr Osęka (2015). ‘“We are with You, Vietnam”: Transnational Solidarities in Socialist Hungary, Poland and Yugoslavia’, Journal of Contemporary History 50(3): 439–464. Martin, Terry (2001). The Affirmative Action Empire: Nations and Nationalism in the Soviet Union, 1923–1939. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Miller, M. L. and Ury, S. (2012). ‘Dangerous Liaisons: Jews and Cosmopolitanism in Modern Times in Delanty G ed, Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitanism Studies London: Routledge, pp. 550–562. Motyl, Alexander (1990). Sovietology, Rationality, Nationality. Coming to Grips with Nationalism in the USSR. New York: Columbia University Press. Nation, R. Craig (1989). War on War: Lenin, the Zimmerwald Left, and the Origins of Communist Internationalism. Durham: Duke University Press. Nekrich, Alexander (1978). The Punished Peoples. New York: Norton. Outhwaite, W. (2015). Social Theory: Ideas in Profile. London: Profile Books. Outhwaite, W. (2016). Europe Since 1989. Transitions and Transformations. Abingdon: Routledge. Payne, Matthew (2001). ‘Viktor Turin’s Turksib (1929) and Soviet Orientalism’, Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television 21(1): 37–62.

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62  Larry Ray and William Outhwaite Pensky, M. (2012). ‘Cosmopolitan Memory’ in Delanty, G ed, Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitanism Studies London: Routledge, pp. 254–66. Péteri, György (2004). ‘Nylon Curtain – Transnational and Transsystemic Tendencies in the Cultural Life of State-Socialist Russia and East-Central Europe’, Slavonica 10, 2, November, pp. 113–123. Riga, Liliana (2012). The Bolsheviks and the Russian Empire. Cambridge: CUP. Ross, Kristin (2015). Communal Luxury: The Political Imaginary of the Paris Commune. London: Verso. Rupprecht, Tobias (2010). ‘Die sowjetische Gesellschaft in der Welt des Kalten Krieges. Neue Forschungsperspektiven’, Jahrbücher für die geschichte Osteuropas 58, 3, 381–399. Rupprecht, Tobias (2015). Soviet Internationalism after Stalin. Interaction and Exchange between the USSR and Latin America during the Cold War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Samuel, Raphael (2006). The Lost World of British Communism. London: Verso. Sharp, Samuel (1991). ‘National Interest: Key to Soviet Policy’, in Frederic J. Fleron, Erik P. Hoffmann and Robbin F. Laird (eds.), Classic Issues in Soviet Foreign Policy. From Lenin to Brezhnev. New York: Aldine de Gruyter, pp. 223–231. Smoler, K. (2016). ‘Mimicry, translation and boundaries of Jewishness in the Soviet Union’ in Deimling M and Ray L eds. Boundaries, Identity and Belonging in Modern Judaism. London: Routledge, pp. 76–91. Snyder, Timothy and Ray Brandon (eds). Stalin and Europe: Imitation and Domination 1928–1953. New York: Oxford University Press. Styrdom, P. (2012). ‘Modernity and cosmopolitanism: from a critical theory perspective’ in Delanty, G ed Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitanism Studies. London: Routledge, pp. 25–37. Svoboda, Victor (1982). ‘What is the place of the non-Russian nationalities in Soviet politics?’, in Policy and Leadership in the Soviet Union. Milton Keynes: Open University Press, pp. 80–105. Tillett, Lowell (1969). The Great Friendship: Soviet Historians on the Non-Russian Nationalities. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Todorova, M. (1994). ‘Ethnicity, nationalism and the Communist Legacy in Eastern Europe’ in Millar, J. R and Wolchik, S. L, eds The Social Legacy of Communism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Traverso, Enzo and Michael Löwy (1990). ‘The Marxist Approach to the National Question: A Critique of Nimmi’s Interpretation’, Science and Society 54(2), Summer, pp. 132–146. Valdez, Jonathan (1993). Internationalism and the Ideology of Soviet Influence in Eastern Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Viola, Lynne (2014). ‘Stalin’s Empire. The Gulag and Police Colonization in the Soviet Union in the 1930s’, in Snyder and Brandon (eds), Stalin and Europe: Imitation and Domination 1928–1953. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 18–43. Witt, S. (2011). ‘Between the lines – totalitarianism and translation in the USSR’ in Baer, B J ed, Context, Subtexts and Pretexts: Literary Translation in eastern Europe and Russia. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, pp. 149–70.

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Part II

Alternative Historical Groundings of Cosmopolitanisms in Europe

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5 Always Already Cosmopolitan – Indigenous Peoples and Swedish Modernity Gunlög Fur

Introduction In this chapter the already and always transnational links of indigenous peoples are focused as they became visible and utilized in nineteenth and early ­twentieth century European and international politics.1 An increasing academic focus on classification and developmental determinism painted indigenous peoples as static societies that hinted at European prehistory, and as the dominant societies progressed, stood in need of protection and special support in attempts to bring them into modernity. As relics of the past indigenous peoples - at least in certain parts of the world - were also perceived with nostalgia for an idyllic life lost in the rapid and ruthless scramble for industrialization. Indigenous peoples, however, were never just foils for European and Western imagination. Sami people in northern Scandinavia spanned four nation states, advocated for rights and forged transnational alliances already in the beginning of the twentieth century. After World War II, contact increased between indigenous peoples in the north of the E ­ uropean continent and in North America. Individuals and groups crossed boundaries and travelled for leisure, for the purpose of labour opportunities, and in order to influence the political process. An international language of indigeneity grew out of these contacts, and demonstrated that while on the one hand marginalized and victims of Europe’s colonial and imperial reach, indigenous peoples were also and always agents of change and reflection in a manner that both contributes to and challenges understandings of cosmopolitanism. In 1904, Elsa Laula, a Sami woman from Vilhelmina, published a small but influential pamphlet entitled Inför lif eller död? Sanningsord i de lappska förhållandena (Before life or death? Words of truth regarding Lappish conditions). Laula began by stating unequivocally: ‘Our people wish to become sedentary if only they are given the rights, but they have always lived under exceptional conditions or in other words – they have been placed outside the law, beyond the boundaries of general rights’ (Laula, 1904/2003, 4).2 She listed negative perceptions of Sami people among the majority population of the country, and identified a key problem in the question of title to land. In a Royal proclamation in 1867, a demarcation line between Swedish farmers and the Sami population divided land according to its

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66  Gunlög Fur legal nature: ‘Settlers received ownership rights to their homesteads, while Lappish land was declared as belonging to the crown’ (Laula 1904, 13; Lundmark 2006, 135–161). This must change, she argued. ‘The Lapp must be admitted to this position of rights, or his fate is sealed’ (Laula 1904, 16). These were incendiary words at the time, and pointed out a long-standing and still unresolved problem in the Nordic countries. Laula distributed her booklet to all members of the Swedish Diet, and her steadfast assertion that a lack of land rights was devastating proved prophetic in the following year, when Norway became independent from Sweden and the border negotiations between the two countries refused to take into account the consequences for Sami people who lived across the entire northern reaches of Fennoscandia, in what they call Sapmi. Laula and other Sami activists in the early decades of the twentieth century forcefully resisted contemporary official, academic, and popular notions of Sami people as generic nomads, and charged the Swedish state and legal apparatus with denying the Sami a civilized form of place-anchored mobility. They exposed how legislation and perceptions of Sami people placed them outside and beyond the national projects by situating them as timeless and circumscribed in space. In contrast, they argued for a longer history of cosmopolitan engagement, which shared in the creation of the Nordic space. This chapter elaborates on two concurrent processes, which informed and shaped perceptions of and the conditions for Sami people’s political action in Scandinavia in the decades surrounding the turn of the century 1900. One process involved an increasing exoticization of the North, including what was perceived as its indigenous population, and the other process saw these indigenous peoples actively engaging with changing and challenging conditions through the modern means and technologies of the nation states in which they resided. Anti-modernism in the form of nostalgia and lamentation for the passing of the Sami culture caused moments of colonial guilt, assuaged by the scientific notion of the inevitability of their passing. This co-existed with Sami activism utilizing writing, printing, advocacy, and teaching to charge Sweden/Norway with colonial oppression – a charge that would then go unnoticed for over half a century. It may appear anomalous to focus on Europe’s only officially recognized indigenous people in a discussion of cosmopolitanism – indigenousness seems after all in its very definition to be anathema to the boundlessness of the cosmopolitan sentiment. However, the term cosmopolitan came in use in Sweden in a wave of debates on its rapid modernization and industrialization, and I argue that Sami people were right in the middle of, and not exempt from, these debates.3 In my use of cosmopolitan discourses, I follow Craig Calhoun who argues that ‘[c]osmopolitanism need not be presented as the universalistic enemy of particular solidarities,’ (Calhoun 2003, 532, 550) but rather implies market and social relations, and cultural and ideological communities that extend beyond specific national or ethnic entities. I also suggest that the Sami intervention illustrates the challenge of what Bhambra and Narayan in the introduction to this book call ‘those multicultural others who come to constitute European polities through imperial endeavours’ (Bhambra intro).

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Always Already Cosmopolitan  67 Elsa Laula had been born in 1877 as the daughter of a reindeer herding Sami couple. Unusual for her time and situation, she received higher education and trained to be a midwife in Stockholm. In 1908 she married Thomas Johnsen Renberg, a reindeer herding Sami, and lived with him on the Norwegian side of Sapmi. She died in 1931 from tuberculosis, only 53 years old.4 Throughout her life, and on both sides of the border between Sweden and Norway, she was an activist for Sami rights. In 1904 she organized the first Sami organization in Sweden, and in 1917 the first national Sami meeting in Norway. She argued tirelessly that securing land rights was the foundation, on that followed political emancipation, and improved educational opportunities. The solution to the problems Sami people faced had to come through their own actions, Laula reasoned, and urged her fellow Sami – men and women, young and old – to organize their own associations and join together to struggle for the oppressed ‘in a dignified and parliamentary manner’ (Laula 1904, 30). Laula voiced claims that would have resonated with many Europeans at the time, if it were not for her status as a Sami person. Instead her demands went unheard and even opposed as Norway struggled to become an independent nation, and both Sweden and Norway were swept up in a surge of nationalist sentiment. Her involvement in the fate of the Sami at the partition of Norway and Sweden in 1905 led Norwegian authorities to describe her as the worst of Swedish conspirators, while Swedes ‘would gladly have given her, along with the entire Sami population to Norway’ (Wuolab 2007, 67–77). To understand fully how controversial her statements were, one needs to assess the general debate and public perception of Sami people in Sweden in the decades leading up to the publication of her pamphlet (Lantto 2000, 58–66).

Lappland – Exotic ‘Other’ With a Twist The French-American adventurer Paul de Chaillu visited the ‘last wilderness of the North’ when he traversed Scandinavia in the 1870s, preserving his experiences in two volumes entitled The Land of the Midnight Sun (1881). His descriptions of Sami people were unconventional and generally emphasized their otherness, building on older representational tropes. After describing the division of ‘Lapps’ into four classes; mountain, sea, forest, and fishing Lapps, he detailed their appearance, beginning with the ‘sea Lapps’: The women in general have long, tangled, dark or sometimes reddish, deep chestnut colored hair, which they only comb on Sundays. That, as well as their clothes are full of vermin […] The women perform such hard labor and are so exposed to the influence of the weather, that their faces, when they have reached a certain age, become so coarse, that one can only with difficulty determine a man from a woman. When they are young, it is also difficult to tell a girl from a boy.5 (Chaillu 1883, 206)

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68  Gunlög Fur In other passages he recounted their strange apparel, houses, and trades. On one occasion, however, the account is broken by an encounter that inserted a different note into the narrative. In the innermost reaches of Finnmark, close to the Arctic Sea, he visited with a family in their abode and was treated to milk and coffee, stirred with silver spoons. Chaillu expressed surprise that he was served milk, as it was not the season for milking reindeer. The woman in the household informed him that it was cow’s milk ‘which she had received the previous day from her mother, who lived in Kautokeino.’ She explained that her mother was not a reindeer herding Sami, but that she herself had married a reindeer herder and now had to follow the flock. But she frequently visited her family in Kautokeino. ‘“I have a sister in America,” she added. I thought, that I had not understood her correctly. “Yes,” she said, “I have a sister in Chicago; her name is Ella. She married a man from Tromsø and they have emigrated to Chicago.”’ Chaillu admitted that he found it ‘most remarkable’ that this Sami woman in a hut in the wilderness had a sister in America. When he left, she said: ‘Don’t forget to go and visit my sister, and tell her, that we are all healthy and that God is good to us. May God bless her, she is often in our prayer’ (Chaillu 1883, 233). Chaillu, intrigued, did indeed claim that he visited the sister in Chicago during the winter of 1878, and he included an aside in his book about this event. ‘No one could have imagined, that she was Lappish; her neat suit, her black eyes, dark hair and cheekbones did not reveal it. Her husband was a tailor and they lived in modest circumstances, but comfortable. The piety, which had influenced her in her northern home, had followed her to the new world. Several Lapps from ­Finnmark have emigrated to America, where they claim to be Norwegian. Some have become wealthy, one in particular, who lives in a sandstone mansion and owns a large store. Many Lapps have received a good education, and some are traders and teachers in Norway. They are very shrewd and successful businessmen and enjoy great respect among the Norwegians’ (Chaillu 1883, 233). Chaillu’s surprise, no doubt, emanated from the contrast between the primitive life of herders in the harsh Arctic climate and the hyper-modern process of migration and its concomitant possibilities for wealth accumulation and educational opportunity. Chaillu’s descriptions of Sami people were replete with connections, common to representations of his time, between people and the reindeer, and between nomadic migrants firmly tied to land. That individuals of this ‘race’ would migrate across the ocean, and exchange the herding, hunting, or pastoral practices of ancient origin, with modern trades and businesses in the American Mid-West, was bound to cause astonishment and consternation. The Sami woman’s comment forced the narrative to deal with the entanglements of contrasting representations and competing perspectives. The rationale for visiting the Scandinavian North was its character of wilderness, its promise of an unusual and exotic adventure; yet it simultaneously revealed how this North, and the indigenous peoples inhabiting it were swept up in, encompassed by, and co-agents in worldwide processes of relocation of labor and expansion of settler colonialism which forced other indigenous settlements into diaspora (Lantto 2008).6

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Lappland – Empty Canvas and Emptied Past The publication in Swedish of Paul Du Chaillu’s travel narrative in two ­volumes in 1881 and 1883, coincided with discourses in popular media describing Sami people and land in terms of nostalgia and inevitable disappearance. Simultaneously, the northern mountain ranges began to attract bourgeois men and women in search of adventure and relaxation. In 1885, the Swedish Tourist Association (STF), which specifically focused on hiking in the mountains, was founded. As Peter Forsgren has demonstrated in his study of two prominent publications in the early decades of the twentieth century, Norrland (the country of the north) became a projection surface for notions of modernity, a laboratory for the development of modern Sweden. But it was borne out of a conflict between past and present, a contention that effectively pre-empted any place for Sami people in its progress (Forsgren 2015). It is possible to trace these notions of nostalgia and dissolution through the representations produced for the emergent and literate middle class from the middle of the nineteenth century – notions that both literally and metaphorically traveled across Europe (Broberg 1981–1982; Andersson Burnett forthcoming). Svenska Familj Journalen (henceforth SJF), an illustrated family magazine publishing instructive and entertaining stories aimed for the reading bourgeois family, published a range of articles on the Swedish lappmarks during the 1860s – 1880s.7 The magazine was widely spread, and with a circulation of over 70,000 copies in 1879, it was Sweden’s largest periodical, and most likely attracted readers in both town and countryside across the nation (Johannesson 1980, 73–74, 99, 134, 137). An overview of its content demonstrates features of the dominant tropes in the representations of Sami people. The article ‘Lapland Paintings’ from 1864 introduced majestic mountains and thundering waterfalls, describing ‘small, but diligent’ towns at the mouths of the rivers ‘where the population, Swedish of origin and language, make a livelihood from farming and husbandry, from shipping and commerce and all the other industries that characterize the Swedish country’ (SFJ III 1864:5, 132). The Sami were there, but in marginal spaces only, and the article ended with the promise that in a later instalment it would present information on ‘this tribe of nomads, who are in the near future threatened to become entirely eradicated from earth by the increasingly intrusive civilization’ (SFJ III 1864:5, 134). The second article noted initially that the people who inhabited this vast wilderness ‘call themselves Same and their country Samelads.’ It is clear from the outset that they were not imagined as a people in the same manner as the Swedes were. Although it was deemed likely that they had their origin far back into the past, it was nonetheless certain that ‘they are a people without history’ (SFJ III 1864:6, 185). The article speculated that while it was likely that their range had extended across the entire Scandinavian peninsula it was possible that the Sami were ‘precisely this original people, who were the Trolls that immigrant tribes had to fight’ (SFJ III 1864:6, 186). The notion of trolls had figured prominently in the writings of the internationally wellknown scientist Sven Nilsson, whose physical anthropology of Scandinavia’s

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indigenous inhabitants had a significant influence on British scientific ideas on human development (Nilsson, 1868; Andersson Burnett, forthcoming). The article thus placed the Sami in the company of other peoples and creatures believed to live beyond the scope of civilization, and urged readers to extend their Christian generosity towards them. The goal was assimilation and survival: [W]e encourage many among those, who, in pious ignorance of a far more proximate need, with their farthings have contributed to missions among Africa’s negroes, America’s redskins and China’s mongols, to instead partici­ pate in this association, whose purpose is to raise into humanity a people within our own dominions, who only in this manner can meld together with the Swedish and thus be spared the dissolution, with which it is threatened, from the extinction, which sooner or later becomes the fate of all wild and half wild tribes, when they come into contact with the leveling force of civilization. (SFJ III 1864:6, 187) Such views were by no means controversial in its day. Instead, the conviction that the spread of civilization would lead inevitably to the disappearance of peoples who had not yet entered the realm of history suffused theories of mankind and of progress in the latter half of the nineteenth century. As the article made clear, Sami people’s proper company consisted of other ‘wild and half wild tribes’ inhabiting Africa, America, and Asia. The only way in which they would be able to cohabit with Swedes would be through a complete assimilation, requiring that they shed all that which was considered peculiar to Sami culture. With such erasure complete, the landscape lay open for expropriation by Swedish visitors, hungry for exotic beauty and romance (SFJ V 1866:3 ‘A visit to Lappland,’ 73–74; SFJ XVII 1878:4, ‘Images from Lule Lappmark,’ 113–115; SFJ XXIV 1885:12, ‘The forest lapps,’ 358–361). The understanding that certain people possessed history, while others lived before or beyond its remit was firmly established within the limits of what became the modern discipline of history during the nineteenth century. Hegel argued famously that Europe and the Mediterranean formed the centre of world historical development, while East Asia was cut off from general historical processes and Africa constituted a territory that had not progressed beyond childhood ‘which lying beyond the day of history, is enveloped in the dark mantle of Night’ (Hegel 2001, 109). America, too, showed no signs of historical motion and ‘has always shown itself physically and psychically powerless, and still shows itself so’ and he offered as a reason that ‘the aborigines, after the landing of the Europeans in America, gradually vanished at the breath of European activity’ (Hegel 2001, 98). For Leopold von Ranke, often described as the first modern historian, Europe constituted the core of history and its nations history’s prime actors and thus world history concerned this region. All other parts of the world – those that could not demonstrate historical change over time and thus lacked a proper history – were left to anthropology. By placing Sami society outside of directional historical change, scholars did at least two things. They shaped categories that divided the world into peoples and nations with agency and those doomed to react and wait for outside influences to bring them into the stream of transformation,

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Always Already Cosmopolitan  71 and they prevented the latter from a future. It was through progression of history that nations moved towards a future, and indigenous cultures remained forever shackled to an unchanging and ever repeating present. This inability to change spelled their eventual effacement. Their only hope was assimilation into a more vibrant culture (Lehtola 1997; Fur 2013). Disappearance through amalgamation, however, came with a heavy price. Some contemporary writers acknowledged the losses and even blamed past invaders for their arbitrary violence and oppressive measures. Gubben Noach, a pseudonym for Karl Otto Ekström who was born in Hälsingland in 1836 wrote frequently in SFJ and published descriptions of life in the forests in the north. In an article lamenting the diminished Sami population in Hälsingland he described the Sami as ‘with good reason viewed as the indigenous population of all of Norrland.’ Sami people had lost against invaders from the south because of the superior mental and physical strength of the latter, but this did not justify the violence unleashed on the fleeing Sami. ‘One shivers at the thought of this inhuman persecution against an impoverished people, whose peacefulness, submission and law abiding character yet today can serve as an example’ (SFJ XIV 1875:12, 372). The article ended with an admission of responsibility, yet phrased in such a way that it appeared inevitable, and released contemporary Swedes from guilt, but not responsibility. The tall spruces surrounding the hut of the old man deep in the forest sighed peace over the memory of the displaced, and a young birch, beautiful in spring, which had sprouted from the main trunk, broken by a storm or lightning, had a small tale to share, the moral of which was, that it is the duty of the present to reconcile, that which the past has broken. (SFJ XIV 1875:12, 372) Even harsher comments regarding the expansion of Swedes can be found in an article from 1877. As usual, the extinction of the Sami population of Sweden and Norway was postulated, and to some extent the government was blamed for inadequate legal protection of their land. However, the gist of the article conformed to a popular theory of the time, that Sami reindeer herders were the only ones suited to populate the vast plateaus and mountain ranges in the north. Any attempt to remake herders into settlers would have devastating consequences not only for the lappmarks, but also for the entire nation, since the mountain nomads were the only ones who could maintain communication and conduct a significant transit trade across this vast wilderness (SFJ XVI 1877:11, 329–332). By the turn of the century 1900, it was well established in scholarship as well as in popular narratives that the evaporation of the nomadic Sami population was imminent, unless measures were taken to protect them. The debate concerned whether such measures were appropriate and successful or if there was little point in seeking to protect Sami culture from its inevitable destruction, and if assimilation or ‘Swedification’ was to be applauded or lamented (Erlandson-Hemmingson 2006, 197–205). A strong interest in documenting the culture before it dissipated characterized much of the scholarly initiatives at the turn of the century. Herman Lundborg, the ‘father’ of Swedish racial biology measured Sami crania and

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72  Gunlög Fur photo­graphed their bodies to determine their specific physiological and psychological nature; Gustaf von Düben, professor of medicine at Karolinska Institutet in Stockholm collected bones and skulls from graves for research purposes while his wife Lottie photographed Sami people. Ernst von Manker sought to describe and collect sacred sites and objects, while K. B. Wiklund toiled to preserve the languages and so on. At the same time government policies and international compacts compounded the difficulties for Sami people to maintain some level of control over the changes facing their communities and culture. The resolution of the union between Sweden and Norway in 1905 was one such international agreement that blatantly ignored Sami interests; government commissions on reindeer herd management and education likewise displayed paternalistic and authoritarian approaches to Sami society (Lantto 2000; Silvén 2014; Silvén forthcoming). In 1906, Olof Högberg, one of the novelists Peter Forsgren discusses in Norrland som koloni och utopi (2015), undertook an extensive hiking trip in the mountains from south to north and wrote a series of reports, which were published in the Swedish daily Aftonbladet (Forsgren 2015, 156–159). While ostensibly aiming at a socioeconomic description of the potential in the region, Högberg’s trip formed part of the growing wave of mountain tourism and his report contained descriptions of physical hardship as well as majestic beauty typical of the genre. An underlying aim was to promote agriculture and settlement in the region – a concern that he shared with leading Sami activists of the period. ­Högberg described a meeting between the mostly Sami congregation at Ammarnäs and the region’s Swedish governor. In accordance with Gubben Noach in SFJ (SFJ XXIV 1885:12, 358–361) he portrayed the forest Sami, whom he called ‘half-Lapps,’ as more advanced and civil than their nomadic mountain counterparts. When one of the leading Sami herders claimed ownership rights to grazing land, based on paying taxes to the State for the land, the governor responded: ‘Yes, and thus the Lapps insist on doing, with the aim of defending and claiming their supposed ownership rights. […] You Lapps think you own the rights to the grazing lands, but the reality is not so.’ The decolonizing perspective that otherwise suffused Högberg’s writing could not harbour any Sami claims and his later novels demonstrate that he concurred with the governor (Forsgren 2015, 159).

Discourse and Policy Two discursive complexes merged to position the Sami people around the turn of the century. These concerned Norrland – the Northern counties – at large, and Sami privileges. In the period of strong industrial expansion, ca 1870–1910, debates around modernization and tradition were projected on the vast northern reaches of Sweden. The extraction and production of timber, pulp, and ore undergirded the industrialization of the country and the resources by and large came from this northern region. The ‘Norrland question’ concerned the nebulous north as both and either a model for modernity or an exotic wilderness, and in the debate it could be presented as the promise for the future but it was also discussed in the context of the problems of development. To a large extent the discussion revolved

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Always Already Cosmopolitan  73 around issues of power, ownership, and management of the large forests, and concerned the consequences of modernization (Forsgren 2015, 28–29). The publications of the Swedish Tourist Association (STF) expressed the duality of this debate prominently – Norrland was both a paradise of wilderness and a model factory of modern Sweden (Erlandsson-Hammargren 2006). Högberg, mentioned above placed himself on one side of the debate, defining Norrland as a colony but with an ambivalent approach to specific Sami claims. On the other side, Ludvig Nordström who wrote several influential books, fact as well as fiction, which proclaimed Norrland to be the epitome of progress, viewed Sami people as backwards and cited a description by a forest manager. The manager had arrived at a Sami household and found it so dirty and malodorous that he was overcome with nausea (Forsgren 2015, 187–192). Nordström compared the manager’s civilizing function to ‘what lord Clive, lord Morley have been for India, lord Milner for Egypt, Cecil Rhodes for South Africa.’ The other discourse grew out of and shaped the Swedish government’s Sami policies. Patrik Lantto describes how a dominant perception of what constituted Samihood emerged in the late nineteenth century, which established an analogous chain between Sami identity, reindeer herding and nomadism. The real Sami was perceived to be a herder, practicing his industry in the mountains, which could not be utilized for other purposes, and thus did not conflict with farming or forestry. The state construed a group of subjects who dwelled in the mountains, remained nomadic in the pursuit of a livelihood that could not be reconciled with a modern society, and they were defined as male. Sami women’s rights came to be defined as dependent on their relations to Sami men’s pursuits and manner of living, and thus remained invisible in the policies of the state together with all other non-­reindeer herding Sami people. The herders were seen to be in need of protection and given special privileges, so called ‘Lapp-privileges,’ that did not extend to sedentary Sami, who, paradoxically, were expected to assimilate, yet were considered inferior to both Swedes and ‘real Sami.’ This policy, established in the Reindeer Grazing Act from the 1886 and renewed in amendments well into the twentieth century, shaped the space for Sami political action. In the position as Sami with privileges, the nomadic reindeer herders could demand special treatment, and pursue particular policies, while it excluded other formulations of Sami needs and requirements or solidarities based on other interests and practices (Lantto 2000, 107–113; Lantto and Mörkenstam 2008, 29–30). Connecting these discourses regarding the Sami were particular understandings of mobility and historical progress that informed the construction of the modern nation-state. Movement was central to modernity but it had to be combined with a notion of history moving towards a specific goal, or otherwise movement was mere meandering. Furthermore, modern mobility was predicated on specific territorial claims. The Sami were expected to be nomads, but not to emigrate or go hiking. Their itineration in the landscape had no direction, since they had no history and thus no change. And so they had to flee from the onslaught of southern invaders who came with purpose and mission. If they had no goals for their movements across the land, they had foundation for proper claims.

74  Gunlög Fur

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Thus, when they argued that they paid taxes for rights to land they were told that it was not really so. While Swedish people established villages and towns and worked diligently at trade and commerce in a world full of movement, the nomadic Sami wandered aimlessly across a land upon which they could not properly settle nor lay claim to. That was the logic contained in popular representations as well as scholarship. The reverend Vitalis Karnell expressed this most succinctly in 1906: When a Lapp or a Lapp woman begins to saunter in Stockholm in more or less deformed Lapp costume, when the Lapps begin to form organizations and have their own papers, when they begin to acquire education in the folk high schools, then it is completely finished with them as Lapps and then they become the most miserable people imaginable […] By all means favor the Lapps in all kinds of ways in their trade, make them moral, sober and scantily educated people, but do not let them sip on civilization in general, it would anyway only be sipping, but it has never been nor shall be a blessing. Lapps should remain lapps. (cited in Lantto 2000, 41) From 1913, a reform in the educational system directed towards Sami people established special tent-based schools for children of nomads, designed to teach them skills necessary to continue the herding life, but not otherwise wean them to a civilized life. Karnell became the inspector of Sami schools (Lantto 2000; Lundmark 2002). As Karnell hinted, the figure of the semi-assimilated Sami loomed particularly threatening. Patrik Lantto discusses a process of border formation central to the Swedish Sami policy through which Swedish authorities sought to determine who belonged to the Sami collective. Sami people who did not conform to the image of the herder and persisted in practicing their particular crafts, was expected to assimilate and merge with the Swedish population. Only the mountain herders could serve as a contrasting representation to that which was Swedish. The so-called forest Sami, who had been described in SFJ as the highest achievements of Sami society in the 1880s, were in the onset of the twentieth century completely re-evaluated. Lantto writes that by exceeding their boundaries and approaching a Swedish lifestyle the forest Sami ‘could not serve as an illuminating image of “the other”’ and became perceived as useless and reprehensible hybrids (Lantto 2000, 46; Broberg 1981–1982). Norrland as the laboratory of modernity, the re-evaluation of the wilderness to conform to ideas of the healthy outdoors, and the reindeer-herding nomad as the quintessential other and a natural feature of the northern environment, placed powerful restrictions on the arguments and actions available to Sami people. Elsa Laula’s words of truth were indeed radical in that they identified Sami as held together by a whole range of cultural, economic, linguistic, and historical practices which transcended the industry of reindeer herding. Her attempt ‘to create a community of interests between herding and non-reindeer herding Sami’ ran up against the static and narrow view of the Swedish authorities, but also against

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Always Already Cosmopolitan  75 reindeer herding interests. Lantto and Mörkenstam conclude: ‘A movement that could not claim to speak on behalf of the reindeer herders had no chance of being viewed as a representative for the Sami people’ (Lantto and Mörkenstam 2008, 30, 35). However, the view of what would happen to the Sami reindeer herding practice differed over time. Gustav Park, who was the dominant Sami leader during the 1920s, feared the disappearance of the industry but while he considered this development ‘regrettable, it was not regarded as a threat to the Sami people or to Sami culture. The disappearance of reindeer herding was part of the modernization of society, but the industry was not a necessary precondition for Sami identity and culture.’ After World War II, the conditions for reindeer herding improved and herding ‘regained a more central position in the Sami movement’s view of Samihood’ (Lantto and Mörkenstam 2008, 33).

Challenging Swedish Policies and Interpretations Despite this narrow discursive field left open for the formulation of a Sami political movement, Sami people expressed a variety of forms a resistance that demonstrated their engagement with modernity and with their surroundings in ways that may well be described as cosmopolitan (Lantto and Mörkenstam 2008). The confluence of policy interventions, scholarship, tourism, and industrial development entangled people in the north of Scandinavia in ways that were never simple and straightforward. It forced formulations regarding positions and identifications that built on previous interactions and in which Swedes and Sami both colluded and clashed. Mikael Svonni, professor of Sami languages recalled anecdotally how his uncle had acted as informant for the ethnographer Ernst Manker ‘sometimes showing him Sami culture, sometimes not.’ Manker was interested in photographing Sami sacred stones, so called Séjte. He had been eager to see a particularly famous one, but the weather was bad and Svonni’s uncle had decided to shorten the outing by presenting Manker with a convenient stone they passed. He declared that this was the séjte, Manker took his photograph, and it was included in his authoritative work on Sami history and culture (Svalastog and Fur 2015, 9–10). Svonni’s own research focuses on Johan Turi, who grew up as a reindeer herder in the region of Guovdageaidnu (Kautokeino) in Norway. In 1910, Turi published Muitalus sámiid birra (An Account of the Sami), the first book regarding Sami conditions written by a Sami. The book was the result of collaboration between Turi and Emilie Demant Hatt, a Danish artist and ethnographer. The two had met aboard a train carrying iron ore from Kiruna to the Norwegian coast. Communication proved difficult as he spoke both Sami and Finnish, and a bit of Swedish while she only knew Danish. She nursed a dream to spend a year with a reindeer herding family and he one of writing a book. She eventually learned to speak Sami and lived with Johan Turi’s brother’s household, and in return she helped him with the book project. The Director of the Kiruna iron ore mine, Hjalmar Lundbohm, learned about the book from Hatt and promised to support its publication (Svonni 2015, 47–49).

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76  Gunlög Fur Turi desired to explain Sami life – or aspects of it – to Swedish readers, because he had ‘come to understand that the Swedish government wants to help us as much as it can, but they don’t get things right regarding our lives and conditions, because no Sami can explain to them exactly how things are.’ The reason for this, Turi wrote, was that Sami people could not think clearly closed up within four walls, where a person could not ‘put his nose to the wind.’ Instead, ‘if there were a meeting place on some high mountain, then a Sami could make his own affairs quite plain’ (Svonni 2015, 49). Another Sami who sought the written medium to reach beyond the local was Anders Fjellner. He was a South Sami from the region of Härjedalen and received an education as minister in the Swedish church from Uppsala University in the early decades of the nineteenth century. As a student in Uppsala he was introduced to the Finnish epic poem Kalevala and strove to create something similar through a collection of texts entitled Biejjien baernie (The Son of the Sun). It represented an endeavor to present a pan-Sami perspective on mythic and epic production in order to establish a literary and cultural legacy common to all Sami people (Gaski, 2015, 150). Gaski’s own definition of cosmopolitan perspective is that ‘it includes an analysis grounded in a common disciplinary and methodological approach to the subject matter, while simultaneously being aware of specific linguistic and cultural conditions that affect the analysis. It would, for instance, be completely feasible to use Sami terms and so-called “Sami understanding” in a cosmopolitan analysis, but these things would then have to be explicated and made accessible to an international reader, and not be exoticized and ascribed an aspect of esoteric knowledge’ (Gaski 2015, 165). It appears to me that this is precisely what Turi, Fjellner, Laula and others attempted to do. They strove to mediate in common terms specific Sami conditions that challenged Swedish official and scientific perceptions of Sami people as exotic and esoteric, and exterior to the project of modernization (Nordblad 2013). While protection and preservation in a timeless condition insulated from change and outside corruption appeared to many Swedes as the only way to stave off the dissolution of the Sami people, many Sami advocates argued that the key issue hinged on land rights, just as Elsa Laula had written in 1904 and the Sorsele Sami had argued in the meeting that Högberg witnessed in 1906. It is in this context that I understand the prescient formulations of another Sami woman, Karin Stenberg, a teacher from Arvidsjaur. In 1920, she inspired a brief book written together with Valdemar Lindholm, a journalist and novelist who involved himself in Sami concerns at them time. The book, Dat läh mijen situd – En vädjan till Svenska Nationen från Samefolket (A Plea to the Swedish Nation from the Sami People), voices forceful criticism of Swedish colonialism in Sapmi and follows Laula in many of its demands. Its language was too strong for some Sami leaders, who wished to tread more carefully in relation to Swedish authorities (Lantto 2000). While Lindholm stands as the author of the book, Stenberg states clearly in the foreword that the book has come about as a result of her own initiative and that of a few other Sami from the Arvidsjaur village and she took personal responsibility for the views expressed in it. I shall therefore refer to her as the author.

Always Already Cosmopolitan  77

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She deplored and rejected the descriptions and analyses of Sami life and culture presented as authoritative knowledge by various Swedish writers and scholars who claimed to know the ‘truth about the Lapp.’ In an acute analysis of how Swedish experts constructed self-reflecting representations, the author predated the work of later generations of postcolonial critique. ‘Much has been written about the Sami people […] descriptions as well as reports have been carried out by people, who, although they may have been physically close to and have spent a year or so with us, spiritually have been so infinitely remote, that our voice has reached them only as a distant, opaque murmur, difficult to determine, whether it emanates from the forest of from the great waters. […] The many, both knowledgeable and well-meaning men and women, who otherwise have portrayed Sami life, have in general, even when the purpose has been benevolence, portrayed it only from the Swedish point of view, made main issues into sideshows and vice versa. The Sami people have not been portrayed, but Swedish life as tourists in an exotic land … Swedes, who travel through the Lappmarks with horse-carts of conserved food and their heads full of their own grandeur, without knowing our language, without being able to follow us on our migrations, in our work, but allow themselves to be carted as luggage through the countryside, they write, supported by the state and by individuals, books about us and our life, hallmarked as ‘the truth about the Lapp.’ (Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 6–7) The book aimed to contribute a Sami perspective to the ‘Lapp commission’ of 1918, charged with overseeing the Swedish policies in relation to reindeer herding. Its criticism of Swedish representational practices, and against the caste of experts enlisted to manage the Sami question, appears to have been ahead of its time, but resonated with many Sami. Not until the late twentieth century would scholars begin to discuss the Swedish state’s interventions and policies towards Sápmi as colonialism, but Stenberg had no doubts about it already in 1920: ‘It is not so strange, that we sameh cannot so easily be grateful for the colonization, which Swedes – exclusively to their own advantage – have undertaken in Lappland’ (Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 28). The book expressed a decolonial program, aligned with contemporary developments in the world, when it claimed that: In these ‘times of the League of Nations,’ when there is talk about the rights of the small nations and when Sweden exhibits so much care in claiming, for example, the rights to self-determination for the people on Åland, it appears that the time would have come for Sami people to express their will and desires themselves, particularly as these do not aim to divide the Sami-­nation from the Swedish, but rather bring the two nations closer to one another. (Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 5) Point by point Stenberg exposed and countered the pervasive logic behind Swedish Sami policy. To the view that Sami people were childlike, she responded that

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78  Gunlög Fur indeed, that is how the Swedes had consistently treated them, but ‘our people, the Sami people, are not differently created than other nations in this age of the small nations: Our people have the will to live’ (Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 5). To the claim that Sami people were isolated in the mountains, she responded that the Sami people consisted of a variety of tribes, who differed in language and culture and lived across a vast territory, yet recognized a common origin ­(Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 10–12). On those who said that ‘Lapps should remain Lapps,’ she turned the tables when she said that ‘it is of course flattering to hear that again and again […] that the Sami nation is the only one, that emerged out of the hands of the Creator so complete, that it does not need to develop.’ But, she stressed, Sami people wish to change and develop (Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 12). To the question of privileges, she retorted that Sami people had paid their taxes to Swedish monarchs so that they would retain their rights to land, just like Swedish peasants had done. They desired citizenship rights, not special privileges ­(Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 23–24). Sami people, she charged, ‘demand our right, not more, but not a hair’s breadth less’ (Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 40). To those who said that Sami people were nomads, she underscored that ‘we Sami want, as all other Swedish citizens, to have the right to build our house or our hut in the manner, which we ourselves find suitable for our needs’ (Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 54). Sami people should not be treated as ‘“Swedish subjects,” but in reality be Swedish citizens’ and as such they wished to ‘own the same political and municipal rights as all other Swedish citizens’ and in exchange were willing to ‘dress ourselves in all other duties of Swedish citizens in terms of taxation and military service’ (Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 64). A small but distinct population, however, would find it hard to influence Swedish policies and this caused her to demand ‘the appointment of a Sami spokesman, who should be elected by Sami ourselves with voting rights just as in an election to the Diet’ (Lindholm [Stenberg] 1920, 89). Her demands for special provisions for Sami people as a minority foreshadowed the creation of a Sami parliament in 1993 (in Norway in 1989). The understanding of shared sovereignty is one later proposed in international indigenous conventions, and it underlies the changed policies of the Norwegian state after its signing of ILO 169, but it still has not entered into Swedish legislation (UNDRIP; Johansson 2008). Karin Stenberg continued throughout her life as an advocate for her Sami people, skilfully developing contacts with sympathetic Swedes in influential positions. These included politicians, academics, and representatives of the Swedish state church. She fought for the establishment of Sami organizations, and was elected member of the first board upon the founding of the Swedish Sami National Organization in 1950. Despite her highly critical views of Swedish Sami policy, and her opposition to local Swedish decision makers, she was well respected.8 She was one of several Sami who had received an education in Swedish schools, who utilized her bilingual and bicultural skills to advance the cause of Sami people beyond the confines of paternalistic policies. Their political activism formed a bridge to a later generation of Sami representatives who actively sought international forums to build worldwide indigenous coalitions resulting in important

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Always Already Cosmopolitan  79 UN and EU legislation (Minde 2008). Patrik Lantto and Ulf Mörkenstam in their overview of Swedish Sami policy and Sami activism remark that it is vital to recognize that despite policies that ‘severely cramped’ them and forced them into a certain conception of what it meant to be Sami ‘an active Sami movement has been the prime mover in changing the dominant world-view, by challenging the traditional and well-established conception of the Sami and their culture’ (Lantto and Mörkenstam 2008, 41). Finally, it is unsettling to read Stenberg’s and Laula’s critique of the scholarship of their day, which colluded in exiling them and the people they belonged to from modernization and change. It places a great responsibility on present-day scholarship, which is no doubt as susceptible to categorize and exclude those deemed as ‘others,’ whether they be indigenous or immigrants, as that of our nineteenth-­century forebears. Eric Wolf observes that ‘it is only when we integrate our different kinds of knowledge that the people without history emerge as actors in their own right. When we parcel them out among several disciplines, we render them invisible’ (cited in Schneider 1995, 7; see also Wolf 1997). That could perhaps be paraphrased to say that when indigenous peoples, including the Sami, are parceled out as special wards among nations, they are silenced, but when integrated into a history of cosmopolitanism their agency, their involvement with, and investment in change become visible, both as a contribution and a challenge to the European project. Cosmopolitanism – as recognition of ‘how people have thought and acted beyond the local’ – needs to be recognized, as Gurminder K. Bhambra argues, ‘as the outcome of a history that was colonial and then postcolonial; a history to which Others have always contributed whether willingly or not’ (Bhambra 2011, 324). In regards to Sapmi, this may be demonstrated in two ways. Firstly, as I have argued elsewhere, Sweden became modern not despite colonial relations with the indigenous Sami people, but because of them. Swedes construed themselves as possessing traits of change and direction by attaching the opposite characteristics of stagnation and aimless wandering to the Sami (and a similar argument can be made regarding Norway and Finland) (Fur 2013; Gjengseth 2011; Lehtola, 1997). Or, as the eighteenth century Lutheran pastor Pehr Högström expressed it: ‘some foreigners have strange notions about us and our good Sweden, and not much better than we hold concerning the Lappmarks […] foreigners use it against us, while we use it against Lappland’ (Högström 1980, 11–12). Similarly, Linda Andersson Burnett demonstrates how scientific links between the United Kingdom and Sweden in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries colluded to deny Sami and other indigenous people a future and excluded them from contemporary pan-European identities (Andersson Burnett forthcoming; Andersson Burnett and Buchan forthcoming). Secondly, Sami people – leaders, custodians of history, teachers, and lay people – expressed attachment to place in the context of extensive and far reaching contacts, and recognition of historical change and desire to participate in shaping their own future as well as that of Sweden. They did so from long experience of colonial policies that first exploited their resources and livelihoods when

80  Gunlög Fur forced to contribute tributes and labor to three different kingdoms, which subsequently divided them into separate national minorities. This experience fueled both their engagement in worldwide indigenous politics and their investment in the European project (Lundmark 2008).

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Notes 1 I wish to thank Barzoo Eliassi, Peter Forsgren, Kristina Gustafsson, Johan Höglund, Linda Andersson Burnett and Gurminder Bhambra for their insightful comments on an earlier version of this text, and the Institute for Advanced Study at Warwick University for a fellowship that enabled the final writing of the text. As always, however, any shortcomings of the article are entirely my own. Funding for the research has come from the Swedish Research Council. 2 This and all other following translations are my own. 3 See ‘kosmopolit,’ and ‘kosmopolitisk’ in Svenska Akademiens Ordbok. Swedish scientists who were among the pioneers of anthropology and racial biology viewed themselves as cosmopolitan Europeans already in the eighteenth century, initiating a tradition of situating studied peoples beyond the pail of cosmopolitanism. 4 Norsk biografisk lexikon, ‘Elsa Laula Renberg’, https://nbl.snl.no/Elsa_Laula_Renberg (retrieved October 22, 2015). 5 Quotes are from the Swedish edition, in my translation. 6 See also: http://www.fulbright.no/gamle_artikler/grantee_experiences/Fulbright+ stipendiat+forsker+på+samisk+immigrasjon+til+USA+og+Canada.9UFRjS3I.ips. 7 Lappmark = the term used for the northernmost half of the Scandinavian peninsula, since the 14th century. Particularly used to refer to the land that Sami people used and inhabited. 8 M K (Karin) Stenberg, urn:sbl:20059, Svenskt biografiskt lexikon (art av Olavi ­Korhonen), accessed 2016–02–25.

References Bhambra, Gurminder K. (2011). “Cosmopolitanism and Postcolonial Critique,” in The Ashgate Companion to Cosmopolitanism, ed. by Maria Rovisco and Magdalena Nowicka (Farnham: Ashgate), 313–328. Broberg, Gunnar (1981–82). “Lappkaravaner på Villovägar: Antropologin och Synen på Samerna fram mot Sekelskiftet 1900,” Lychnos; 27–86. Burnett, Linda Andersson (forthcoming). “’The Lapland Giantess’ in Britain: Reading Concurrences in a Victorian Ethnographic Exhibition,” in Concurrences. Archives and Voices in Postcolonial Places, ed. by Diana Brydon, Peter Forsgren, and Gunlög Fur. Burnett, Linda Andersson and Bruce Buchan (forthcoming). “The Edinburgh Connection: Linnaean Natural History, Scottish Moral Philosophy and the Colonial Implications of Enlightenment Thought,” in System of Nature: A Global History of Linnaean Science in the Long Eighteenth Century, ed. by Kenneth Nyberg, Hanna Hodacs, and Stéphane Van Damme (Oxford: Voltaire Foundation). Calhoun, Craig (2003). “’Belonging’ in the cosmopolitan imaginary,” in Ethnicities vol. 3(4): 531–568. Dat läh mijen situd – En vädjan till Svenska Nationen från Samefolket, Valdemar Lindholm, Stockholm: AB Svenska Förlaget, 1920/Örnsköldsvik: Ågrens Boktryckeri, 1920. Du Chaillu, Pierre (1883). Midnattssolens land. Sommar- och vinter-resor I Sverige, Lappland, Norge och norra Finland, vol. II, translated by Hugo Gumaelius (Örebro: Lindhska bokhandeln). Erlandsson-Hammargren, Erik (2006). Från alpromantik till hembygdsromantik. Natursynen i Sverige från 1885 till 1915, speglad i Svenska Turistföreningens årsskrifter och Nils Holgerssons underbara resa genom Sverige. Lund: Gidlunds förlag.

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Always Already Cosmopolitan  81 Forsgren, Peter (2015). Norrland som Koloni och Utopi. Olof Högbergs Den stora vreden, Ludvig Nordströms Petter Svensks historia och berättelsen om Sverige. (Göteborg: Makadam). Fur, Gunlög (2013). “TIllhör samerna den svenska historien?” in Samer. Om Nordmalingdomen och om ett urfolks rättigheter och identitet, ed. by Bo Andersson, Bo Claesson, Karl Larsson, and Rolf Sjölin (Borås: Recito förlag), 169–183. Gjengset, Gunnar Hauk (2011). Matti Aikio – verk og virke (Umeå: Diss.). Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich (2001). The Philosophy of History [1837], trans. J. Sibree, (Kitchener: Batoche Books). Högström, Pehr (1980). Beskrifning öfwer Sweriges Lapmarker 1747 [facsimile] (Umeå: Norrländska skrifter 3). Johansson, Peter (2008). Samerna – ett ursprungsfolk eller en minoritet? En studie av svensk samepolitik 1986–2005 (Göteborg: Globala studier). Lantto, Patrik (2000). Tiden börjar på nytt. En analys av samernas etnopolitiska mobilisering i Sverige 1900–1950. (Umeå: Kulturens frontlinjer). Lantto, Patrik (2008). “Ursprungliga men ändå främmande: utbildningsfrågor, samer och införandet av renskötsel i Kanada.” In Människor i norr: samisk forskning på nya vägar, 483–508. Lantto, Patrik and Ulf Mörkenstam (2008). “Sami Rights and Sami Challenges: The Modernization Process and the Swedish Sami Movement, 1886–2006,” Scandinavian Journal of History, vol. 33, no. 1 (March): 26–51. Laula, Elsa (2003). Inför Lif Eller Död? Sanningsord i de Lappska Förhållandena. (Östersund: Gaaltije, [facsimile]). Lehtola, Veli-Pekka (1997). “A lower culture, a people with no history? The image of the Saami in the nationalist Finland of the 1920’s and 1930’s,” in Stat, religion, etnisitet, ed. by Bjørn-Petter Finstad, Lars Ivar Hansen, Henry Minde, Einar Niemi, Hallvard Tjelmeland (Romsa/Tromsø: Sámi dutkamiid guovddásˇ/Senter for samiske studier), 269–275. Lundmark, Lennart (2002). “Lappen är ombytlig, ostadig och obekväm …” Svenska statens samepolitik i rasismens tidevarv (Umeå: Norrlands universitetsförlag). Lundmark, Lennart (2006). Samernas skatteland (Stockholm: Institutet för Rättshistorisk Forskning,). Lundmark, Lennart (2008). Stulet land. Svensk makt på samisk mark (Stockholm: Ordfront). Minde, Henry (2008). “The Destination and the Journey: Indigenous Peoples and the United Nations from the 1960s through 1985,” in Indigenous Peoples. Self-­Determination, Knowledge, Indigeneity, ed. by Henry Minde (Delft: Eburon), 49–86. Nilsson, Sven (1868). The Primitive Inhabitants of Scandinavia. Ed. and translated by Sir John Lubbock (London: Longmans). Nordblad, Julia (2013). Jämlikhetens villkor. Demos, imperium och pedagogik i Bretagne, Tunisien, Tornedalen och Lappmarken, 1880–1925 (Göteborg: Diss.). Schneider, Jane (1995). “Introduction: The Analytic Strategies of Eric R. Wolf” in Schneider, Jane and Rayna Rapp (eds). Articulating Hidden Histories: Exploring the Influence of Eric R. Wolf. (Berkeley, University of California Press, pp. 3–30). Silvén, Eva (2014). “Constructing a Sami heritage: essentialism and emancipation,” Ethnologia Scandinavica: 59–74. Silvén, Eva (forthcoming). Friktion. Ernst Manker, Nordiska museet och det samiska kulturarvet. Wolf, Eric R. (1997). Europe and the People Without History (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press). Wuolab, Anne (2007). “Forfatteren Elsa Laula og boka Inför lif eller död?” in Åarjel-­ saemieh. Samer i sør. Årbok nr. 9, ed. by Britt Inger Stenfjell (Snåsa: Saemien Sijte), 67–78.

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6 The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy and European Cosmopolitanism M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado

“Sizilien deutet mir nach Asien und Afrika, und auf dem wundersamen Punkte, wohin so viele Radien der Weltgeschichte gerichtet sind, selbst zu stehen, ist keine Kleinigkeit.” [‘Sicily takes me towards Asia and Africa, and to be at that wonderous epicentre where so many threads of world history converge, would be no small matter for me.’ Goethe, Letter of 26 March 1787]

The elites of early-modern Europe would have understood Goethe’s response to Sicily. Steeped as they were in the great works of Greek and Roman culture, ­Sicily was a living memory of those ancient, brilliant civilisations stretching across Europe, Africa and Asia. The revival of this classical heritage was a key characteristic of Renaissance culture and would be again in Goethe’s day, which we celebrate as the start of Europe’s Enlightenment. Familiarity with these vast empires gave them a global vision which the increasing popularity of maps, atlases and long-distance travel reinforced. Fragments of this reached those without substantial means or formal education through popular tales and published materials. In any case, Europeans of all stripes had a broad vision of the world inculcated into them from birth as a result of belonging to one of three universalist religions: Christianity, Judaism and Islam. Their sacred texts originated in lands beyond Europe, whence many of their principal figures were born or had lived. This alone gave them a sense of belonging to a wider world. Christianity and Islam inspired and justified global expansion in the early-modern world. While Islamic states expanded into Europe, Africa and Asia, from the fifteenth century Christian European sovereigns conquered and settled lands scattered over several continents, including two, America and Australia, which had been unknown to the revered Ancients. News and tales of the almost unbelievable variety of peoples, landscapes, flora and fauna to be found beyond Europe were widely circulated. This chapter will focus on the Christian polity which Sicily, once part of flourishing Greek, Roman and Muslim states, had joined in 1282. The Aragonese kingdom, like most European states before the nineteenth century, was composed of multiple, uneven and scattered states, with diverse cultures, religions, histories and languages. States that had been inherited, conquered or aggregated by other

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  83 means. In 1469 it had united with a similar polity, the kingdom of Castile, when their respective monarchs, Fernando and Isabel, married. Their combined possessions are often referred to as the Spanish Monarchy. Since ‘European Cosmopolitanism’ exists for most people as an ill-defined concept associated with breadth of vision, embracing contact with the world beyond, and the acceptance of diversity and toleration within Europe, this study will consider the impact of expansion into non-European lands and explore issues of inclusion and exclusion. It will also address the issue of why, by Goethe’s day, Europe was thought of as the epicentre of world history and culture, and indeed of world politics and economics. In other words, how had cosmopolitanism become European cosmopolitanism?

Defining and Naming: ‘European Cosmopolitanism’ and ‘The Spanish Monarchy’ On one level, the term European Cosmopolitanism is an oxymoron. Cosmopolitan derives from the ancient Greek words for ‘world’ and ‘citizen’; adding the tag ‘European’ subsumes the world under a single continent, and might appear a prime example of eurocentrism. Yet this was how Greeks and Romans used ‘cosmopolitan’ - to describe the areas belonging to their civilisation throughout the known world. It was in its classical context and mostly in specific Greek or Roman setting that the term, along with others such as ‘empire’ and ‘colony’, were used in early-modern Europe. The title of Emperor remained in use and was the most prestigious in Christendom, even when it bore little relation to the power wielded by its holder. In the sixteenth century the Sunni Muslim Ottoman sultans incorporated it to their titles, claiming to be the true heirs of the Roman empire. Titles were important symbols in the early-modern period. The combined states of Fernando and Isabel had no collective name beyond ‘the lands’ or ‘the territories’ of the monarchs, whom contemporaries increasingly identified by the honorific title the pope later bestowed on them, The Catholic Monarchs. As they also ruled over large numbers of Jewish and Muslim subjects, this was not entirely appropriate. In 1516 Charles V, as he was later known, became the ruler of Castile and Aragon. He was already lord of the Low Countries (which covered much of modern-day Belgium, Holland and parts of eastern France) and in 1519 he inherited several Austrian duchies and was elected Holy Roman Emperor, acquiring power over large areas of German and North Italian lands. When in the 1950s advocates of a united Europe were casting about for suitable historical models, they thought he was an ideal figure and some called him ‘The Father of Europe’. However, historical commentators highlighted his aggression towards fellow Christian European rulers as undermining his credentials. In 1527 Charles V gave his heir the title Prince of Spain and subsequently Philip II was frequently referred to as king of Spain. But Spain did not exist as a legal or political entity; only as a historical entity, Hispania, dating back to Roman times and covering the whole Iberian Peninsula, and it was not until 1581 that Philip II conquered Portugal and could claim to rule over the entire area. He was also sovereign of large parts of Italy, the Low Countries, and swathes of Africa, America and Asia so the title

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84  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado King of Spain was still inappropriate. In the early seventeenth century the term Spanish Monarchy came into use - a combination of monarchia, which meant world monarchy, and Spain, which now dominated this global polity. It was never official, but it is still used now as then largely for convenience. A few contemporaries and many historians since referred to the entire polity as an empire, but not the monarchs, who refused to assume the title emperor out of respect for their close relatives who became Holy Roman Emperors after Charles V (Elliott, 2006: 119, 122, 138; Rodríguez-Salgado, 1998). The sovereigns generally used set formulae which included their most important titles – mostly lands they ruled, but some honorific or to which they had dynastic rights. The 1543 ordinances for the American lands (Leyes, 1543) are a good example: Kings of Castile, Leon, Aragon, the Two Sicilies (Sicily and Naples), ­Jerusalem, Navarre, Granada, Toledo, Valencia, Galicia, the islands of ­Mallorca, Seville, Sardinia, Cordoba, Corsica, Murcia, Jaen, the Algarves, Algecira, Gibraltar, the Canary islands, the Indies and islands and lands of the Ocean Sea, Counts ­ oussillon and Cerdagne, of Barcelona, lords of Athens and Neopatria, of R ­Marquises of Oristan and Sociano, Archdukes of Austria, Dukes of Burgundy and Brabant, Counts of Flanders and Tyrol, etc. After 1581 Portugal and its overseas lands were added. Official documents in each of the polities they ruled often included titles associated with that state alone, such as these in Portuguese documents (Ribeiro da Silva, 2000, e.g. vol. I: 49–50, vol. II: 509) King of Portugal and the Algarves on both sides of the Sea in Africa, lord of Guinea and of the conquest and navigation and commerce of Ethiopia, Arabia, Persia, India, etc. Titles were arranged in a hierarchical order determined mainly by tradition and by the status of the title and state when it was aggregated, and only partially and imperfectly reflected the importance of the individual polities.

The Essence of Early-Modern Government: Diversity, Cooperation, Negotiation The refusal of the kings of Castile and Aragon and their successors to adopt an over-arching title was an assertion of their belief that each constituent part had a right to remain a separate entity within this corpus mysticum over which they ruled. Whether a state had been incorporated through inheritance, aggregation or conquest – to name but the most frequent forms – it had a right to retain its distinct identity and have an independent relationship with the sovereign. Of course, every state had to adapt to the new circumstances, and the whole was in turn changed by each incorporation. Broadly speaking, lands conquered or pacified after revolts were more likely to experience greater alteration in their government, and cede

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  85 greater power to the monarch. Inherited lands or those that willingly transferred allegiance – Sicily was a case in point –were more likely to retain or be granted greater autonomy. Consequently, even in Iberia, each polity retained its own frontiers, laws, customs, languages, weights and measures, etc. Patterns of inheritance varied, as did the powers of nobles, representative assemblies and corporative institutions such as urban governments. Ecclesiastical jurisdictions seldom coincided with political, cultural or linguistic boundaries, exacerbating political and social diversity. Diversity and plurality were the most salient characteristics of this extensive, nameless state. The monarch was the only common element and his or her power was theoretically absolute. In practice government was based on cooperation with secular and ecclesiastical elites and corporate institutions. Notwithstanding myths of Spanish absolutism, until the eighteenth century at least contractualist doctrines prevailed. Expressed in such formulae as: ‘I will obey but not comply’, Castilians and ­Aragonese saw themselves as subjects or citizens not vassals, and exercised their right to protect themselves from mandates that endangered their lives or possessions without compromising their duty of obedience and loyalty. These fundamental theories conditioned how the monarchs governed non-Iberian lands (Elliott, 2006 ch.5; Valladares, 2012: 125ff; Mazín and Ruiz Ibáñez, 2012; Gil Pujol, 2012). The theory reflected reality: early modern monarchs had limited coercive powers. There were only small, defensive standing forces; funding was irregular and transport infrastructure limited. In any case, coercion was regarded as an inferior form of authority. In the case of a state composed of distinct and sometimes distant polities, devolution of power was imperative yet ruling in absentia was legally impossible. To square the circle, they created an alter ego or alter reges in major polities when or where they were absent, usually in the form of viceroys or governors. These officials had to be invested with full sovereign authority in law since sovereignty could not be divided, but through secret instructions, restrictions were applied. This enabled them to maintain the fiction that the monarch was present in each. Nevertheless, where the monarch did not reside there was a gradual loss of royal authority to the benefit of local elites and representative assemblies (Rivero Rodríguez, 2011; Rodríguez-Salgado, 2010; Koenigsberger, 1951). Koenigsberger’s research into the government of sixteenth-century Sicily (1951) demonstrated unequivocally that neither the king nor his officials had a ‘theory of empire’; indeed, in his view they were not ‘emotionally nor intellectually prepared’ to undertake their ‘imperial obligations’. Koenigsberger argued that contrary to enduring myths, Sicilians had been loyal to their absent sovereign, largely because he allowed them a wide measure of autonomy. The ruler’s primary aim was to maintain order and provide security, and to achieve this he (and the Viceroys to whom he devolved authority) repeatedly gave in to the demands of the Sicilian Parliament and local aristocracy, even on taxation and the Inquisition. Government was a matter of constant negotiation with local elites. Attempts by the monarch to reform and improve the government, to reduce corruption and make taxes more equitable, were repeatedly blocked by the Sicilian elites who controlled and benefited from the system. It was Koenigsberger and Elliott,

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86  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado working on different parts of the Spanish Monarchy who coined the useful term ‘composite monarchies’ in the early 1970s (Elliott, 1992; Rodríguez-Salgado, 2015: 312–4, 323–4) and greatly advanced our understanding of the complex, mixed and diverse polities that characterised all early-modern European states and the Spanish Monarchy in particular. This has not prevented authors such as Schmidt (2001 cits.: 91) from maintaining that ‘the Spanish employed an idiom of conquest’ and had ‘a theory of empire predicated on the absolutist practices perfected in the Indies’, which they sought to impose on the Dutch. The attachment to traditional models of ‘empire’ and ‘colony’ are particularly strong in the context of the Americas, where belief in their exceptionalism endures. Although Octavio Paz (1982: esp. 23–41) found much the same conditions in Mexico as Koenigsberger had in Sicily, he concluded that Mexico was an anomaly and argued that the result of the delegation of power by the monarch and the power-sharing between viceroy and various local elites had turned Mexico into a polity without a state, unable to progress towards ‘modernity’, which for him equates with centralisation and equality before the law. It is clear that even when scholars accept that early-modern government was consensual, they are sometimes hampered by their inability to shed current visions of government and colonial relationships. The belief that a centralised, bureaucratic state is the ultimate manifestation of effective government has led many to assume that this was what rulers aimed to achieve. In the case of the Spanish Monarchy a proper understanding of its long and remarkable history has been affected by a sustained campaign of hostile propaganda usually referred to as the Black Legend, which intensified in the sixteenth century and continued until the ­twentieth, making Spain synonymous with absolutism, obscurantism and repression. The violent conquest of the Americas played a key role in this, with examples of brutality there being used to persuade European peoples that ‘the Spaniards’ planned to do the same to them. Illegal attacks against Spanish shipping and overseas territories were justified on the grounds that the aggressors were liberating people from alien rule and stifling political and religious orthodoxy. These arguments were also used by states in Italy and the Americas seeking independence from the ­Monarchy in the nineteenth century (Powell, 1971; Maltby, 1971; ­Arnoldsson, 1960; Schmidt, 2001; García Carcel, 2013). Having achieved it, they blamed every problem, from economic backwardness to political corruption and racial tensions, on the legacy of ‘Spanish domination’ to their own detriment, since it prevented them from accurately diagnosing the true roots of their difficulties (Pagden, 1990: chapters 2–6). By then many Spaniards believed that their own internal problems and low international standing stemmed from the failure of Spain to develop its own national identity due to its tradition of cultural and linguistic diversity and regional separatism (García Carcel, 2012: 59–63). Recent studies have demolished the widespread belief in American singularity (Rivero Rodríguez, 2011: 9–29) and comparative and collaborative international research in excellent collections such as those of Álvarez-Osorio Alvariño and García García (2004); Mazín and Ruiz Ibáñez (2010), Ruiz Ibáñez (2013), Cardim et al (2014) has clearly demonstrated that whether in Iberia, other parts of Europe,

The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  87

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North Africa, Asia or America, the Spanish Monarchy acquired lands by similar methods, ranging from peaceful incorporation to violent conquest, and applied the same theories of government, with similar processes of cooperation and constant negotiation. Yet, as Mazín and Ruiz Ibáñez (2010: 7–40) have emphasised, despite being subject to the same political and religious ideals every part was different, because these were adapted to meet ‘singular realities’; in other words, they were adapted to particular, often unique conditions.

Expansion into North Africa and the Americas Expansion outside Europe was the result of partnerships between the sovereigns and private enterprise. The model used in the long wars between Christians and Muslims in Iberia was applied by Isabel of Castile when agreeing to ­Columbus’ expedition to America in 1492, and by Isabel and her husband, Fernando of Aragon, when launching expeditions to conquer Mediterranean islands and North Africa. A contract was drawn up between the crown and the promoters, which included financial investors and those executing the enterprise. It stipulated that the crown would have sovereign rights over all conquered lands. The titles, power and rewards accorded to enterprisers varied, taking into account factors such as the level of risk, the estimated importance of the potential conquest, the status of the proposers and the level of investment by the crown. Columbus was among those who negotiated a title of nobility. In his case he was also given the title of viceroy with extensive powers over any lands he conquered, based on the model imposed in Sicily in 1413. North African campaigns were seen as a natural progression from the wars against Muslims in Iberia and were mostly led by high-ranking lay and ecclesiastical aristocrats (Alonso Acero, 2005). The fear of creating overmighty subjects with estates on both sides of the Straights of Gibraltar was one reason why the crown had a greater involvement in these expeditions. Another was their view of North Africa as a bulwark for security and a potential launchpad for a new Muslim invasion. The expeditions to North Africa encountered substantial, organised resistance from well-established states that could also call on the Ottoman empire to fight Christians. Consequently, the Monarchy could only establish control over a number of ports that were immediately fortified and could be reinforced and supplied from nearby European possessions. The Maghrebian territories were thus locked in a symbiotic relationship with the Monarchy’s European lands, but they still depended on the hinterland for provisions and defence, and so the governors of these Maghrebian presidios (as they were called) had to intervene constantly in local politics, making alliances with Muslim tribes and states and as a quid pro quo often joining them in their wars on others. Relations were facilitated by long traditions of cross-Mediterranean, inter-faith diplomacy and the recognition of North African states as legitimate and comparable to Christian European ones (García-Arenal and Bunes, 1992; Braudel, 1972, vol. 2; Hess, 1978; Alonso Acero. 2000). Even rulers of small states were addressed as kings. The difficulties and cost of maintaining the presidios deterred Iberian elites from going into partnership

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88  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado with the crown on further expeditions, preferring to act as officials. The duke of Medinaceli was the last magnate to hold lands there but he handed them over in the mid sixteenth century. The crown had never intended to take the full cost of expanding and holding the region but was forced to do so as the presidios were thought essential for defending Iberian and Italian lands (Rodríguez-­Salgado, 1988: 253–4, 273). A similar system of presidios financed by the crown was later created to secure the borders of the American territories (Elliott, 2006: 61–2). From the mid-sixteenth century the burden of maintaining the North African presidios fell almost entirely on Castile and their social, political and religious structures became predominantly Castilian. Yet they differed from Castile and the rest of the Monarchy in one significant respect: a substantial sector of the population was Jewish and there were also Muslim minorities. Since most of the ports conquered in the Maghreb had been populated by Iberian exiles – Jewish and Muslim - they were expelled for security reasons and Christians invited to settle in their stead. Besides an immediate and serious shortfall in their population, this posed insuperable problems since the previous inhabitants alone knew the extent of the city’s boundaries, the areas for provisioning, what taxes were due and so on. Being in Muslim terrain, it was decided to allow some Iberian Jewish exiles to reside in the presidios and to restrict Muslim access to daylight hours. N ­ umbers of Jews increased rapidly, particularly in Oran, and all presidios accepted numbers of allied Muslims long after these groups had been expelled from the rest of the ­Monarchy. Leading Jewish scholars and businessmen from these presidios provided vital scholarly and economic links between the Christian and Muslim worlds for almost two centuries (Schaub, 1999; Beatriz Alonso, 2000; García Arenal and Wiegers, 2003). The combination of Christian settlements and O ­ ttoman expansion dragged North Africa into the maelstrom of international politics, prompting an almost insatiable demand for information that kept the Christian printing presses and copiers busy. Expansion in the Americas depended far more on private initiative than in North Africa but here too, the crown found itself inexorably drawn to take on direct rule. Many expeditions were carried out by young, landless adventurers whose success was facilitated, particularly at the outset, by the weakness of the indigenous populations, and by the willingness of indigenous groups to ally with them. The limited initial involvement of the crown encouraged these explorers and conquerors to regard themselves as the true owners of these American lands, and tensions arose when the crown asserted its rights of ownership, demanded taxation and attempted to control them, chiefly to protect vulnerable Indian subjects. Settlers rebelled in protest at what they considered the limited rewards from the monarchs (Kamen, 2003: 87, 95–6, 105–108, 129, 350). The asymmetry between the power of the conquerors and the Caribbean tribes that Columbus encountered, combined with his inability to control his followers, led to extreme levels of violence and disorder which prompted the crown to abolish his viceroyalty in 1499 and send out royal officials to impose order. It was their duty to protect all subjects and, particularly once the pope confirmed their sovereignty in exchange for ­Christianising the region, they had to ensure the safety of missions.

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  89 The region presented them with ‘a totally new phenomenon, quite outside the range of Europe’s accumulated experience and of its normal expectation’ (Elliott, 1972: 8) and endless, inconclusive discussions as to how best to govern went on for years. The first Audiencia, or High Court, was set up in 1511 – Audiencias had played a key role in restoring order in war-torn Castile. Before the end of the century there were ten of them in the American lands (Elliott, 2006: 123). Some members of the royal council attendant on the monarch were soon designated to meet separately to deal with the affairs of ‘the Indies’ and this evolved into a separate, specialist organ of government, the Council of the Indies. It was one of the most significant adaptations at the court to meet the new challenges and its usefulness prompted the creation later of similar Councils to govern Aragon, Italy, the Low Countries and Portugal. Unlike other areas, it was initially impossible to expand in America by adapting and working through existing structures as the indigenous populations did not have recognisably ‘civilised’ political, social or military structures. Some settlers believed that the indigenous populations were either not human or sub-human, although the crown declared them humans who had not yet developed into fully civilised beings and, as Kamen (2002) stressed, the conquest could not have succeeded without indigenous support. It consisted of a series of pacts with autochthonous populations (Mazín and Ruiz Ibáñez, 2012: 26). The crown encouraged the creation of urban clusters, considered safer and more likely to embed ‘civilisation’, and these mainly followed Castilian models. The conquests of Mexico and Peru in 1520s and 1530s brought them into contact with civilised polities that some compared to Rome, and there, most existing political, social and economic structures were preserved. Intermarriage and the mutual learning of each other’s languages was encouraged to hasten conversion to Christianity and the incorporation of these regions (Elliott, 2006: 81–4). The emphasis on the need to civilise the Americas had an impact on North Africa, where expansion had been chiefly justified on grounds of security and religion (Rodríguez-Salgado 1998: 240–3). Gradually, layers of government were added in America, in tandem with reforms elsewhere in the Monarchy: ordinances for Mexico were drafted in 1528–9 along with those for Aragon, which they closely resembled; the viceroyalty of New Spain was created in 1535 as changes were made to the viceroyalty of Naples. Experiences in both these areas determined the structure of the viceroyalty of Peru created in 1542. Other examples can easily be found to illustrate the symbiosis (Rivero Rodríguez, 2011). However, in the absence of consensus, the American lands continued, as they had begun, as an integral part of the Castilian realm; an ‘accessory’ rather than an equal state (Elliott, 2006: 121), although quite how this affected their status was unclear. The absence of American deputies in the representative assembly (the Cortes) of Castile has been used as evidence that they were treated as ‘colonies’, particularly as it was interpreted by some commentators as proof that the king’s authority over them was absolute (Cardim, 2014). After 1538 the sole component of the Cortes was a chamber of plenipotentiaries from a handful of cities known as ‘cabeza(s) del reino’, literally, heads of the kingdom – a sort of capital

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90  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado of the polity that had been aggregated. By the sixteenth century several major cities in Iberia demanded representation on grounds of size, wealth and importance, but the crown refused to accept these criteria. Instead, it recognised Mexico in 1530 as head of a kingdom with the right to send plenipotentiaries, following the model used for the incorporation of Murcia after its conquest from the Muslims. Lima and the two other viceroyalties obtained the same privileges later. All chose not to exercise this right, and refused to obey when Philip IV ordered them to send delegates to the Cortes in the 1620s (Cardim, 2014). In part this was because despite its many shortcomings, the government of the Catholic Monarchs was meeting the needs and expectations of American elites, who were predominantly European or mixed-race. They enjoyed considerable local autonomy, including the right to hold assemblies to determine common affairs. Almost all government officials were selected ‘locally’, with input from viceroys, governors, Audiencias, and other civil and clerical elites (Calvo, 2012: 442). More to the point, although they were taxed, the American lands were exempt from most of the subsidies levied on the Iberian Castilian states, which became the most heavily burdened area of the Monarchy with serious consequences for their economy and society (Yun, 2004). By taking their seats in the Cortes, the American elites would have had to pay these taxes. In any case, by the 1620s the Council of the Indies attendant on the king thought that the existing system, though complex, worked well enough and distributed power widely. If the Americas sent deputies to the Cortes power would soon be channelled through a narrow, urban elite, excluding groups who now gained from cooperation with the crown. They also opposed demands from ‘native Americans’ for one or two permanent posts in the Council of the Indies. The councils of Aragon, Italy, Portugal and the Low Countries all had reserved positions for ‘natives’. But unlike them, America was an indivisible part of Castile and under Castilian law, and given the greatness and diversity of the American territories, the Council argued that they could not be represented by only two officials. If all the major polities of the Americas were given representation in the Council, it would become unwieldly and unworkable (Mazín Gómez, 2014: 30–1, 34–5, 37, 39–40). As noted, being an indivisible part of Castile meant that the Americas were under its general laws and privileges (Mazín Gómez, 2014: 27, 35–6), but here, as elsewhere, this was compatible with the survival of local laws and traditions. Early ordinances for New Spain (Mexico) emphasised the pre-eminence of Indian laws over the general laws of Castile where a conflict arose (Calvo, 2012: 433–4). Unrest in Peru was partly attributed to the failure of governors to observe the privileges (fueros) of the Indians (Gil Pujol, 2012: 79). Even in less developed regions, local laws and traditions were upheld if they facilitated government. The continuation of violence and oppression prompted Charles V to issue a new legal code for the Americas in 1543 which outlined the main duties and rights of the crown, the indigenous populations and the settlers, and attempted to limit the power of the latter. Conquerors and settlers rebelled and the ordinances were withdrawn, but in 1573 Philip II issued new ordinances and enforced them. Reiterating that Castile and America were one realm, the laws had the stated aim of making

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  91 the law and government of both as compatible and similar as possible. The primary aim, however, was to ‘pacify’ the regions that had been settled. The duties and rights of governors and governed were clearly set out and missionary activity facilitated. The term conquest was dropped and while further exploration was not banned, it was so strictly controlled that it all but halted. To improve government and facilitate incorporation, Philip II gathered vast quantities of data on the region, from botany to law, languages and culture and incorporated the Americas into the symbolic representation of the Monarchy. He adopted the more specific title ‘King of the Eastern and Western Indies, Islands and continental lands of the Ocean Sea’ (Schmidt, 2004). By then disillusionment with overseas expansion had set in (Elliott, 1989: 24–6, 50–1; Pagden, 1995). As Kamen highlighted (2003), despite immense efforts conversion to Christianity and the spread of ‘civilisation’ had made limited progress. Large areas remained outside crown control and with effective models of resistance as well as practical support, others were encouraged to reject Castilian rule. Increasingly desperate tactics were used to improve security, including mass movement of Indian populations that settled converts and allies in newly conquered areas and around urban zones. As more indigenous peoples adopted European military techniques and technology they started to retake territory (Ruiz Guadalajara, 2013). America provided extraordinary riches and was a byword for the rapid acquisition of wealth, but the cost of settlement was increasingly evident, not least as the area was now under sustained military and commercial attack from European rivals. After the acquisition of Portugal and its vast overseas territories in 1581 the problems of governing so many lands increased exponentially (Parker, 1995). There was growing concern that vital resources were being drawn away from where they were most needed, namely within Iberia. Insufficient clergy were left to educate and convert ‘our own Indies’ (las Indias interiores; Contreras:2000, cit. 326). One commentator described all the territories outside Iberia as ‘a natural cancer in the body of Spain’ (cit. Pagden, 1995: 320). Disillusionment was so widespread that when Pedro Fernandes de Queirós landed in what he called Australia del Espíritu Santo- after the House of Austria to which the Catholic ­Monarchs belonged, and the Holy Spirit to whom he had commended himself – in 1606 the monarch and his advisers refused to claim and settle it on the grounds that they could not take on further commitments. Not even what was described as a vast, fertile, populated land; a veritable paradise. There was no question of abandoning less productive areas to release resources for it - the monarch owed it to God to rule the lands and subjects he inherited or accepted as well as he could. To counter what he saw as defeatism in Iberia, Queiros published various memoranda with full details of Australia (Torres de Mendoza, vol. V, 1886) and created what Ettinghausen (2015, 90–1, 277–281) described as an ‘astonishing international media impact’ (91). He failed, but the British would make good use of his information later. Black Africans became both victims and beneficiaries of the tension between Europeans and Indians in America. Ostensibly excluded from the social map, as Pagden (1987: 69) pointed out, often it was not them but ‘the Indian who occupied the lowest position’. Black slaves were considered superior to indigenous

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92  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado peoples for certain forms of hard labour and were seen by some as an effective way to protect indigenous populations from exploitation. There were no legal restrictions on how slaves were treated, and many black Africans undoubtedly endured appalling, inhuman treatment. Others benefitted from the fact that they were considered more trustworthy and malleable than Indians. They were soon the preferred labour for domestic and other duties that entailed close proximity to settlers, and were even included in the armed forces. Given the small numbers of Europeans and devastating mortality among indigenous peoples, black Africans and their descendants became the most numerous segment of the population in many settlements. Without ties to the locality or the pull of local customs and religion, they adapted more easily to the language, customs and faith of their European masters. Those who were freed or escaped integrated into the dominant European/creole culture. Inter-racial marriages were common and black people have been shown to have made more use of America’s civic and ecclesiastical courts than indigenous people (Kamen, 2003: 135–40, 352–6, 492). Some, such as the bandit leader Don Francisco de la Robe, the son of a black African slave and a Nicaraguan Indian, were even raised to the ranks of nobility. Unable to defeat the bandits, the viceroy of Peru and Audiencia of Quito persuaded them to accept Castilian sovereignty and lay down their arms in exchange for the right to remain and elect the next governor of the region. They were given Christian names and also costly, aristocratic clothes which the then governor de la Robe and two of his sons wore for a magnificent portrait painted by a mixed-race artist in Quito in 1599 which was sent to the king. Even here, however, they would not part from their symbols of power and status: simple spears, sharks’ teeth collars, and large gold decorations that pierced their faces (Los siglos de oro, 1999: 170–2). The assimilation of black Africans into American society had an impact on attitudes in Iberia. In the 1500s many considered them akin to animals or sub-human; by 1611 a Castilian proverb stated: ‘We may be black, but we are people’ (Aunque negros, gente somos), which meant that ‘no one should be despised, however humble or lowly’ (Covarrubias 1611/1995: 75). Gradually, and much later, social distinctions in the Americas became more closely associated with colour, and all those with pale(r) or white complexions were referred to as ‘españoles’, irrespective of ethnic, geographical, cultural or other origins (Pagden, 1987 especially 79–80).

Accommodation, Assimilation, Expulsion of Minorities Convinced of the inestimable benefits of their superior civilisation and Christian salvation, Iberians expected rapid and full acculturation of indigenous peoples, especially elites, as can be seen in a painting depicting three marriages between the imperial Inca family and the noble Iberian houses of Loyola and Borja. The Inca emperor and his court in full Aztec splendour watch his daughter, already dressed in a mixture of Inca and Castilian robes, marrying Don Martin de ­Loyola who is in courtly attire. The daughter of this mixed marriage was raised in ­Castile and is depicted marrying a Borja, both now in aristocratic Iberian garb, as are the third couple who are being blessed by a Catholic bishop whose robes are as

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  93 impressive as those of the Inca emperor on the opposite side of the painting (Los siglos de oro, 1999: 186–7). This was not how things turned out. The rapid increase of the mixed-race population and the growing divide with Iberian culture led to the emergence of a distinct ‘American’ identity which recovered or affirmed their roots in both cultures, and which acculturated but indigenous elites could feel a part of (Pagden, e.g. 1987; 1990 chapter 4). Many of their portraits include both Indian and Castilian symbols of wealth and power and different styles of clothing (Los siglos de oro, 1999: 188–191). Where contemporaries saw difference, historians have tended to emphasise the imposition of alien customs and structures and drive towards homogenisation. In the Americas recent arrivals from Iberia (peninsulares) were clearly distinguished at first but could not succeed or survive unless they adapted. By the nineteenth century the mixture of races and cultures that characterised the Hispanic Americas made would-be nation builders despair. Bolivar’s failure to create an independent nation in 1829 was blamed by one of his adherents on this ‘horrible mixture of Blacks, mulattos, plainsmen [llaneros], and creoles’ whom he considered only one step removed from ‘slavery and barbarity’. This was contrasted to ‘the societies of Europe’ organised in ‘states’, with ‘the same blood, the same language, the same customs, a common heritage of grandeur and of talent, an advanced civilization’ (Paden, 1990: cit.148). Diversity in the Americas was in keeping with the cultural, religious and racial mix of Iberia in the early-modern period, but here the trend was turning against religious diversity – not least as it was derided by other Christian states as a weakness. Tensions and violence between Christians and Jews had led to mass conversions of Jews to Christianity in Castile and Aragon from the 1390s. This changed not only their faith but their status, giving them political, social and economic equality with existing Christians and many converts assimilated fully, while others were firmly embedded in both Christian and Jewish societies. The pragmatic advantages of conversion made many Christians believe that it was not real but feigned, and that the now indistinct, assimilated ‘Jews’ would corrupt Christian faith and morality from within. Some considered Jews a race apart and so feared for racial purity. These fears and tensions account for the emergence of new forms of differentiation which attached names such as ‘converso’ to those who left Judaism for Christianity, and referred to existing Christians as ‘natural’ or ‘old’ Christians. To allay fears and reduce conflict, Fernando and Isabel created a special force, the Spanish Inquisition, to investigate and root out false converts, and educate those who had only imperfectly absorbed Christianity. The problem then - as now- is that there is no effective test for belief; for what is in our minds if we choose to hide it. Even torture does not guarantee genuine confession. So the Inquisition did what we still do: to rely on external criteria and mass participation. In this way, cultural integration and acceptance by the dominant group became inseparable from religious conversion. Where people lived, how they dressed, what their eating habits were, who they socialised with, what days they worked, and even their washing habits and music were seen as indications of religious allegiance, and the Inquisitors (who were few in number) made it a duty of all subjects to denounce infractions. The Inquisitors also persuaded the monarchs that

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94  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado converts from Judaism would never integrate fully while exposed to Jewish faith and culture, and it was in pursuit of this goal that Iberian Jews were expelled in 1492 (Pérez Villanueva and Escandell Bonet, I, 1984; Kamen, 1997). Muslim converts to Christianity were few and did not arouse such fears at first. Hispano Muslims continued to live under Christian rule even after the conquest of the last independent Muslim state, Granada, in 1492. After two serious ­Muslim rebellions in Granada in 1499 and 1501 the monarchs ordered all Hispano ­Muslims there to choose between conversion to Christianity or exile. Most stayed and were now legally Christians but distinguished by the name Morisco. Muslims elsewhere were unaffected until 1526 when another rebellion prompted Charles V to demand the conversion or exile of all remaining Hispano Muslims. The experience with Jewish converts prompted the addition of significant requirements: Moriscos must now abandon many of their customs, including the use of distinctive clothing, musical instruments and festivities, culinary and bathing habits, down to the application of henna in women’s hair and whether they locked their doors. They were ordered to adopt the (diverse) Christian clothing and language of their areas. Given the enormity of the task the monarch allowed them a period of grace of twenty years to make these changes and learn Christianity, during which the Inquisition would not be able to persecute them. In 1546 they negotiated a further twenty–year moratorium (García-Arenal, 1975). The church was deeply divided on how best to deal with the situation. Some, such as the first archbishop of Granada, advocated peaceful and respectful measures to be carried out by priests educated in the culture and language of those they had to Christianise. Others, such as the second archbishop of Granada, argued that Hispano-Muslims had made a free choice and the use of force was justified, particularly if they did not convert rapidly and fully. The founder of the Society of Jesus, Ignatius de Loyola, was from Navarre, which had been incorporated into Castile in 1512, and grew up in a world where Christians, Muslims and Jews, cohabited. His wish to become a missionary to convert Muslims in the Holy Land was thwarted, but in 1550 he was persuaded to support the plans of the viceroy of Sicily to expand into nearby North Africa, still regarded as a stepping stone for a campaign to reconquer Jerusalem. After the port of Mahdia was taken Loyola declared this the most important mission for the Jesuits and set out to create colleges in Malta and Sicily to prepare them, including classes of Arabic and instruction in the customs and history of the region. He encouraged Moriscos to join, considering them useful linguistic and cultural intermediaries. Charles V soon put an end to this initiative, diverting his resources to another war in Christian Europe, but the model for future Jesuit missions was set (Colombo, 2014). The first Jesuit mission in Peru was co-led by Blas Valera, the son of a conquistador and an Inca noblewoman, who taught fellow Jesuits Quechua and Aymara and the traditions and history of the region. As Ross (2000) noted, ‘the tools for a radical approach to inculturation were built into the Jesuit system’. The first Jesuit missionaries to Brazil learnt native languages and participated in local traditions such as indigenous music-making and festivities, allowing such practises as traditional Indian rites in Christian burials. These missionaries drew clear distinctions

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  95 between faith and customs and encouraged intermarriage and the acculturation of natives (­Francisco González, 2004). The approach, often referred to as accommodation, influenced Philip II’s ordinances for America of 1573, which stressed that conversion must be non-violent; that clergy should learn local languages and avoid giving offence, desist from seizing and destroying idols and other artefacts, and could use indigenous music and other customs to facilitate conversion. These norms proved particularly valuable in Asia where another Navarrese Jesuit, Francis Xavier, was so astounded and entranced by the advanced, sophisticated civilisation of Japan, he advocated not only the use of respect and reason, but learning and adapting to their languages and customs (in Parry (ed), 1968: 142–50). His successor, Alessandro Valignano, a subject of the Monarchy from Naples, went further when guiding the missions to China. Jesuits were not to ‘attempt in any way to persuade these people (converts) to change their customs, their habits and their behavior, as long as they are not evidently contrary to religion and morality’. In the seventeenth century, some Jesuits went further still, adopting not only the language, dress and many of the customs of their hosts, but integrating into their polities, becoming officials and teachers at courts in Japan, China and India, while simultaneously disseminating European ideas and practises there (Cohen and Colombo, 2015, cits. 265–6; O’Malley, 2000). Cohen and Colombo (2015: 270–1) berate historians who ‘have sometimes interpreted accommodation anachronistically, as a form of toleration, syncretism, or religious relativism’, since it was rooted in Christian theology and intended to convert to Christianity. This implies a particular understanding of contested concepts on their part. ­Toleration is never an absolute in practice; it is always limited by our perceptions of what threatens our physical and ideological security. At the very least accommodation reveals an understanding of the importance and emotive power of cultural norms, of the need (and attempt) to distinguish between religion and culture, and of the acceptance of a degree of difference. It facilitated the absorption of aspects of other cultures and even allowed for some religious syncretism. This was anathema to men such as the bishop of Bahia, whose first action on arriving in Brazil in July 1552 was to demand ‘that no white man should adopt gentile customs, because they are both an incitement to evil and contrary to reason’. Worse, they would persuade natives that they were ‘the good ones’ (los ­buenos) – a revealing comment reflecting a dualistic view of a world divided into good and evil. He ordered the clergy to punish men who taught their Indian wives Portuguese, particularly those offering medical remedies. Cultural integration hindered the identification of ‘the gentiles’ and without the capacity to easily identify these potentially dangerous ‘others’ he was convinced that spiritual and cultural purity, as well as physical security, were threatened (Francisco González, 2004: 36–41, cits. 38). Such attitudes were the bedrock of unequal societies that demand compliance with, but restrict access to, ostensibly superior forms of ­European religion and culture. As with politics, the widespread debates over conversion and acculturation had different outcomes in different areas. Forms of accommodation were widespread

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96  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado outside Europe just as the pendulum swung sharply the other way within. When the period of grace for the Moriscos expired in 1566 Philip II demanded full com­ ttoman pliance with his father’s edicts. Some Moriscos pointed out that the O ­sultan successfully governed a vast state in which Christians and Jews were free to worship and allowed to retain their customs and social structures. They tended to omit the fact that these two groups were accorded an inferior status, were barred from certain professions and paid higher taxes, and that non-Sunni ­Muslims were ­persecuted. After the violence surrounding the emergence of different Christian sects from 1520s onwards, Christian rulers were persuaded that the ­formula ‘one God, one king, one law’ would lead to stronger, more stable polities. Castile and Aragon were nominally Catholic but it was evident that the conversion and acculturation of Moriscos was incomplete. Some had converted; others had grafted aspects of Christian faith and local cultures to their old traditions and faith. Many displayed a ‘split identity’ recently associated with ‘­modernity’ (García-Arenal, 2013: 7 and 10) but which is anything but. The same ‘split identity’ – multiple iden­ hristian Europe tities is a much more accurate term - were evident ­elsewhere in C where minority Christian groups were under pressure from C ­ atholic and Protestant orthodoxy (MacCulloch, 2003). Many ­Granadan ­Moriscos accepted that they had agreed to convert to Christianity but they baulked at the demand to abandon their distinctive culture. After all, Iberia was made up of the most diverse linguistic and cultural traditions. Indeed, even black Guineans, described by a Morisco as the lowliest of all humans, were allowed to retain their own music and other c­ ustoms. Morisco men had in many cases adopted Christian attire and learnt the local language, but they were inflexible as far as women were concerned: they must be behind locked doors or fully veiled outside. They also pleaded to be allowed to keep bathing and culinary traditions, as well as their names and exclusive ­marriage practices, insisting that these were not signs of Islam (­García-­Arenal, 1975). Constant attacks from neighbouring Muslims states, sometimes with collusion from unassimilated Moriscos; fear of religious and racial impurity and derision from fellow Christian Europeans had turned the tide against the Moriscos, who were ordered to assimilate. The result was a violent civil war in Granada (1568–70) with appalling atrocities on both sides, which ended with Philip II ordering the forced dispersal of Granadan Moriscos throughout Castile and Aragon. The ­Christian towns assigned fixed numbers of these exiles by the monarch resented this imposition and were often unwilling to assimilate them. The Moriscos were now far more widespread and, particularly in areas that had not had Hispano-­Muslims or Moriscos for a long time, all the more visible. Fear of Moriscos spread and intensified. They were variously accused of refusing to assimilate, of breeding too fast, of taking jobs from locals, of amassing money, of collaborating with foreign enemies and of rejecting and undermining Catholicism. The monarch was prompted to consider the most extreme solutions to tackle the problem, including preventing Morisco procreation and extermination. Instead, in 1609 Philip III ordered their expulsion (García-Arenal, 1975: especially 47–56; 237–255; Rodríguez de Diego and Marchena Ruiz, 2009).

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  97 These experiences helped turn the tide against cultural and religious toleration in the Americas. From the start there was a personal and intellectual cross-over: many of those involved in the conversion of Hispano-Muslims and Moriscos went to the Americas, and some of those involved in Indian missions were sent to deal with the Muslims and Moriscos. Some of the legislation regulating relations with these two sectors in Spain were applied to indigenous groups in Castilian towns in the Americas. The moratorium on Moriscos was a model used to protect Indians from the Inquisition for decades (Perry and Cruz (eds.), 1991). As both groups proved intractable to full assimilation, negative elements prevailed: the rebellion of the Araucan Indias in 1598 was viewed as another Granadan revolt. The petition of the Peruvian Guaman Poma to Philip III in 1610 could hardly prosper since it echoed the arguments of the Granadan Moriscos in 1566 (García-Arenal, 1992). Full conversion and assimilation were increasingly demanded and frustration built up against American converts too (Elliott, 2006, 69–72, 86–7), but as the capacity of indigenous people to grasp the essence of Christianity was increasingly questioned, fear of what might happen if they became priests hindered their full assimilation (Hanke, 1974: 22–7; Lunenfeld, 1991: 303–7). The negative stereotypes of converts were the same on both sides of the Atlantic, but there was never a question of annihilating or exiling the Indians. Opinions towards them were too deeply divided and Castile would never have been able to sustain its American lands without them. Even in this, therefore, the Monarchy tailored its policies to security and what it could achieve. As the different religious minorities were converted and integrated, there was an increasingly violent reaction from some Iberian Christians who felt threatened by these developments and responded by aggressively asserting their own distinct identity as ‘old Christian’ (Cristianos viejos) or ‘Christian by nature’ (Cristianos de natura). Ostensibly distinguished by the longevity and purity (the two were inseparable) of their Christian faith, their claims depended on a mixture of communal memory and documented genealogies. As García-Arenal (2013) has shown in a lucid introduction, these complex processes are often reduced to a simplistic and inaccurate explanation: that ‘Spaniards’ excluded ‘others’ because they were r­ acist. This singular Christian identity – indeed the drive to homogeneity in general took ‘diverse means of stigmatization’ and was ‘extremely complex and varied over time and in virulence’ (2–3). Endogamy and lineage were also fundamental elements for Jewish converts to Christianity who often also boasted of their purity of blood and lineage (Contreras, 1992), yet they have avoided the stigma attached to similar behaviour among Hispano-Catholics. Tracing lineage was a tool used by all those determined to maintain difference in Iberia and had always met with opposition not least as a result of the common practice of intermarriage (Nirenberg, 2002; 2011). It reflected the importance of family bonds and offered seemingly concrete evidence of identity, unlike customs or belief. During the sixteenth century a number of clerical and civil institutions in ­Castile restricted membership to those who could prove ‘purity of blood’ – initially this meant non-Jewish ancestry, but soon non-Muslim and non-heretical Christian

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98  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado ancestry were added. The lines of exclusion highlight the essence of religious difference, with a lesser emphasis on ethnic or racial distinction which tended to be applied primarily to Jews. The three excluded groups were stereotyped in much the same way and were considered a risk both to physical and ideological security. Similar arguments and kinship connections were used elsewhere in Europe to identify and justify the elimination of Christian heretics and witches. In Spain, the demand for laws requiring purity of blood for political as well as religious office intensified, but the monarchs, while accepting restrictions in certain institutions, refused to incorporate them into general law. They were committed to advancing Catholic orthodoxy but also to integration, and above all to preserving order which these statutes ultimately threatened, since they excluded large sectors of the population and stigmatised them as inferior in status, cutting across existing social and economic hierarchies and exacerbating social tensions (Kamen, 1997, chapter 11). The ‘Old Christian’ identity survived but not as an official or dominant identity, even in Castile, and it made even less headway in America where ‘racial mobility’, as Pagden (1987: 69–70) put it, was at the heart of successful settlements. Here, the principle of segregating parts of the population to preserve purity was applied to some ‘simple and pure’ indigenous peoples who were settled in ‘Reductions’ such as those of the Jesuits in Paraguay (Cohen and Columbo, 2015). By the 1540s many areas of Christian Europe were engulfed by religious strife which merged with civil and social unrest to create long and violent civil wars, and in the early seventeenth century, to a series of international wars dubbed The Thirty Years War. Church and state had been inter-dependent and political power founded on the principle that God sanctioned and upheld the political and social system, but the conflicts between Catholics and Protestants reinforced these bonds. Competing Christian creeds needed political and military power to survive, and sovereigns benefitted from closer association with God and the Church, not least as a result of the greater emphasis placed by all Christian churches now on the need for obedience. And not just in Europe – it was the most frequent topic of Jesuit sermons in the Americas (Valladares, 2012: 126–131, 133; Contreras, 2000: 336–344). This made it almost impossible to accept the arguments that loyalty and obedience towards the sovereign was compatible with belonging to a different creed. Christian radicalism has also been associated with the messianic impulse nurtured by the rapid expansion into non-Christian worlds. Whatever its source, the wars spread but by the mid seventeenth century neither Catholics nor Protestants had succeeded in annihilating their opponents, and in some areas the stalemate resulted in partial toleration of other Christian creeds. Only a few states managed to avoid what most considered a sign of political weakness, the Spanish ­Monarchy being one of them. Catholicism became the sole faith of the Spanish Monarchy and increasingly one of its defining characteristics. But the struggle took a heavy toll on finances and people and prompted the proposal of reforms in the Monarchy to share the burden more equitably and reinforce the bonds between the constituent parts (Elliott, 1986). These reforms threatened to undermine the autonomy and relatively light tax burdens of states outside Castile and triggered  a  spate

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  99 of rebellions. Significantly, only the Dutch provinces and Portugal secured independence, both by virtue of significant foreign intervention (Valladares, 2012: 132–140). The failure of the other rebellions revealed how far the Monarchy had integrated despite differences and distance and with little interference from the court. Intermarriage, commercial networks, military and political service, mutual dependence for security, investment in state bonds at all levels of society, combined with the powerful and emotive pull of loyalty to the sovereign and to the Catholic church, were among the elements that sustained the Monarchy for centuries (e.g. Sabatini, 2012; Gil Pujol, 2012, Ruiz Ibáñez, 2012).

Past Contradictions and an Uncertain Future The extent to which the non-European world influenced European developments remains vehemently contested and cannot be dealt with here. Even aspects amenable to quantification such as the material contributions of the Americas have failed to create a consensus. Early claims for the impact of America have been challenged and the role played by European trends emphasised. Whether it is ideas, bullion or foodstuffs, it took a long time for major changes to make a mark and many small changes – for example, the founding of a school or commissioning of a work of art; the leisure made possible by wealth or the boost to technological and scientific developments - are hard to gauge and impossible to generalise from. What is clear is that Europe’s subsequent prosperity cannot be understood without taking into account its interaction with the outside world. The same can be said of intellectual developments: the need to understand the peoples and cultures encountered led to a reassessment of fundamental beliefs of what a human being is, what rights humans have, as well as what civilisation means and why it matters. Such debates laid the foundations for changes that indelibly marked European intellectual, legal and political developments, including a new science of ethnography (Hanke, 1974; Pagden, 1993, etc.). Expansion also had negative repercussions, not least by unleashing the most unsavoury elements of humanity and brutalising the Europeans; by diverting scarce human and financial resources, and increasing the geographical scope of ­European conflicts. Postulating the interaction between Europe and the non-European world along these lines, however, perpetuates the dichotomy between ‘Europe’ and the rest of the world, and introduces an anachronistic division that early-­modern states with lands in Europe and beyond did not recognise, as has been demonstrated for the Spanish Monarchy here. The Monarchy’s marked cosmopolitan tendencies and trajectory provide data of how one large, diverse state composed of many polities functioned successfully. Pluralism and loose association; the devolution and sharing of power; accepting differences in law, customs and much else, and the constant negotiation of reciprocal duties and rights preserved this seemingly unwieldly state for centuries. It was, as Alvarez-Osorio Albariño and García García (2004) aptly termed it, a ‘Monarchy of Nations’; a multicultural, plural state where individuals had multiple identities, collective and singular (Gil Pujol, 2004; Rodríguez-Salgado, 1998).

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100  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado It was not diversity but the attempt to homogenise by extending the authority of the monarch and of Castile that almost destroyed it, by undermining the power of local elites and shattering the fiction that each polity existed independently and had equal rights (Thompson, 1995; Gil Pujol 2004 and 2012). Loyalty to a shared sovereign helped to preserve it, and the sheer fact of belonging to a single entity encouraged multiple links. However, it also nurtured competition for resources and attention among the constituent parts which reinforced the sense (and the projection) of difference (Gil Pujol, 2012: 75–6, 79–80, 87–8). And that sense of difference would later merge with nationalist sentiments. Strengthening nationalist tendencies was an unintended consequence of expansion beyond Europe. Some states – England and Spain included - came to see themselves as the chosen people to whom God had entrusted the Christianisation and Civilisation of the world. Differences which loomed large in Europe were set aside when one was faced with alien peoples and overwhelming odds. At the same time, these experiences helped to forge a distinct European identity. Success over so many other faiths and cultures was taken as proof of the superiority of Christianity and European culture. The index of Abraham Ortelius’ famous world Atlas in 1588 contained an entry on Christendom that states: see Europe. Muslim and Jewish Europe were side-lined or ignored. By the time Goethe reached Sicily its Islamic heritage was largely forgotten and Muslims appear as alien and hostile; part of a different world. Christians living under Ottoman rule in Europe were effectively excluded from this identity, along with Orthodox Christians in the Middle East and Russia. A universalist faith, Christianity, was co-opted into a limited geographical and cultural entity. After the disintegration of the Roman empire, Europe had been characterised by its extreme political, religious and cultural fragmentation, but encounters outside Europe made them realise that despite their differences, they had much in common with each other. China and Japan briefly dented the sense of superiority, but when they reacted against Christianity and European trade with violence and exclusion, many Europeans concluded that they alone had the heroic spirit to discover and settle new worlds, extend trade to all the globe, and not feel threatened by other faiths or civilisations – the kind of spirit they were wont to ascribe to the Greek and Roman worlds whose most positive contributions were, by Goethe’s day, seen exclusively as Europe’s heritage. Not even the powerful force of nationalism since the nineteenth century, with its attendant wars, could destroy this collective identity entirely. It was then that cosmopolitanism came into frequent use again, only now as the opposite of patriot. As such it was interpreted favourably or unfavourably through the prism of nationalism, and this polarity endures. Rather unhelpfully, it should be said, because a collective European identity developed in tandem with an ever stronger identification with particular states. It was nationalism that aimed to impose a single, hegemonic identity. At the very point when Europeans settled and governed lands across the globe, diversifying in many ways, they also rejected aspects of plurality within, mainly linked to religious ideology. By the late sixteenth century it was widely believed that political and religious allegiance had to dovetail. Security concerns as much if not more than theological differences made Christians in most of Western and

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  101 parts of Central Europe reject cohabitation with Muslims, and most continued to exclude Jews. Sadly, despite the many studies dedicated to the failure of what we might call a multicultural and multifaith society in Iberia, we are no closer to understanding why, having fought for so long to convert and assimilate their Jewish and Muslim brethren, and in the belief that conversion was (as it had been for St. Paul) a total and radical transformation of the individual, they could not live with the end result. Nor do we have a better understanding of how cultural and religious difference is ‘transformed’ into a distinctive characteristic of certain human beings. Contreras (2000: 329, 332, 348) argued that the Spanish realms had a hegemonic religious and political culture that could not exist without confrontation with ‘the other’. Similar arguments underpin many studies of mass persecution and genocide in Europe and in neither case are they persuasive. The complex construction of identity cannot be reduced to negative impulses and, fortunately, periods when states target and eliminate ‘others’ are rare. Why one group rather than another is selected in these instances remains controversial. In the early-modern period the difficulty of differentiating between religious faith and culture shifted the battle lines from the theological to the cultural sphere, prompting outward conformity and dissimulation in religion, and the gradual elimination of cultural practises associated with other faiths. It is worth noting that whereas the Jews, Muslims and their nominally converted descendants, the Moriscos, were expelled from Iberia, the descendants of Jewish converts were not. Could it be that the latter had been more positive and made greater progress towards acculturation before the tide turned against converts? Such a hypothesis might lead to the conclusion that full assimilation into the dominant culture (and faith) could have benefits for a minority. Against that is the fact that Moriscos, perhaps more reluctant to integrate, also found it more difficult because much of the dominant group rejected them, not least because they were seen as a serious security risk. Assimilation has to be consensual. The horrendous suffering and mass exile of Hispanic Jews, Muslims and Moriscos may seem utterly contrary to our current, positive understanding of European cosmopolitanism, yet they made important contributions to it. Many refugees and exiles settled in North Africa and the Near East, taking Hispanic and European culture beyond Europe and preserving it. For centuries they acted as vital intermediaries between the Christian and Islamic worlds, and they could significantly affect the future of Spain and of Europe. In response to demands for reparation, the Spanish parliament passed a law which came into effect on 1 October 2015 enabling the descendants of Spanish Jewish exiles to claim citizenship. As various efforts to use DNA (lineage still matters) have so far merely served to highlight the extent to which the different groups in Spain inter-bred, the burden of proof relies (yet again) on the survival of their original Hispanic culture. Maghrebians who claim to be descendants of Hispano Muslims and Moriscos have now demanded equal rights but, ironically, their successful integration into neighbouring Islamic cultures will make it very difficult for them to secure similar rights. Studying the early-modern Spanish Monarchy does not offer clear directions for the future, but its success provides interesting data which we might usefully

102  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado

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consider when thinking about governance in the European Union, or the vexed issue of what rights we accord to others whose cultures and civilisations appear alien or a threat to ours. It deepens our understanding of the complexity of identity formation and supports the arguments in favour of multiple identities as the norm, rather than a characteristic of ‘modernity’ in Europe. If nothing else, this case study should persuade us that Europe has combined elements of cosmopolitanism and exclusion throughout its history.

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  103 Fernández Albaladejo, P. (1992). Fragmentos de Monarquía, Madrid: Alianza Universidad. Francisco González, L. (2004). chapter in C. J. Castro Brunetto (ed.) Anchieta y los pueblos indígenas del Brasil, Guanarteme: Ayuntamiento de la Laguna/Fundación Canaria Mapfre. García-Arenal, M. (ed.) (1975). Los Moriscos, Madrid: Editora Nacional. García-Arenal, M. (1992). ‘Moriscos e Indios. Para un estudio comparado de métodos de conquista y evangelización’, Chronica Nova, 20: 153–175. García-Arenal, M. (2013). ‘Creating Conversos: Genealogy and Identity as Historiographical Problems (after a recent book by Ángel Alcalá), Bulletin for Spanish and Portuguese Historical Studies: vol.38, n.1: 1–19, available at http://digitalcommons.asphs. net/bsphs/vol38/iss1/1. García-Arenal, M. and Bunes, M.-A de (eds.) (1992). Los Españoles y el Norte de Africa, siglos XV-XVIII, Madrid: Editorial Mapfre. García-Arenal, M. and Wiegers,G. (2003). A man of three worlds. Samuel Pallache, a Moroccan Jew in Catholic and Protestant Europe, Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press. García Cárcel, R. (2013). ‘Reflexiones sobre la Leyenda Negra’, in Ruiz Ibáñez, J. J. (ed.), 43–79. Gil Pujol, X. (2004). ‘Un rey, una fe, muchas naciones. Patria y nación en la España de los siglos XVI y XVII’, in Álvarez-Osorio and García García (eds), 39–76. Gil Pujol, X. (2012). ‘Integrar un mundo. Dinámicas de agregación y de cohesión en la Monarquía de España’ in: Mazín and Ruiz Ibáñez (eds.), 69–108. Hanke, L. (1974). All mankind is one, De Kalb, Illinois: Northern Illinois University Press. Herzog, T. (2004). ‘Los americanos frente a la Monarquía. El criollismo y la naturaleza española’ in Álvarez-Osorio and García García (eds.) (2004): 77–92. Hess, A.C. (1978). The Forgotten Frontier: a history of the sixteenth century Ibero-African frontier, Chicago. Kagan, R.L. & Parker, G. (eds.) (1995). Spain, Europe and the Atlantic world, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kamen, H. (1997). The Spanish Inquisition. An historical revision, London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Kamen, H. (2003). Spain’s road to empire. The making of a world power, 1492–1763, London etc.: Penguin Books. Koenigsberger, H. G. (1951). The Government of Sicily under Philip II of Spain: A study in the Practice of Empire, London & New York: Staples Press. Leyes y Ordena[n]ças para las Indias (1543). Alcala de Henares. Los Siglos de Oro en los virreinatos de América, 1550–1700 (1999). Catalogue of the exhibition at the Museo de América, Madrid, 1999–2000: Madrid. Lunenfeld, M. (ed.) (1991). 1492. Discovery. Invasion. Encounter, Lexington: D.C. Heath and Co. MacCulloch, D. (2003). Reformation. Europe’s House Divided, 1490–1700, London etc., Allen Lane/ Penguin Books. Maltby, W. S. (1971). The Black Legend in England, Durham: Duke University Press. Mazín Gómez, O. (2014). ‘Architect of the New World. Juan de Solórzano Pereyra and the status of the Americas’, in Cardim et al. (eds), chapter 2. Mazín, O. and Ruiz Ibáñez, J. J. (eds.) (2012). Las Indias Occidentales: procesos de incorporación territorial a las Monarquías Ibéricas (siglos XVI a XVIII), Mexico: El Colegio de México et al. Nirenberg, D. (2002). ‘Mass conversion and genealogical mentalities: Jews and Christians in fifteenth century Spain’, Past and Present, 174, 3–41. Nirenberg, D. (2011). ‘Was there race before modernity? The example of “Jewish” blood in late Medieval Spain’, in M. Eliav-Feldon et al. (eds), The origins of racism in the West, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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104  M. J. Rodríguez-Salgado O’Malley, J. W. (2000). The Jesuits: cultures, sciences and the arts, 1540–1773, Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Pagden, A. (1987). ‘Identity formation in Spanish America’ in N. Canny & A. Pagden (eds.), Colonial Identity in the Atlantic World, 1500–1800, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 51–93. Pagden, A. (1990). Spanish imperialism and the political imagination, New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Pagden, A. (1993). European encounters with the New World, New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Pagden, A. (1995). ‘Heeding Heraclides: empire and its discontents, 1619–1812’ in Kagan and Parker (eds.): 316–333. Parker, G. (1995). ‘David or Goliath? Philip II and his world in the 1580s’, in Kagan and Parker (eds.): 245–266. Parry, J. H. (ed) (1968). The European Reconnaissance, London: Macmillan. Paz, O. (1982). Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz o las trampas de la fe, Barcelona: Seix Barral. Pérez Villanueva J. and Escandell Bonet, B. (eds.) (1984). Historia de la Inquisición en España y América, Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos. Vol. I. Perry, M. E. and Cruz, A.J. (eds.) (1991) Cultural encounters. The impact of the Inquisition in Spain and the New World, Berkeley etc.: University of California Press. Powell, W. (1971). Tree of Hate. Propaganda and prejudices affecting United States Relations with the Hispanic World, New York & London: Basic Books. Rivero Rodríguez, M. (2011). La edad de oro de los virreyes. El virreinato en la Monarquía Hispánica durante los siglos XVI y XVII, Madrid: Akal. Rodríguez de Diego, J. T. & Marchena Ruiz, E.J. (eds.) (2009). Los Moriscos Españoles trasterrados, Catalogue of the Los Moriscos exhibition at the Archivo General de Simancas: Ministerio de Cultura. Rodríguez-Salgado, M. J, (1988). The changing face of empire, Cambridge etc.: Cambridge University Press. Rodríguez-Salgado, M. J. (1998). ‘Christians, civilised and Spanish: multiple identities in sixteenth-century Spain’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, vol. 8: 233–251. Rodríguez-Salgado, M. J. (2010). ‘The art of persuasion: Charles V and his governors’, in: P. Hoppenbrowuwers, A. Janse and R. Stein (eds.), Power and Persuasion, Turnhout: Brepols, 59–82. Rodríguez-Salgado, M.J. (2015). ‘Helmut Georg Koenigsberger’, Biographical Memoirs of Fellows of the British Academy, XIV, 301–333. Ross, A.C. (2000). ‘Alessandro Valignano. The Jesuits and culture in the East’, in J. W. O’Malley et. al. (eds), The Jesuits: cultures, sciences and the arts, 1540–1773, Toronto: University of Toronto Press vol. I, 336–351. Ruiz Guadalajara, C. (2013). ‘Confines y vecindades de la cristiandad hispánica en América durante el periodo de las Monarquías Ibéricas’, in: Ruiz Ibáñez (ed.), 235–290. Ruiz Ibáñez, J. J. (2012). ‘La integración de los Países Bajos en la Monarquía Hispánica’, in Mazín & Ruiz Ibáñez (eds.), 109–152. Ruiz Ibáñez, J. J. (ed.) (2013). Las vecindades de las Monarquías Ibéricas, Madrid: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Sabatini, G. (2012). ‘El espacio italiano de la Monarquía: distintos caminos hacia una sola integración’ in: Mazín and Ruiz Ibáñez (eds.), 153–179. Schaub, J.-F. (1999). Les Juifs du roi d’Espagne. Oran 1509–1669, Paris: Hachette. Schmidt, B. (2001). Innocence Abroad. The Dutch imagination and the New World, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schmidt, P. (2004). ‘Felipe II – “Emperador de las Indias”. La recepción de un nuevo continente en la corte española’, in Steckbuer, S.M. & Maihold, G. (eds.) Literatura. Historia. Política. Articulando las relaciones entre Europa y América Latina, Frankfurt and Madrid: 29–42.

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The Early Modern Spanish Monarchy  105 Thompson, I.A.A., (1995). ‘Castile, Spain and the monarchy: the political community from patria natural to patria nacional’, in Kagan and Parker (eds.), 125–159. Torres de Mendoza, L. (ed.) (1866). Colección de documentos inéditos, relativos al descubrimiento, conquista y organización de las antiguas posesiones Españolas en América y Oceanía, vol. V, Madrid. Valladares, R. (2012). ‘El problema de la obediencia en la Monarquía Hispánica, 1540–1700’ in: Estrigana, A. (ed.) Servir al rey en la Monarquía de los Austrias, Madrid: Silex Universidad, 121–145. Yun, B. (2004). Marte contra Minerva. El precio del imperio Español, c.1450–1600, Barcelona: Crítica.

7 The Cosmopolitan Caribbean Spirit and Europe

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Cosmopolitan Sensibilities among Spiritual Baptist Adherents Shantelle George In mid-nineteenth-century St. Vincent, in the south eastern Caribbean, an ­African-inspired belief emerged which would later become known as the Spiritual Baptist Faith. In addition to African influences, Roman Catholicism, Protestantism, Hinduism, and Kabbalistic traditions have also influenced the Faith. Through migration, this Faith became globalised, growing rapidly outside the eastern ­Caribbean in places such as the United States, Canada and with members also in South Africa, West Africa, and Europe (Glazier 2003, 151). After providing an overview of the Spiritual Baptist Faith, this chapter will examine the ways in which cosmopolitanism practices and ideas are articulated within the Faith. It will examine the cosmopolitan practices and outlooks evident in spiritual travel, physical travel within the eastern Caribbean, as well as sensibilities evident in the UK, in order to complicate three assumptions of cosmopolitanism. Let us firstly consider the notion that cosmopolitanism is unique to Europe. According to Beck (2006, 3), a cosmopolitan outlook is the possession of a ‘global sense, a sense of boundarylessness’. Beck has described cosmopolitanism as a ‘vital theme of European civilization and European consciousness’ (2006, 2). Beck’s definition of cosmopolitanism can be termed Eurocentric, as it has failed to perceive itself outside national borders and has been conceptualised as specific to Europe, ignoring the cosmopolitan practices by diverse peoples within and outside Europe (Bhambra 2011). This chapter will consider those on the margins of colonial and post-colonial societies, who through travel, displacement and transnational connections, have displayed cosmopolitan sensibilities (Bhabha 1994; Clifford 1992; Gilroy 1993; Hannerz 1990). Travel is central to the black Atlantic experience. Gilroy (1993) has demonstrated the ways in which ‘successive displacements, migrations and journeys’ have characterised this experience (Gilroy 1993, 111). Gilroy’s work is particularly useful here as he considers how the circulation of peoples across the black Atlantic has produced transnational and intercultural perspectives among black actors (Gilroy 1993, 15), such as the eighteenth-century black Atlantic figures Olaudah Equiano and Phillis Wheatley. Gilroy maintains that the writings of these formerly enslaved Africans, which explore ‘cultural syncretism, adaptation and intermixture’, demonstrates a ‘rootless cosmopolitanism’ (Gilroy 2004, 117). In this chapter, I will demonstrate

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The Cosmopolitan Caribbean Spirit  107 the ways in which the Spiritual Baptist Faith in the Caribbean and the UK have manifested cosmopolitan practices through travel, both physical and spiritual, as well as through collaborative transnational connections. Secondly, this chapter will challenge the notion that secularization is always linked to cosmopolitanism. Casanova (2011) has stressed the importance of revising conceptions of cosmopolitan secular modernity i.e. secularist elements in cosmopolitanism which are a product of Western modernity, which is often compared with the ‘fundamentalist’ other (Casanova 2011, 258). Whilst secularization is an appropriate term to describe the transformation of Western European Christianity, it is limited when applied to cultures outside Europe, particularly world religions (Casanova 2011, 257). Such religions include hybrid African-Atlantic religious expressions such as Vodun, Santería, Candomblé, Orisha, and Spiritual Baptist traditions (Casanova 2011, 262). The recent growth of these black transnational religions enable cosmopolitan sensibilities, thus demonstrating the importance of religion in cosmopolitan identities and practices. In the case of the Spiritual ­Baptists, cosmopolitan practices manifest themselves within religious projects, and are not linked to secularization. Finally, my chapter will also critique the idea that post-war immigrants undergo a process which enables them to be cosmopolitan in the UK. Rather if we understand cosmopolitanism as consisting of practices and attitudes gathered through travel, displacement and transnational connections (Vertovec 2009, 10), Spiritual Baptists, through such processes, already manifest cosmopolitan sensibili­ties prior to their arrival, and further, they retain this in the UK. Thus, as residents of Europe, they do not lose core aspects of their religion in order to be cosmopolitan. Therefore, their cosmopolitanism does not become secular when it is practiced in Europe.

Overview of the Spiritual Baptist Faith In mid-nineteenth-century St. Vincent, Wesleyan Methodists became concerned about the emergence of a set of practices amongst their members of African descent. As these practices began to spread around the island, members were expelled from the Wesleyan Church (Boa 2001, 8). A Wesleyan Methodist ­Missionary report described these practices as an ‘insane attempt, to blend and unite the excitements, stimulants, delusions, and superstitions of Africa, with the profession of Christianity’ (Wesleyan Methodist Missionary Society 1851). Thus in mid-nineteenth century, there is clear evidence that the black population were drawing inspiration from diverse cultural influences. Both colonial officials and non-members named these practices ‘Shakerism’, as the adherents shook their bodies as they went into trances, similar to the Shaker church which was formed in England in the mid-eighteenth century (Boa 2001, 8). In post-slavery ­Caribbean society, African-infused practices persisted and were perceived negatively by missionaries and the local government. For example, officials and missionaries described that Spiritual Baptist adherents held ‘open air orgies’, which featured barbaric sounds, grunting noises, leaping and springing into the air, clapping of

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108  Shantelle George hands, and rolling on the floor. Such practices were termed as Christian theology within an ‘African primitive mould’, ‘void of the features of true religion’ (Fraser 2011, 25, 28). In order to distance themselves from the negative connotations that were associated with the label Shakerism during their fight for religious freedom the late 1940s, the Faith in St. Vincent was re-named the Spiritual Baptist Faith (Fraser 2011, 69). As it will be detailed, the Spiritual Baptist Faith is now a global faith which has moved beyond the borders of St. Vincent. At present, practices within the Spiritual Baptist Faith include baptism, thanksgiving, spiritual travel, mourning (a period of prayer, fasting and renunciation in which the mourner spends most of the time lying on the floor of a dark room for ­several days, sometimes in a coffin, after which a member receives their spiritual gift or role within the church), pilgrimages, candle lighting, drumming, and ‘doption’ (the expounding of various tones and sounds). Spiritual Baptist services are commonly held on a Sunday and commence with the ringing of a bell (Henry 2003, 37).

Cosmopolitanism Practices Through Spiritual Travel Examining spiritual travel within the Spiritual Baptist Faith challenges three assumptions of cosmopolitanism. Firstly, that cosmopolitanism is unique to Europe. Perspectives on cosmopolitanism need to consider the diverse peoples within Europe and in post-colonial societies who engage in cosmopolitan practices. Examining Caribbean Spiritual Baptist practitioners, who are predominately of African descent, provides an alternative to the traditional cosmopolitan subject as white, male, and middle-class (Sheller 2011, 355). For example, ­Stuart Hall has described the Caribbean as ‘by definition cosmopolitan’ (Hall and ­Werbner 2008, 351). Secondly, the importance of religion in cosmopolitan practices and identities challenges the intimate relationship between cosmopolitanism and the process of secularization. This assumption marks religion as irrelevant for cosmopolitan practices. However, as Casanavo (2011, 255, 257) has stressed secularization is not a general global pattern. In the Caribbean and South ­American societies, hybrid religious expressions have emerged. Haiti’s Vodun, Cuba’s Santería, Brazil’s Candomblé, and the eastern Caribbean’s Spiritual Baptist Faith have been globalized and have specific transnational dimensions. Such religious practices demonstrate the relevance of religion for cosmopolitan practices. For example, traditional assumptions of cosmopolitan practices, whilst focusing on the importance of mobilities and travel, have perceived the latter to be physical, ignoring spiritual expressions of cosmopolitanism. An examination of the role of spiritual travel within the Spiritual Baptist Faith, which will follow, provides an insight into the importance of religion and alternative forms of travel within cosmopolitan sensibilities. Spiritual journeys of the African diaspora in the Americas have been referred to as travelling (‘trabbels’ or ‘trabelin’) (Sobel 1998, 101). Many African-American spirituals describe travelling, and life is perceived, including religious life, as a journey (Sobel 1998, 118). Wallace Zane’s (1999) work on the Spiritual Baptist Faith in St. Vincent similarly recognises the centrality of travel which is reflected

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The Cosmopolitan Caribbean Spirit  109 in its title, Journeys to the Spiritual Lands. Specifically, the importance of travel within the Spiritual Baptist Faith can be demonstrated by the image of the ship. Gilroy has stressed that the ship, a ‘living, micro-cultural, micro-political system in motion’, is significant in black Atlantic thought and expression (Gilroy 1993, 4). The ship and steering motifs are central to the iconography of the Spiritual Baptist church which underscores the importance of travel and mobilities. According to Zane (1999, 202) the church as a ship is the ‘primary organizing metaphor’ for Spiritual Baptists in St. Vincent. In the Spiritual Baptist Faith, a significant spiritual gift or role given during the period of mourning is that of the captain, whose role it is to steer the church through spiritual cities during singing and ‘doption (Zane 1999, 202, 101, 59). Moreover, Zane has recognised that roles given during mourning, such as captain, teacher and inspector, are secular roles which were largely unavailable to the illite­rate, poor, and powerless – those at the margins of colonial ­society. These roles have been appropriated and inverted for spiritual use within the Spiritual Baptist Faith (Zane 1999, 40). The memory of slavery and colonialism is thus embedded in the ritual practices of the Faith. In addition, the ship’s wheel is the most important spiritual symbol within the Faith and is drawn with chalk on the church wall and floor. It is also depicted on the blindfolds members wear during their spiritual journey (Zane 1999, 140). When drawn, the wheel keeps the person, the people, or a place ‘spinning to different directions’ during travel (Zane 1999, 98, 140). Thus the image of the ship, including its wheel, reveals the significance of spiritual mobilities and travel within the practices of the Spiritual Baptist Faith. Mourning, a central practice within the Spiritual Baptist Faith, also enables spiritual forms of cosmopolitanisms. Within mourning, travel occurs to different spiritual ‘cities’, mainly Africa and India, and candidates return to share their experiences. Candidates who travel spiritually are known as pilgrims or travellers (Zane 1999a, 186; Stephens 1999, 35–6, 153). They meet people in these lands, learn their songs and dances, as well as other knowledge (Zane 1999b, 127). Hence, it can be discerned that pilgrims display a cosmopolitan outlook, opening themselves up to diverse cultural experiences and spiritually drawing from these diverse connections. A Trinidadian-born Spiritual Baptist bishop who came to Britain in 1962 described that she travelled spiritually to Africa and then on to India. In India, she received the taria, a brass bowl, and the lota, a vessel which is placed within the bowl, the latter which she described as ‘Indian’ (Stephens 1999, 158–61). Within the Faith, the Hindu lota is a central part of the paraphernalia of the church and is commonly filled with water, flowers and colours representing the spiritual city of India (Zane 1999a, 157, 183, 47). Pilgrims are described as belonging to the places visited during mourning and are able to travel to those places again during ‘doption (Zane 1999a, 79). Adherents are ‘carried’ to spiritual locations through ‘doption – referred to as ships - which are short collective journeys during the church service (Zane 1999a, 185, 102). That Africa and India are the most common spiritual cities visi­ted during ‘doption and mourning is representative of the fact that the Faith is a product

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110  Shantelle George of the encounter with European Christianity of African and South Asian peoples in colonial St. Vincent, Grenada and Trinidad, who migrated to the ­Caribbean during enslavement and indentureship. Following Africa, India was the main source of labour in the colonial eastern Caribbean: between 1838 and 1918, ­Trinidad received 143,939 peoples from India; Grenada received 3,200; and St. Vincent 2,272 (Roberts and Byrne 1996, 127). Thus due to the colonial history of the region, the Spiritual Baptist Faith has demonstrated an openness as well as incorporation of difference which has informed ritual practices. Other spiritual cities include China, from which 2,645 labourers were sent to Trinidad during the latter part of the nineteenth century (Roberts and Byrne 1996, 127). Zane notes that many of the Trinidadian churches in Brooklyn, United States, had Hindu images and he also observed the statue of the Happy Buddha, representing the spiritual city of China (Zane 1999b, 141). In addition, Israel, Canaan, Jericho, and Zion are other common spiritual locations within the Faith (Zane 1999a, 81, 82). It is significant that Europe, as well as America, is excluded from the reported locations of spiritual travel by adherents in St. Vincent. Zane notes that these locations are denied spiritual reality among the adherents, demonstrating the unimportance of such locations in the spiritual realm (Zane 1999a, 146). Thus metaphor of the ship, one that is in motion, and travel between spiritual sites demonstrates the importance of religion and non-physical forms of mobilities in cosmopolitan practices.

Physical Travel: Persecution and Inter-Island Migration in the Late Nineteenth to Mid-Twentieth Century Another way in which Eurocentric approaches to cosmopolitanism can be challenged is through examining various ways of being cosmopolitan which includes various histories, including those outside Europe (Pollack et al. 2000, 584, 588). Exploring physical travel by Spiritual Baptist adherents in the ­nineteenth and twentieth centuries underscores the importance of including various postcolonial histories in order to examine the relevance of religion in cosmopolitan practices. Such cosmopolitan sensibilities within the Spiritual Baptist Faith are a response to European colonialism. For instance, South Asian influences have been incorporated as a result of indentured labour and the Faith has spread across the eastern Caribbean, initially, as a result of persecution during the colonial period. As Cohen notes with global Orisha traditions, it is important to examine the specific historical processes by which such traditions were maintained and altered over time by ‘actors making choices in novel situations’ (Cohen 2002, 32). The main impetus for inter-island migration within the eastern Caribbean in  the late nineteenth and early twentieth century was persecution. By practising the Spiritual Baptist Faith, formerly enslaved Africans in mid-nineteenth ­century St. Vincent were recognising diverse traditions which were perceived by the ­Wesleyans as an attempt to mix ‘barbaric’ Africa with the ‘respectable’ profession of Christianity. By 1860s the movement faced attacks by the authorities, including the destruction of a Spiritual Baptist chapel. Along with their style of worship Spiritual Baptists also faced persecution because they were independent

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The Cosmopolitan Caribbean Spirit  111 of European control and its members were involved in riots which sought better wages and working conditions in St. Vincent (Boa 2001, 9–10). Persecution intensified after the passing of the St. Vincent Shakerism ­Prohibition Ordinance of 1912, which resulted in members being imprisoned, fined, and subjected to hard labour. Such persecution facilitated the spread of the Spiritual Baptist Faith throughout eastern Caribbean during the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, altering the religious and cultural landscape of the region. Hence, ideas moved across imperial borders as a response to persecution conveyed by St. Vincentian adherents seeking religious freedom and expression. As adherents fled southwards, the Faith made a significant and early impact in Trinidad. Here, the St. Vincentian Spiritual Baptists faced similar obstacles: in 1917, Trinidad passed a similar Prohibition Ordinance (Lum 2000, 222; Fraser 2011, 39–40), due to the noise adherents made whilst singing and ringing bells, as well as the style of worship, and the reportedly ‘heathen’ practices derived from Africa (Henry 2003, 33). Grenada, situated between St. Vincent and Trinidad, also hosted fleeing Spiritual Baptists in the late nineteenth to early twentieth century. A prominent Spiritual Baptist leader in Grenada, Bishop Matthew, described how St. Vincentian Spiritual Baptists initially settled in Grenada. However, they were not successful in converting people in Grenada as the Grenadians were ‘staunch’ Catholics and Anglicans, and so the St. Vincentian Spiritual Baptist travelled onwards to ­Trinidad. Here, they found work on sugar plantations and also had access to land to conduct open-air ­ atthew, perservices. As a result, they were able to convert many ­people (Bishop M sonal communication, October 7, 2013). ­However, the Spiritual ­Baptists did make an impact in Grenada, as similar to St. Vincent, concerns were raised about related practices in Grenada which resulted in the passing of the ­Shakerism Prohibition Ordinance in March 1927. This ordinance prohibited the meeting and gathering of two or more persons where ‘obscene or immoral beha­viour or practices’ were carried out which was thought to have a ‘­demoralizing’ or harmful effect upon those attending. The penalty for such meetings was a fine of £50 or, in default of payment, imprisonment with or without hard labour for up to five months (TNA, CO 103/26). Thus physical travel due to persecution led to the spread of Spiritual Baptist traditions and, as a result, almost identical ordinances were passed in the neighbouring islands of Grenada and Trinidad. The location of the inception of the Spiritual Baptist Faith has attracted ­various views that underscores the collaborative dimensions of the Faith beyond its borders. A Trinidadian birth has been discussed, which whilst recognising the influence on the Faith of peoples such as free African-Americans, liberated ­Africans, as well as migrants from smaller West Indian islands, maintains that the Spiritual Baptist Faith grew out mainly of the beliefs of enslaved ­Africans ­during enslavement in Trinidad (Grey-Burke 2002, 15, 16, 7; Henry 2003, 215n8, 32). However, most scholars believe that the Spiritual Baptist Faith in Trinidad was an introduced religion which originated in St. Vincent and was carried by Vincentian migrants to Trinidad in the early 1900s (Zane 1999; Lum 2000; ­Glazier 1983).

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112  Shantelle George Norman Paul (b. 1898, d. 1970), a prominent Spiritual Baptist and Orisha practitioner in 1950s and 1960s Grenada, can be described as cosmopolitan. Paul demonstrates cosmopolitan sensibilities through his experience of travel and the inspiration received from the practices and cultures he encountered. Paul, interviewed in the early 1950s, described that he combined the Yoruba-Fon Orisha worship commonly known as African work in Grenada, with various Christian beliefs, including the Spiritual Baptist Faith. For example, Paul’s practice featured holy water, a bell, a crucifix, kola nut (used in divination by several African cultures including the Yoruba peoples), and a knife for Ogun (a deity within the Yoruba-Fon pantheon) (Smith 1963, 135, 78; Grenada Folklore 1953, C438/21). Recognising his work consisted of practices belonging to several traditions, Paul described: ‘part of my services is in the form of the Baptists’ (Smith 1963, 90). This included mourning, baptism and ‘doption’ (Smith 1963, 110, 114). The account of Paul’s life illustrates the importance of travel across national borders in the formation of the syncretic Spiritual Baptist Faith, as well Orisha traditions in the island of Grenada. Born in Grenada, Paul travelled throughout the Caribbean, living in Trinidad for over a decade, before returning to settle to Grenada in 1951. Paul’s journey to Trinidad, as well as his travels to Carriacou, Aruba, Martinique, and Demerara, represent the permanent and temporal migrations taken by African-Grenadians in the Caribbean. His account enables an understanding of the effect of transnational movements on religious traditions and the relevance of such traditions in cosmopolitan outlook and practices. On his return to Grenada, Paul’s religious practices had rejuvenated the existing Spiritual Baptist and Orisha traditions in Grenada, giving birth to a distinct form of these traditions, which form the basis of what is known as African work in present-day Grenada. Spiritual Baptist and Orisha practitioner, Bishop Mark, was taught by Paul and lived with him for several years around the age of 12. Mark described that Paul brought both Spiritual Baptist and Orisha traditions to the ‘forefront’ in Grenada, as by the time Paul arrived in Grenada in 1951, it seemed that such traditions were waning (Bishop Mark, personal communication, July 25, 2014). Paul visited the village of Munich in the early 1950s, which was for most of the twentieth-century, the centre of Orisha traditions. When Paul performed his work in Munich, the ‘old heads’ of the village remarked that since the African people died they had not seen such practices (Smith 1963, 112–3). Thus Paul’s work had stimulated practices that were fading in Grenada. Paul’s practice attracted many adherents. Paul recollected that ‘different Shango people’ from around the often visited his camp (Smith 1963, 86). They also came from further afield: Paul carried out an offering to Osun with an Orisha practitioner from Trinidad (Smith 1963, 78), which underscores the interactions and collaborative efforts between Spiritual Baptist and Orisha practitioners in Grenada and Trinidad. Further, Paul’s work also featured ‘Indian powers’ (Smith 1963, 125), most likely an influence from Trinidad. Spiritual Baptists in Grenada incorporate Asian influences in the form of an ‘Indian’ dance, however the use of Indian gods in paraphernalia is absent in Grenada, but present in Trinidad (Smith 1963, 125; Mother Medalin personal communication, November 20, 2009). This is due to

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The Cosmopolitan Caribbean Spirit  113 the differing characteristics of Indian migration and integration in Trinidad and Grenada. The scale of Asian immigration to Grenada was smaller than Trinidad. Moreover, as a result of the intense proselytization by churches, the geographical size of Grenada (which did not allow for establishment of isolated communities), Indians were well integrated into Grenadian society by 1950s and a distinct Indian cultural identity was ‘generally invisible’ (Sookram 2006, 35, 29). However, due to the present movement by Spiritual Baptist and Orisha adherents between ­Trinidad and Grenada, the absence of Indian paraphernalia may not be a permanent feature. For instance, the Grenadian-born Harriette and her daughters were baptized into the Orisha Faith whilst in Trinidad. There she learnt the different stools (altars) for the ‘saints’ (deities) including the Hindu deity, Lakshmi. Currently, her temple is filled with pictures of various Hindu deities. She currently attends a local Spiritual Baptist church in Grenada, but is in the process of, with the assistance of worshippers in Trinidad, building a church in Grenada which reflects the practices and traditions she has incorporated from Trinidad (Harriette, personal communication with author, June 1, 2013). Thus Spiritual Baptist and Orisha traditions are constantly in flux as people travel and collaborate across borders of the eastern Caribbean. Such religions are relevant to the adherents’ cosmopolitan identities and practices. The diverse influences within the Spiritual Baptist Faith can also be seen in the incorporation of European book magic, which circulated during and after the colonial period, and influenced Norman Paul’s work. Rocklin (2012, 73) has demonstrated that the influence of European book magic within the Spiritual ­Baptist Faith has been overlooked by those searching for ‘Africanisms’. For  example, Rocklin, examining Herskovitses’ 1939 ethnography, Trinidad Village, along with their diary and field notes, stressed that the ‘Africanity’ of the Spiritual Baptist Faith was overemphasized by the Herskovitses (Rocklin 2012, 57, 70). In doing so, other inspirations such as European magic, fraternal organisations, Hinduism, and Islam, were ignored or underemphasized. For instance, an informant of ­Herskovits emphasised Euro-Christian elements of the Spiritual Baptist Faith by describing that the De Laurence Company, the major purveyor of Western occult literature to the Caribbean in the early twentieth century, was itself ‘correct Baptist’, classifying the Company as a ‘Christian enterprise’ (Palmié 2002, 207; Rocklin 2012, 57, 68). In addition, this informant related that the chalk signs used in the Spiritual Baptist Faith derived from these European books. The identification of the source of Spiritual Baptist practice with the magic of European books speaks to the diversity of influences that have shaped the Spiritual Baptist Faith in the eastern Caribbean as a result of the circulation of printed material. Thus inter-island travel and the circulation of religious ideas and cultural artefacts during and after the colonial period have shaped and continue to shape Spiritual Baptist and Orisha traditions in the eastern Caribbean. Adherents have demonstrated cosmopolitan competences by displaying an ‘intellectual and aesthetic stance of openness to divergent cultural experiences (Hannerz 1990, 239). Thus examining colonial histories of the Caribbean demonstrates the importance of religion in producing cosmopolitan sensibilities.

114  Shantelle George

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A Second Diaspora – Spiritual Baptists Adherents in England In the era of decolonization, post-war migration of Caribbean populations led to the establishment of Spiritual Baptist churches in England. Considering cosmopolitanism and transnationalism among Caribbean migrants in London critiques the assumption of cosmopolitanism that post-war immigrants undergo a process which enables them to be cosmopolitan in European societies. Rather due to the hybrid and transnational practices established by Spiritual Baptist adherents prior to their arrival, Spiritual Baptists already manifest a cosmopolitan outlook and retain this in the UK. Thus, as residents of Europe, their cosmopolitanism does not become secular when it is practised in Europe. There are several Spiritual Baptist Churches in England and many members are from Grenada, St. Vincent, Trinidad, Barbados, and Jamaica (Kerridge 1995, 144; Bishop Mary, personal communication with author, August 6, 2013). The Pan-­Caribbean membership demonstrates the collaborative efforts among ­Caribbean peoples in the United Kingdom. In 1962, the first Spiritual Baptist Church in London, Mount Nesbit Spiritual Baptist Church, was established by a leader from Trinidad. According to a member of the church, the Trinidad leader had received a vision to empower God’s people and the black community in England by bringing them the gospel. Most of its members originate from Trinidad and Grenada, with members from Jamaica and from among the Yoruba people of Nigeria (Kerridge 1995, 16–7). Over 95 per cent of Mount Nesbit’s attendees are female. As in St. Vincent, and the rest of the eastern Caribbean, women are essential to the work of the church (Zane 199b, 130). As practiced in the Spiritual ­Baptist churches in the eastern Caribbean, cosmopolitan sensibilities as demonstrated through ship motif, mourning, and ‘doption continue within the UK. Other practices, such as baptisms by full immersion, occur at South Coast locations, such as Eastbourne (Kerridge 1995, 76). Within the church, vévé patterns, symbols commonly found in Haitian Vodun, are drawn in chalk near the centre of the church (Kerridge 1995, 43). Mount Nesbit church can be described as a ‘mother church’ as members who previously attended that church established many of the Spiritual Baptist churches elsewhere in the UK. Further, Mount ­Nesbit is the only Spiritual Baptist church in the UK which owns its building of worship; other churches use rented spaces (Bishop Mary, personal communication with author, August 6, 2013). The close connection between Spiritual Baptists churches in the UK with those in Grenada can also be discerned. The Grenadian leader Bishop ­Matthew, is a cousin of the leader who set up Mount Nesbit church. Matthew has set up an umbrella organisation incorporating several churches in Grenada. In 1981, he established a Spiritual Baptist Church in Grenada. He later travelled to ­Trinidad and America, where he was associated with the Baptist church, and then he ­travelled to the UK. Whilst in the UK, Matthew baptised Bishop Mary, the current bishop of the London-based branch of the church established in ­Grenada. Similar to Mount Nesbit church, all except four of the members and regular visitors at the church are female. Born and raised in the eastern Caribbean,

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The Cosmopolitan Caribbean Spirit  115 Bishop Mary established the church in 2006 and described that the establishment of the church grew from the desire for a sense of home. She further noted that the church in Grenada which was established in 1981 was the ‘home church’ and it operated in similar ways to the London branch (Bishop Mary, personal communication with author, August 6, 2013). The connection between Grenada ­ ondon-based Spiritual B ­ aptists is further underscored in the enactand the L ment of one of the Faith’s key rituals – ­mourning  – in Grenada, where there are improved facilities and ­operations. Thus Spiritual Baptists demonstrate a cosmopolitan outlook by expressing attachment to several locations. To some extent, there are similarities in the negative perceptions of Spiritual Baptist practices in the colonial Caribbean and in post-colonial London. In the UK, Spiritual Baptist adherents have encountered some obstacles in practising their Faith. During the colonial era, practices of the church were often described as ‘noisy’ due to the ringing of the bells, singing, and sounds made during ‘­doption. Bishop Mary commented that the nature of the worship is loud due to the style of worship such as the clapping of hands, tramping, ringing of bells, dancing, and singing. This has caused problems between the Spiritual Baptist churches and the local community. In their current building, Bishop Mary’s church has not experienced any complaints, and, in fact, often open their doors during services (Bishop Mary, personal communication with author, August 6, 2013). This could be due to the fact that the church is located on a busy high street. However, the Mount ­Nesbit church, a terraced property, located in a residential area, has received official complaints. One member described that some of the neighbours were unhappy about the noise from the church, as a result they aimed to finish their services by 6 pm. Bishop Mary described that due to the renting of buildings by some Spiritual Baptist adherents, in some cases, integral parts of their worship, notably candle lighting, are prohibited due to health and safety regulations (Bishop Mary, personal communication with author, August 6, 2013). Thus, although there are some restrictions in practising their Faith in London, such as the noise, candle lighting and mourning ceremonies, Spiritual Baptists do not become secular; their cosmopolitan practices remain embedded in their religious practices. African-inspired Caribbean religions have become globalised, and the continued spread of such religions points to relevance of transnational religion in producing cosmopolitan sensibilities. For example, the former Prime Minister of Trinidad (Kamla Persad-Bissessar 2010–2015) identified herself as a Spiritual Baptist as well as Hindu. In Trinidad, there is an active dialogue between local Orisha adherents and those in Nigeria: in 1988, the Ooni of Ife, the spiritual leader of the Yoruba in Nigeria, visited Trinidad and Tobago. Trinidad has played an active role in the International Congress of Orisha Tradition and Culture, and in 1987, hosted the third World Conference on Orisha Traditions and Culture (­following the second conference in Salvador de Bahia in 1983) (Murrell 2010, 205). The Spiritual Baptist Faith also demonstrates transnational elements. ­Several Spiritual Baptist churches in the eastern Caribbean are incorporated under the West Indian United Spiritual Sacred Baptist Order Inc. (W.I.U.S.B.S.O. Inc.). The majority of churches are located in Trinidad; however, there are nine churches

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116  Shantelle George in Grenada and its sister island Carriacou, and seven in Tobago. Furthermore, Bishop Matthew has also incorporated several churches under an umbrella organi­sation which include churches in the Caribbean, Canada and England. Further, the London branch of the Grenadian church has also been involved, along with members from the Spiritual Baptist churches elsewhere in London, United States, Trinidad & Tobago, Grenada, and Canada, in education and missionary projects in Ghana and Liberia. As a result, branches of the church in Grenada have recently been established in Liberia and Ghana. As Matory (2005, 1) has established with the Brazilian Candomblé, ‘folk’ religion is not defined by its ‘closure or internal homogeneity, but by the diversity of its connections to classes and places’. Thus these recent collaborative activities among members across the black Atlantic sites - in Europe, North America, Africa, and the Caribbean - demonstrate the idea of cosmopolitanism ‘in the making’ (Pollock 2000, 593).

Conclusion The Spiritual Baptist Faith is a transnational phenomenon, born out of the movement of ideas, cultures and peoples within the eastern Caribbean and across the Atlantic. Due to the displacement and re-location of African and Asian peoples and their subsequent travel across the eastern Caribbean, people of the eastern Caribbean have forged collaborative and diverse connections across ethnic, racial and national lines. This chapter has critiqued three assumptions of cosmopolitanism. Firstly, cosmopolitan identities and practices are evident beyond Europe, in the ­Caribbean and among Caribbean peoples in Europe. Examining the history of Spiritual ­Baptist Faith, it is evident that the Faith is a combination of various peoples and ideas that have converged in the colonial Caribbean space. Secondly, secularization is limited in discussing Caribbean cosmopolitan practices such as African-Atlantic religious expressions. Such religions are increasingly important in understanding cosmo­ politan practices, both outside and within Europe. This is evident in spiritual travel which demonstrates the varied influences which are often, geographically, centred on non-European locations. Lastly, ­Caribbean migrants brought with them and retained in Europe cosmopolitan practices through religion that were forged within colonial and post-colonial societies. Such migrants continue to practice forms of cosmopolitanism through forging transnational connections in Africa and the C ­ aribbean. Therefore, the inclusion of such histories, as well as post-colonial voices and actors, highlights how those on the margins of European civil society offer insights and lessons towards achieving a non-Eurocentric form of cosmopolitanism.

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The Cosmopolitan Caribbean Spirit  117 Boa, Sheena (2001). ‘“Walking on the Highway to Heaven”: Religious Influences and Attitudes Relating to the Freed Population of St. Vincent, 1834–1884’. Journal of ­Caribbean History 35 (2). British Library, SoundServer, ‘Grenada Folklore’ (1953). C438/21, 1CDR0009881, ‘­Interview with Norman Paul’, Levera, St. Patrick, 10 October 1953. Casanova, José (2011). ‘Cosmopolitanism, the Clash of Civilizations and Multiple Modernities’. Current Sociology 59 (2). Clifford, James (1992). Travelling Cultures. In Grossberg, Larry, Nelson, Cary, and Treicher Paula A. (ed.), Cultural Studies. New York: Routledge. Cohen, Peter F. (2002). ‘Orisha Journeys: The Role of Travel in the Birth of Yorùbá-­ Atlantic Religions’. Archives de Sciences Sociales des Religions 117. Fraser, Adrian (2011). From Shakers to Spiritual Baptists: The Struggle for Survival of the Shakers of St. Vincent and the Grenadines. St. Vincent: Kings-SVG Publishers. Gilroy, Paul (1993). The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. London: Verso. Gilroy, Paul (2004). After Empire: Melancholia or Convivial Culture? London: Routledge. Glazier, Stephen D. (1983). Marchin’ the Pilgrims Home: Leadership and Decision-­ Making in an Afro-Caribbean Faith. Westport: Greenword Press, 1983. Glazier, Stephen D. (2003). “Limin’Wid Jah”: Spiritual Baptists Who Become Rastafarians and Then Become Spiritual Baptists Again. In Buckster, Andrew and Glazier, ­Stephen D. (ed.) The Anthropology of Religious Conversion. Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield. Grey-Burke, Archbishop (2002). A Brief History of the Shouter Baptist Faith in Trinidad & Tobago. Maraval, Trinidad: Council of Elders Spiritual Baptist Shouter Faith of Trinidad & Tobago. Hall, Stuart and Werbner, Pnina (2008). Cosmopolitanism, Globalisation and Diaspora. In Werbner, Pnina (ed.), Anthropology and the New Cosmopolitanism: Rooted, Feminist and Vernacular Perspectives. Oxford: Berg. Hannerz, Ulf (1990). ‘Cosmopolitans and Locals in World Culture’. Theory, Culture, ­Society (7). Henry, Frances (2003). Reclaiming African Religions in Trinidad: The Socio-Political Legitimisation of the Orisha and Spiritual Baptist Faiths. Kingston, Jamaica: The ­University of the West Indies Press. Kerridge, Roy (1995). The Storm is Passing Over: A Look at Black Churches in Britain. London: Thames and Hudson Ltd. Lum, Kenneth A. (2000). Praising His Name in the Dance: Spirit Possession in the Spiritual Baptist Faith and Orisha Work in Trinidad, West Indies. Amsterdam: Harwood Academic Publishers. Matory, Lorand J. (2005). Black Atlantic Religion: Tradition, Transnationalism and Matriarchy in the Afro-Brazilian Candomblé. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Murrell, Nathaniel Samuel (2010). Afro-Caribbean Religions: An Introduction to Their Historical, Cultural, and Sacred in Traditions. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Palmié, Stephan (2002). Wizards and Scientists: Explorations in Afro-Cuban Modernity and Tradition. Duke University Press Books. Pollock, Sheridan (2000). ‘Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in History’. Public Culture 12 (3). Pollock, Sheridan, Bhabha, Homi K., Breckenridge, Carol A., and Chakrabarty, Dipesh (2000). ‘Cosmopolitanisms’. Public Culture 12 (3). Roberts, G. W. and Byrne, J. (1996). ‘Summary Statistics on Indenture and Associated Migration Affecting the West Indies, 1834–1918’. Population Studies 20 (1). Rocklin, Alexander (2012). ‘Imagining Religions in a Trinidad Village: The Africanity of the Spiritual Baptist Movement and the Politics of Comparing Religions’. New West Indian Guide/ Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 86 (1&2). Sheller, Mimi (2011). Cosmopolitanism and Mobilities. In Nowicka, Magdalena, and Rovisco, Maria (ed.), Ashgate Research Companion to Cosmopolitanism. Surrey: ­Ashgate Publishing Group.

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Part III

Contemporary Postcolonial Cosmopolitanisms

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8 Rethinking Cosmopolitanism, Multiculturalism and Diaspora via the Diasporic Cosmopolitanism of Europe’s Kurds Ipek Demir Cosmopolitanism is often associated with Enlightenment ideals and European elites who saw themselves as citizens of the world, opening up to the world, ready to traverse and go beyond the cultural borders of what their nation-states offered or dictated. Cosmopolitanism was thus typically conceived and read as a critique of nationalism, as a sign of openness and thus the normative defence of the idea of human capacity to expand the sphere of identification and belonging beyond national boundaries. In recent years, it has become ever-so fashionable to talk about cosmopolitanism as it came to save the social sciences from what some saw as the ‘debunked’ multicultural narratives on one hand, and naive ­universalism on the other. In this chapter, I will critically examine the juxtaposition of cosmopolitanism against multiculturalism before going on to redefine cosmopolitanism around three central notions, namely justice-based transnational solidarities, foreignization through translation, and unlearning. On this basis I will defend diasporic cosmopolitanism and argue that it is possible to find cosmopolitan engagement and sociability amongst diasporic Kurds, living in multicultural neighbourhoods of Europe’s cities. In so doing, I will hammer home the point that if cosmopolitanism is to be politically and theoretically rewarding, it must not only engage with multiculturalism seriously, but also recognize the openness, tolerance and justice oriented solidarities diasporic communities bring to, and demand from, Europe.

Cosmopolitanism Versus Multiculturalism? The rise and prevalence of cosmopolitanism in social science coincide with the increasing backlash against multiculturalism in wider political debates and ­European public policy and discourse. The backlash1 against multiculturalism has been mainly twofold. First, multiculturalism came to be used as a convenient label when talking about the de facto social exclusion, isolation and poverty of those living in subaltern neighbourhoods of Europe. Secondly, the negative attributions levied against communitarianism by liberal theorists came to be heavily levied against multiculturalism. Multiculturalism was allowed to become a ‘bad word’, partnered with particularism and separation. It was gradually associated with an

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122  Ipek Demir image of Europe where ethno-religious communities live in cultural silos, leading parallel lives to that of the ‘white mainstream’ and refusing to mix with that mainstream. In other words, multiculturalism, which aimed to think through ways in which diverse societies can live together, accommodate diversity, tackle racism and exclusion and aid justice, came to be blamed for a host of evils, including the poverty, social exclusion and isolation which postcolonial ‘immigrants’2 faced. This shift in thinking, and the vilification of multiculturalism mainly occurred without addressing issues such as white flight, racial aversion in school choice, structural socio-economic inequalities or the dynamics of housing policies in Europe, ignoring considerable social scientific research on integration, education, race and ethnicity which exposed social and racial exclusions.3 Perversely, the social exclusion and isolation of subaltern poor communities of colour are now in themselves presented as if they were an outcome of multiculturalism, the very aim of which was to promote diversity and inclusion through a rejection of the assimilationist policies of the old order. Multiculturalism was never about purely recognizing diversity and difference; it was about questioning the upper hand that the hegemonic national subjects held, allowing minoritized groups to make claims and participate on an equal footing as civic and political citizens. Thus it was about addressing inherited power relations in Europe and dethroning the idea of a homogeneous national culture. Identity and difference mattered because they were linked to power.4 Whilst it is unsurprising to hear European politicians of the right, such as David Cameron, Angela Merkel or Nicolas Sarkozy, portray multiculturalism in a negative light and hark back to the days where the hegemonic status of privileged national subjects reigned, I would like to draw attention to how social scientists in the last decade also attacked multiculturalism, and more importantly for this chapter, used multiculturalism as a foil when defending cosmopolitanism.5 Beck’s work, for example, approaches multiculturalism critically. Associating it with methodological nationalism and ignoring the way in which multiculturalism sought to question the upper hand the hegemonic national subjects held, Beck argued: ‘Multiculturalism means plural monoculturalism. It refers to collective categories of difference and has a tendency to essentialize them … multiculturalism perceives cultural differences as -so to speak- “little nations” in one nation’ (Beck 2011: 54). Beck provides no evidence or discussion from the works of theorists who defend (or even criticize) multiculturalism to justify this definition. Beck’s straw man depiction of multiculturalism is as over-simplistic as a portrayal of cosmopolitanism being not much more than a bit of dabbling in different cultures. Others followed Beck’s disdain for multiculturalism. The depiction of multiculturalism in opposition to autonomy and justice, and its association with difference and division were, for example, put forward by social theorists: ‘cosmopolitanism is not a generalized version of multiculturalism where plurality is simply the goal’ (Delanty 2006: 35); ‘[m]ulticulturalism, too, often results in an increase in cultural differences as opposed to being a means to secure autonomy and justice’ (Delanty 2011: 650).6 The need to avoid multiculturalism also came from scholars

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Rethinking Cosmopolitanism  123 of migration and cosmopolitanism: ‘ours is an effort to move beyond multiculturalism’, and to go beyond the ‘ultimately essentializing nature of culturally and ethno-religious-based paradigms’ (Glick-Schiller et al. 2011: 401). It is timely that whilst European policy-makers, politicians and social ­scientists abandoned multiculturalism, cosmopolitanism gained renewed attention in academia. Many scholars appealed to cosmopolitanism’s Enlightenment and thus European origins, taking Kant’s theories on cosmopolitanism as a basis. ­Cosmopolitanism is what the desirable Europeans did and aspired to; the ‘undesirable’ ‘parochial’ ethno-religious communities of Europe, on the other hand, did something we did not like very much: they did multiculturalism. Barring a few exceptions (Bhambra 2011; Lentin and Titley 2011) such racial undertones of the swift dismissal of multiculturalism in favour of cosmopolitanism have largely been ignored by social scientists. A second problem is that the critics of multiculturalism often conflate existing social problems with those of culture and end up ascribing problems which are to do with social exclusion by laying it at the door and ‘culture’ of the subaltern groups. This attempt in fact exonerates the dominant modes of social and racial exclusion faced by those living in subaltern neighbourhoods whilst making ‘them’ and ‘their culture’ a problem. It conveniently absolves the majority culture of any responsibility, and avoids structural problems being discussed and addressed. Thirdly, there has been little criticism of the way in which multiculturalism is used as a shorthand for describing the tensions, failed integration policies, poverty, in other words whatever de facto problems exist in poor ‘ethnic’ neighbourhoods of Europe. Multiculturalism is stripped of its normative aspirations, burdened with poverty and exclusion as problems it is unable to solve whilst cosmopolitanism is allowed to emerge as the attractive alternative normative aspiration, promoting mobility, tolerance, difference and openness. It is no wonder then that in the literature, cosmopolitanism emerged as some sort of an ideal, an imagination, a true European gentleman. That the recognition of that difference and respect, which multiculturalism defended, is essential for a non-hierarchical relationship with the ‘other’, and thus essential for a cosmopoli­tan order, came to be conveniently ignored. Consequently, a false dichotomy is increasingly drawn between multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism. ­Recognition of difference and respect for the other are crucial for the questioning of ­previously established social and cultural hierarchies between the West and its ­others and any possible learning from the other which cosmopolitanism promotes. ­Multiculturalism, in its aspiration to allow minoritized groups to participate as equals in civic and political life, and to enhance their claim-making capacities is essential for a cosmopolitan order. Multiculturalism (as a political theory) aims to foster not just diversity of cultures and difference as they enhance ‘the quality of life and learning’ (Gutmann 1994: 10), but, even more importantly, aims to question the very hierarchical standing of the West vis-à-vis its others living in amongst itself. It promotes the humbling of the identity which holds the upper hand to present itself in a non-­ glorified language, rupturing previously established colonial orders, its subsequent assimilationist policies and inherited racial and cultural hierarchies. Attempting to

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124  Ipek Demir interrupt the ethnocentric imposition of western cultures on others, multiculturalism invites the dominant self, identity and culture to engage in the painful and awkward process of seeing itself in a new light. Rather than essentializing cultures or groups as its critics claim, its aim has been to attempt to de-essentialize, to question homogeneity within nation-states and to challenge Eurocentric hegemony. As Taylor says: ‘What is to be avoided at all costs is the existence of “first-class” and “second-class” citizens’ (1994: 37) and the political transformation which can follow from that. By collapsing social and cultural pecking orders between those who hold the upper hand and those who were previously subjugated, multiculturalism invites different groups to challenge national narratives and to make transformative demands. It demands that minoritized cultures and groups find a voice at the nation-state level, and beyond. It is no coincidence that it has been widely used to depict and defend the moral and political claims of disadvantaged groups, for example religious and ethnic minorities, indigenous ­peoples in North America and New Zealand, and African Americans.7 It allows those who are/were in a minoritized position to be able to modify, change and criticize not just themselves but also the majority through enhancing their claim-making capacities. In that sense, rather than being the culprit of exclusion and isolation, multiculturalism is a vehicle for fluidity, hybridity, learning from one another and for challenging Europe’s self-understanding, whether it be in the form of rendering visible the historical connections of the minoritized with Europe, or questioning the racialized categories which are still reproduced within the European political sphere. I suggest that cosmopolitanism without a multicultural ethos is nothing but a mono­logue; one where openness and dialogue are redundant if not impossible.

Re-defining Cosmopolitanism Globalization and the compression of space and time have heralded cosmopolitan perspectives. Appadurai (1996) noted the disjunction between subjectivity and territory as a result of globalization whilst Beck (2006) emphasized that the global other is now in our midst. Cosmopolitanism, Beck argues, allows the seeing of not just others but also oneself in new ways, connecting individuals and groups in novel ways. According to Beck, whose work is considered as having made a major contribution to this scholarship, cosmopolitanism focuses on the increasing connection and intertwinement with actors beyond national borders and thus challenges not only xenophobic but also exclusionary national and particularistic politics (2006). Whilst Beck’s work, and especially his promotion of cosmopolitanism as a growing non-hierarchical acceptance of others is welcome, there is curiously little said in Beck’s work about Europe’s ‘European others’, namely Europe’s diasporic communities. This is in spite of cultural plurality being woven into the fabric of European history and society (e.g. arising from coloniality). Beck is keen to promote increased cross-cultural dialogue and learning but is curiously silent on what Europe can learn from Europe’s postcolonial ‘immigrants’ some of whom now present an important political presence, consciousness, challenge, ‘making a claim in the West, on the West’ (Asad 2015). Beck instead sees the European

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Rethinking Cosmopolitanism  125 Union as a concrete embodiment of diversity and cosmopolitanism. This is surprising on several accounts. Cosmopolitanism necessitates being open to not just encounter but also change. Through being open to others who think and act differently, and through engagement with them we not only promote cross-cultural dialogue but also see ourselves and others in an entirely new light, including a non-hierarchical acceptance of, and interaction with, the other. If we only spoke to, and were keen to learn from, those who all ascribed to very similar world-views, values, social positions, then it is not obvious what the point of cosmopolitan sociability and interaction would be. Is there is anything worth knowing what those living in multicultural neighbourhoods of Europe make of mainstream European society? Beck’s works are curiously silent about this. Neither do his works allow the possibility that they should be able to change and mould the majority. His work ‘takes little account of the diversity within Europe as constituted by its minorities within states’ (Bhambra 2011: 319). Diversity is sought by looking elsewhere, at the institutional capacity the EU can offer when linking nation-states (e.g. see Beck and Grande 2007). His works have very little to offer to Europe’s diasporic communities, subaltern groups and marginalized ethnic minorities. As Baban and Rygiel (2014: 465) state: ‘cosmopolitan Europe, as it is predominantly defined in the existing literature, has very little to offer cultural minorities’. I therefore argue that Beck’s cosmopolitanism sits oddly with his blind spot and disregard for Europe’s European others. His vision of the EU as a concrete embodiment of and vehicle for cosmopolitanism is also peculiar given the restrictive and hostile EU migration regimes for those outside of the EU. The ‘allure of elsewhere’ and the ‘urge to experience another culture’ commonly associated with cosmopolitanism seem only available for the mobile northern professionals of the west, or what has been referred to as the ‘cosmocrats’ (Micklethwait and Wooldridge 2003; Helen ­Kirwan-Taylor 2000). Whilst the critics of multiculturalism are quick to mock its banal versions and confine it to ‘saris, samosas and steelbands’, it is worth remembering that cosmopolitanism is not immune from such banal versions either. If we are to go beyond the banal and ‘consumerist cosmopolitanism’ (Calhoun 2002: 105) of eating sushi for lunch, buying world music in the afternoon and going to salsa dance classes in the evening, then we can re-define and refine cosmopolitanism by placing social justice as its central pillar, as ‘a new sociality characterized by global connectivities that engender justice-oriented alliances and solidarities’ (Cook 2012: 3). The ‘allure of other struggles’, the ‘urge to support other struggles’ and the ‘urge to make justice-oriented alliances and solidarities’ can then be seen as central pillars of cosmopolitanism.8 If one of the central pillars of cosmopolitanism is the allure of justice-­oriented solidarities, another central pillar of cosmopolitanism should be willingness ‘to ­foreignize’ and to be ‘foreignized’ via translation or encounter. ­Postcolonial ­scholars such as Bhabha (1994) have noted the role of cultural translators, ­especially those located in liminal in-between spaces in creating hybrid, cosmopolitan visions. Delanty also notes the key role of translation in cosmopolitanism

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126  Ipek Demir and his critical cosmopolitanism underlines the ‘cosmopolitan condition of living in translation’ (Delanty 2009: 196) whereby seeing one’s culture through the eye of the other and thus transforming oneself are central motifs. The key role of translation in the cosmopolitan vision, however, has been defended in detail in the works of Bielsa (2010, 2012, 2014) who argues that ‘[t]ranslation provides a model for approaching cultural interaction beyond cultural pluralism and the “dialogue between cultures”’ (2014: 12). I also maintain that insights of translation studies and especially the work of Venuti have much to offer to cosmopolitanism. Venuti’s seminal work on translation (2008) goes beyond naïve conceptualizations of translation as the transmissibility of information and intelligibility of exchange and communication. It highlights the political and uneasy nature of translation between the core and the periphery and the imposition of the core into the translations of text and cultures emerging from the periphery. Venuti exposes the way in which peripheral languages and cultures need to constantly translate themselves to make themselves intelligible in the language and culture of the dominant. He sees this as an act of appropriation of the other, albeit one which is oriented towards making the ‘other’ intelligible to the domi­nant (western) value-system. Referring to the process whereby the translated text is made to read fluently as ‘domestication’, Venuti thus underlines the ethnocentric aspects of translation. In this process the foreignness of the original is hidden away and the disruptions it can bring to the receiving dominant language and culture are smoothed over. In fact, the original is often violated. In contrast to domestication, Venuti discusses ‘foreignizing translation’. Through foreignizing, through engaging in non-smoothed over texts and values, the core can truly enlarge the horizons of its own language, culture and worldview. It can de-centre itself. In so doing it can also form the foundation for, and aid the creation of, cosmopolitan futures. It is this insight from translation studies which brings diaspora, cosmopolitanism and multiculturalism together. I see the interruptions diasporic groups within Europe carry out as a form of foreignizing and thus as part and parcel of a non-Eurocentric cosmopolitan engagement.

Diasporic Cosmopolitanism of Europe’s Kurds Having outlined my opposition to the juxtaposition of cosmopolitanism against multiculturalism, and having re-conceptualized cosmopolitanism, in the rest of this chapter I will discuss the diasporic cosmopolitanism of Kurds living in multicultural neighbourhoods of Europe. I will ‘diasporize’ and ‘multiculturize’ cosmopolitanism. This is because non-Eurocentric cosmopolitanism and multiculturalism defended in this chapter have many overlapping concerns as enablers of not just plurality but also of intercultural communication, solidarity and hybridity. Non-Eurocentric cosmopolitan approaches have highlighted the need to go beyond typically European tropes and have turned attention to openness towards those living outside of Europe. Whilst this aspect of cosmopolitanism brings into our sphere of knowledge the experiences of those outside of Europe, openness to, and cosmopolitanism of, Europe’s ‘European others’, namely Europe’s diasporic

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Rethinking Cosmopolitanism  127 communities, have received much less attention. I will aim to fill this lacuna by taking Kurdish diaspora as a case study and examine the ‘diasporic cosmopolitanism’ of Kurds living in multicultural cities of Europe.9 Diasporic cosmopolitanism can at first sight be seen as an oxymoron. As diasporic communities are oriented towards continuing ethno-political battles, they are generally seen as representing ethnic and cultural closure, the opposite of the openness which cosmopolitanism aims to promote. Whilst diasporic groups’ engagement with, and revival of, ­ethno-political heritage in Europe can be seen as atavistic and essentialist, cosmopolitanism is oriented towards not only questioning these, but in fact posits itself against such parochialisms. In other words, a taken-for-granted view of diasporas and the kind of attacks on multiculturalism I discussed above share a similar fate: they are cornered with accusations of particularism, separatism and a host of other evils, especially up against cosmopolitanism and post-nationalism. Below I will examine the extent to which such juxtapositions, dominant in our understandings of diaspora and cosmopolitanism, are sustainable. I will argue that it is possible to find cosmopolitan engagement and sociability where we expect it the least (as we have looked for it the least), amongst diasporic communities, and I will take Kurds, living in multicultural neighbourhoods of Europe’s cities as my case study. Similar to multiculturalism, the deployment of diaspora as an analytical ­category has been criticized as ‘too limiting’, ‘privileging the nation-state model and nationally-defined formations when conversing about a global process such as immigration’ (Soysal 2000: 2). Soysal argues that diaspora can be a ‘trope for nostalgia’, ‘through its naturalizing metaphors of roots, soil and kinship’ (2002: 13) whilst Yeğenoğlu has been critical of how ‘attributing a transformative and resistive power to migrancy, mobility and hybridity has become something of a structural and structuring feature of a certain type of intellectual discourse in the Anglo-American academy’ (2005: 123). Soysal and Yeğenoğlu are correct to draw attention to the fact that diaspora, migration and travel do not necessarily produce cosmopolitan sociabilities. However, as Werbner (2005) and Gilroy (1993) have highlighted, diasporas can be ethnic-parochial but also open, emphasize conti­ngency, hybridity and indeterminacy against essentialist and narrow conceptualizations of nation, race and culture. The latter perceives diasporas as dynamic and vibrant instead of as atavistic and rigid entities, not just in terms of the identity connections they maintain with the home and the host, but also in their development over time (e.g. how ‘Turkish economic migrants’ over time became ‘­Kurdish diaspora’ in London [Demir forthcoming 2016]). Kurdish diaspora appeared in Europe from the late 1980s and early 1990s onwards. The village evacuations in Turkey, the environment of suspicion and discomfort created around Kurdishness together with their social, economic and political exclusion and deprivation in Turkey have forced many Kurds to move to Europe (see for example, Bayir 2013; Houston 2004; Saraçoğlu 2010; ­Zeydanlıoğlu 2012). Kurds are now a substantial part of European cities such as Paris, London and Berlin, both in terms of numbers and their critical voice and activism (e.g. Eccarius-Kelly 2002). They are politically active and continue ethno-­political battles for identity at a distance, translating their suffering and

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128  Ipek Demir rebellion to European audiences and also to their second generation whereby they challenge the way in which the Kurdish question is told by Turkey to the outside world. Debates which they raise have also become ‘instrumental in setting the agenda in Turkey itself’ (Neyzi 2002: 93). Having created a vibrant political space in Europe enacted through their transnational networks with Turkey, as well as across many European cities, they now have a ‘hegemonic presence in diaspora politics’ (Hassanpour and Mojab 2004: 222). I argue that the diasporic cosmopolitanism of Europe’s Kurds manifests itself in three distinct ways. First, Kurds are enrolled in justice-based solidarity movements. The Kurdish movement is a keen supporter of social liberation movements and socially progressive efforts in Europe. Far from being atavistic, ethno-­chauvinistic or obsessed with ‘roots’ and ‘origins’, it is internationalist in character, transnational in its activities and practices (Başer 2015). It is highly ‘Euroversal’ (Soğuk 2008: 176) in spirit. Its political activism is geared towards building solidarities, including with sections of the Turkish and Alevi diaspora which share its political vision. They display what Said has called ‘awareness of simultaneous dimensions’ (2000: 186) and sensitivity towards other social movements. The allure of other struggles is something to which many Kurdish organizations in London are attracted. ‘Justice-oriented alliances and struggles’ which Cook (2002) places at the heart of cosmopolitanism range from the expected (e.g. the Tamil struggle) to the unexpected. Alliances and solidarities are built with, for example, those who campaign against student fees in the UK, against ­austerity, in favour of LGBT rights, refugee organizations and the green movement. ­Members of Kurdish movements are usual attenders of 1st May demonstrations and ­women’s day parades in London and in other European cities. The ‘allure of other struggles’ and the urge to make ‘justice-oriented alliances and solidarities’ are present. Such solidarities allow the margins of Europe to collaborate, and aim to interrupt the established order of things and ‘business as usual’ attitudes. Secondly, Kurds of Europe, through their translation of the Kurdish political movement to European audiences, engage in, borrowing Venuti’s terms, both foreignization and domestication and thus in active interaction, engagement and intervention. They take on the task of foreignizing by telling gruelling, uncomfortable and ‘unpalatable’ stories not just about their suffering but also their rebellion. Their stories are not always domesticated and made easily consumable for the European public. Through unpalatable and uncomfortable translations of the Kurdish struggle, Kurds inadvertently foreignize the European political sphere. They interrupt the order of things by holding public gatherings and demonstrations, whether it be challenging what they call ‘Cameron’s silence on Turkey’, or organizing a campaign in Hamburg against the building of the Ilisu Dam, or campaigning against the European arms trade with Turkey. Their engagement is aimed at disrupting the dominant modes of thinking to the extent that they do not always smooth over language and practices. I argue that they foreignize their interlocutors, that is the European public and force them to engage in the demanding job of learning, discovery and questioning the self and their governments.

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Rethinking Cosmopolitanism  129 Here however, there is never pure foreignization. Kurds of Europe also attempt to domesticate their story for Europeans to some extent. This is because there is increasing recognition amongst the Kurdish diaspora that their translation of the Kurdish struggle and rebellion needs to be what I previously called ‘palatable’ to other audiences (Demir 2015). There is therefore a tension between this domestication and foreignizing which Kurds undertake, a tension which I argue is in fact fruitful and essential for building cosmopolitan sensibilities as it allows learning and interaction on both sides. The perceived need to translate the Kurdish struggle and rebellion, to engage with the other, and to establish solidarities means that cultural capacities and practices learnt from the other are advertently or inadvertently introduced to diasporic Kurdish lives and discourses. Canons previously brought from home are modified and refashioned. Similarly, the foreignizing which Kurds invite enhances possibilities for Europe’s cosmopolitanism in that it confronts and challenges the limits of European sensibility, compassion and responsibility. Through this interesting balance between foreignizing and domestication which this diasporic group brings, one can locate not just passive openness but interrelation and intervention, central tenets of cosmopolitanism. Not only the European but also the Kurdish diasporic circle of identification and vision are expanded. A third way in which cosmopolitanism is demonstrated in Kurdish diaspora’s engagement and activities is the way in which Kurds undertake the task of ‘unlearning’. As Asad and Dixon have highlighted, an important aspect of translation is not simply learning but in fact ‘unlearning’ (1985: 173). Attempts to interrupt and correct problematic constructions of the self and others in media, public and political life and discourses are some of the ways in which unlearning can be carried out. Unlearning is a vehicle for being able to see and present not just others but also oneself in new ways. Alongside foreignization and enrolling in solidarity-based struggles, it should be seen as a crucial pillar of cosmopolitan engagement. Kurds of Europe undertake unlearning in two ways: making others unlearn; and making themselves unlearn. Invitation to unlearn occurs, for example when Kurds correct Orientalist depictions of Kurds, or other groups, or when they re-tell history and narrate cultural memory including European involvement in the carving up of Kurdish lands in early-mid 20th century. Kurdish diaspora also engage in unlearning through de-Turkification, that is correcting, interrupting and shedding the intense Turkification and assimilation which Kurds have been recipients of in Turkey (Demir forthcoming 2016). Both explicit and hidden Turkish biases in their interlocutors’ discourses, for example, the use of Turk/Turkish when referring to Kurdish people, or the use of ‘east of Turkey’ instead of ‘Kurdistan’ are challenged. Such critical discursive interruptions are not only put to less political Kurds in diaspora but also to European audiences. Kurdish diaspora challenge their own language, invert hierarchies, and essentialized ways of thinking which they see as imposing unwarranted characteristics on themselves or others. Such unlearning requires accommodations and negotiations with the self; and is thus a central pillar of cosmopolitan attitudes.

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130  Ipek Demir Having said that, a defence of diasporic cosmopolitanism which is hand in hand with multiculturalism, and the Kurdish case I have outlined above, do not mean that reactionary ethno-nationalist discourses are gone. Such discourses can still exist amongst diasporic groups, similar to the way in which they exist in the xenophobic stances and policies by parties and movements such as Britain First, True Finns, the Golden Dawn in Greece or Sweden Democrats. Neither transnationalism nor diasporic experience necessarily leads to pluralistic and transformative possibilities and visions. There is no one-track path which brings diasporas to cosmopolitan or multicultural sensibilities and attitudes. In fact, we need to be aware of the celebration of migrancy and mobility as intrinsically transformative and associated with hybridity (Yeğenoğlu 2005). Multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism are both political visions, and they need to be fought for. The social and political context of the host countries (e.g. openness and acceptance vs xenophobia), as well as the nature of political struggles diasporas bring (e.g. progressive vs conservative) affect the diasporic experiences and connections diasporas make with Europe, and determine the extent to which their diasporic experience is cosmopolitan.

Conclusion As outlined above, cosmopolitan thinking has, on the whole, not only overlooked ethno-political diasporas, but also posited the theoretical and normative framework of cosmopolitanism against multiculturalism (e.g. Beck 2006; Delanty 2006 and 2011; Glick-Schiller 2011 and 2014). That multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism as normative political theories have many overlapping priorities came to be written off. Barring a few exceptions (e.g. Bhambra 2011, Stevenson 2002) they are posited against one another by scholars of cosmopolitanism. I, on the other hand, argued that enrolling in solidarity-based struggles, foreignization (­alongside domestication) through translation, and unlearning should be seen as central ­pillars of cosmopolitanism and discussed how diasporic Kurds living in multicultural cities of Europe carry this out. This reconceptualization of cosmopolitanism, via the insight which translation studies offers, brings cosmopolitanism closer to both diasporas and multiculturalism. The unholy opposition constructed between these three is questioned. Living within a multicultural ethos and in multicultural cities of Europe can allow non-essentialist forms of belonging and identity to develop and can foster cosmopolitan attitudes. It is a necessary but not sufficient ethos for cosmopolitanism. A multicultural ethos within nation-states and cities is essential for diasporic groups to be able to establish solidarity-based identities and activities with other groups, to foreignize themselves and others, and to engage and unlearn whilst holding onto and moulding their group identity through recognized claim-making capacities. Multiculturalism incites solidarity-based politics rather than exclusionary ethno-national politics. This is because, as discussed above, multiculturalism was not about celebrating diversity (or difference) for its sake. It was about destabilizing the dominant identity, that is addressing the hegemony national subjects held by dethroning the idea of national homogeneity and attempting to equalize

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Rethinking Cosmopolitanism  131 power relations and claim-making capacities between different ethno-cultural groups. Difference and diversity mattered because an emphasis on these questioned existing hierarchical power relations between citizens in nation-states and demanded that those who hold the upper hand humble their identities and recognize others as equal interlocutors. Hence it is not just the socially diverse fabric of London, Paris or Berlin which can help put essentialist and atavistic brakes on but more so the multicultural ethos which has, since the 1970s, questioned homogeneity, reified and essentialist national orders, uneven power relations and assimilationist policies of the old order.10 While a multicultural ethos attempts to move minoritized groups from being seen as subjects of assimilation and domination to actors who can make transformative claims about the majority within nation-states, cosmopolitanism has the potential to move them to being transnational actors with global claims. The two claims are not divorced or conflicting; they are both vehicles for preventing reified identities, for ensuring that groups are open to hearing each other and for increasing possibilities for collective action around issues. The cosmopolitan dream of expanding the sphere of identification and belonging beyond national boundaries is therefore more likely if a strong multicultural ethos within nation-states exist. It is the latter, in spite of the backlash, which has been consistently challenging unequal power relationships and building practices, institutions and laws enabling minority communities to find a voice. Such rethinking of diasporas, cosmopolitanism and multiculturalism which forms the basis of my defence and above presentation of diasporic cosmopolitanism, could also enable us to understand better contemporary issues over difference in Europe, including debates which arose around Brexit. There is currently a growing opposition to both multiculturalism and to cosmopolitan ideals in Europe. The backlash against multiculturalism is accompanied by an anti-immigration and nationalist sentiment, challenging cosmopolitan values. The ‘threat’ from one is conflated with the other, presented as a menace poised against, and ready to puncture, European identity, culture, civilization and values. Resistance to cosmopolitan values and multiculturalism is in fact a deep yearning for an old Europe and thus is a resistance to those who challenge Europe’s self-understanding. We need conceptualizations which are able to connect and make sense of the resistance to both multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism rather than seeing the resistance as incongruous movements. Caricatured depictions of multiculturalism however, refuse to see such links and play into the hands of those who hark back to the assimilationist and unequal policies of the old order. Diasporic cosmopolitanism renders more complex our understanding of both multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism and through engaging them in a dialogue we can begin to grasp how popular politics of ethnic and cultural resentment overlap with resentment over immigration and feed the roots of the reactionary populism in Europe. A diasporic cosmopolitan perspective also holds the potential to help remould Europe temporally and spatially: temporally via rendering visible the historical connections diasporas have with Europe, reminding Europe that cultural plurality has been at the core of European history and society (e.g. arising from coloniality) and spatially, via creating, extending, and re-shaping justice-based solidarities within, and outside of, Europe.

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132  Ipek Demir As Delanty (2011: 652) puts it ‘[t]he nature and logic of cosmopolitanism is primarily one of encounter, dialogue and exchange’. This article shows there is much room and need for theorists of cosmopolitanism themselves to encounter and engage in dialogue and exchange with approaches such as multiculturalism and diaspora studies and explore the correctives multiculturalism and diasporic communities of Europe can offer to cosmopolitanism. The search for an inconsistency between cosmopolitanism and multiculturalism is in vain. Appiah rightly asks ‘Where, in other words, would all the diversity we cosmopolitans celebrate come from?’ and he invites us to ‘entertain the possibility of a world in which everyone is a rooted cosmopolitan, attached to a home of his or her own, with its own cultural practices, but taking pleasure from the presence of other, different, places that are home to other, different, people’ (Appiah 1996: 22). Serious engagement with multiculturalism would not only help shift cosmopolitanism away from its banal interpretations and implementations, but also give it the political and normative recognition it seeks whilst steering it away from Eurocentric theorizing and outdated models of assimilation. Politically transformative cosmopolitanism cannot be achieved by using multiculturalism as a foil and by refusing to recognize that it is the multicultural turn which allowed the recognition of ‘the identities of cultural and disadvantaged minorities’ (Gutmann 1994: 3). If ‘cosmopolitanism is back’ (Harvey 2000: 529) and is to be rewarding theoretically or politically, it must concern itself with multiculturalism, and the openness, tolerance and justice-oriented solidarities diasporic communities bring to, and demand from, Europe. Acknowledgements: The work for this chapter was supported by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) Fellowship Programme. AHRC Grant #AH/J001015/1.

Notes 1 Even though there were criticisms of multiculturalism put forward in the 70s, 80s and 90s, this new backlash has a distinctive ‘flavour’ and has put Europe’s Muslim communities at the centre of the debates about multiculturalism. For a summary of criticisms of multiculturalism see Madood (2007), and for an examination of its relationship to race see Lentin and Titley (2011). 2 The term ‘immigrant’ in this chapter is placed in quotation marks. As ‘sneer’ quotation marks they seek to highlight how their descendants are still cast as ‘immigrants’ in the society in which they were born and grew up, and thus draw attention to the otherization which continues in Europe, and the ironies of race and place. Children of white British parents born elsewhere, schooled in international schools with little or no connection to Britain or who perhaps never lived in the UK, however, are not typically cast as immigrants in the minds of the wider public or media. Whilst they never cease to be part of Britain, the former cannot shake off their ‘migrancy’ irrespective of being born or having lived in the ‘host’ country for decades. Instead they can have their allegiance questioned if they riot or challenge the status quo or make transformative claims. My use of sneer quotes also seeks to highlight that many of those cast as first generation ‘immigrants’ in Europe were themselves born as subjects of European colonial empires. The political rally cry of the 1960s and 1970s in Britain ‘we are here because you were

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Rethinking Cosmopolitanism  133 there’ recalls the colonial ties, and reminds Britain of this shared history behind, unsettling the national order of things. 3 In 2015, children from Arab, Turkish, African and Moroccan backgrounds recently ‘took to the streets’ in Netherlands and demanded ‘white’ classmates and integration: http:// www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/dutch-immigrant-kids-take-to-street-demandingwhite-classmates/ar-BBk9gkw. 4 It should be clear that the multiculturalism discussed here goes beyond the instrumentalism which is sometimes associated with ‘diversity managers’ and ‘city council multiculturalists’. 5 In so doing, they also reproduced problematic constructions of what multiculturalism defends as a political philosophy. Just like liberalism, different varieties of multiculturalism exist in political theory. For a discussion see Gutmann (1993) and Kymlicka (1995). A defence of multiculturalism in political theory which is based on hermetically sealed, mono-culture communities living parallel lives is one I have yet to come across. 6 No evidence is given to support this claim. The only example which could count as evidence Delanty provides in fact goes against the claim he makes. Delanty mentions the example of Muslim women wearing headscarves in western European countries and links it to ‘individualism and the creation of a modern Islamic female identity’ (Delanty 2011: 650). 7 In North America it has also been used to defend the rights and claims of LGBT communities, the disabled, and of women. 8 Cosmopolitan approaches which make social justice and solidarity central are rare with exceptions such as Calhoun’s (2002). He argues that cosmopolitanism needs an account of social solidarity. 9 The research underpinning this article has focused on Kurds from Turkey. 10 This is why the diasporic cosmopolitanism I defend here goes beyond a focus on everyday sociability of residents of cities (Glick-Schilller 2014), transient encounters and conviviality.

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Rethinking Cosmopolitanism  135 Lentin, Alana and Titley, Gavan (2011). The Crises of Multiculturalism: Racism in a Neoliberal Age, London: Zed Books. Madood, Tariq (2007). Multiculturalism, 2nd edition, Cambridge: Polity Press. Micklethwait, John and Wooldridge, Adrian (2003). A Future Perfect: The Challenge and Promise of Globalization, New York: Random House. Neyzi, Leyla (2002). ‘Embodied Elders: Space and Subjectivity in the Music of Metin-­ Kemal Kahraman’ Middle Eastern Studies, 38:1, 89–109. Saraçoğlu, Cenk (2010). The Changing Image of the Kurds in Turkish Cities: Middle-class Perceptions of Kurdish Migrants in Izmir’ Patterns of Prejudice, 44:3, 239–260. Soysal, Yasemin (2000). ‘Citizenship and Identity: Living in Diasporas in Postwar Europe?’ Ethnic and Racial Studies, 23:1, 1–15. Stevenson, Nick (2002). ‘Cosmopolitanism, Multiculturalism and Citizenship’ Sociological Research Online, 7:1 http://www.socresonline.org.uk/7/1/stevenson.html. Taylor, Charles (1994). ‘The Politics of Recognition’ in Amy Gutmann (ed.), Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 25–73. Venuti, Lawrence (2008). The Translator’s Invisibility: A History of Translation, 2nd ­edition, London: Routledge. Werbner, Pnina (2002). Imagined Diasporas among Manchester Muslims: The Public Performance of Pakistani Transnational Identity Politics, Santa Fe: James Currey. Yeğenoğlu, Meyda (2005). ‘Cosmopolitanism and Nationalism in a Globalized World’ Ethnic and Racial Studies, 28:1, 103–131. Zeydanlıoğlu, Welat (2012). ‘Turkey’s Kurdish Language Policy’ in Jaffer Sheyholislami, Amir Hassanpour and Tove Skutnabb-Kangas (eds.), The Kurdish Linguistic Landscape: Vitality, Linguicide and Resistance. Special issue in The International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 217, 99–125.

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9 Europe is over! Afro-European Mobilities, Former Colonial Metropoles, and New Cosmopolitanisms1 Sarah Demart Frantz Fanon, in the conclusion of The Wretched of the Earth, argues for the importance of decentring Europe (1961: 311). He relates this ontological necessity to a wider call for inventing epistemologies in order to create a new order of reality and humankind. Some decades later, the migration policies of Fortress Europe might lead to the belief that Europe is still at the centre of African destinies and geographies. However, for at least the last two decades, there has been an obvious loss of Europe’s centrality in the spatial economy of African migration. Not only the dramatic increase of African emigration over the last decades, but also movements of departure from Europe itself, show a diversification of migratory circuits of African and Afro-descendants. This chapter aims to shed new light on how these transnational dynamics may illuminate varieties of European cosmopolitanism and, in particular, highlight the failure of the cosmopolitan politics of inclusion towards postcolonial citizens. Despite the lack of figures allowing a quantification of this European brain drain, it can be said that this migratory reconfiguration started back in the late 1980s. While Europe was the preferred destination of African elites in the post-­ independence period, more recently, North America has come to be the destination of choice for African migrants. This argument has been put forward by Mbembe in his postcolonial critique of France (2005; 2008; 2010; 2011; 2013), but has unfortunately been overlooked in the field of migration and transnational studies. This chapter intends to fill the gap in data by looking at the particular case of Congolese2, immigrants, or European citizens of Congolese origin who have been short or long-term residents in France or Belgium prior to leaving Europe for Canada and by interrogating their perception of Europe from the outside. The fact that France and Belgium are affected by a common dynamic of departure of Afro-descendants not only brings to light the loss of centrality of former colonial powers in the space of Afro-European circulations but also questions the possible Francophone specificity of this phenomenon. Although France and Belgium share some similarities in terms of being Francophone societies, they have very different colonial histories and policies of integration in the present. France had an empire spread over five continents, while Belgium only had a single African colony, and after WWI also two colonial mandates. In addition, Belgium is a federal state organized around three

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Europe is over!  137 ethno-linguistic communities while France is a centralized and unitary state. Accordingly, their policies of inclusion towards colonial subjects and postcolonial citizens need to be understood in terms of their specificities. Yet, the central position of France and Belgium within the geographical imagination of their former colonies is part of shared imperial legacy, which today faces a comparable substantial revision in the economy of African and Afro-European mobilities. Exploring this dynamic of departure may thus offer new understandings of European cosmopolitanism. By doing so, it permits the investigation of a hypothesis of a Francophone specificity while taking into consideration differences between a paradigmatic case understood as ‘dominant’ country, such as France, and ‘small’ countries generally not discussed in the international literature, in this case Belgium. In that sense, this research postulates the possibility of documenting European cosmopolitanisms from the gaze and subjectivity of those who have been rendered outsiders by the politics of (non) inclusion of these countries. This approach is deeply embedded in the empirical and epistemological contribution of the French sociologist Alain Tarrius (1993; 2000; 2014) whose concept of ‘circulatory territories’ (territoires circulatoires) calls for considering ‘cosmopolitanism from below’ through the territorial and social transformations engendered by spatial displacement. Tarrius’ (2000) concern for cosmopolitanism lies in the exclusionary effects of the (European) local system of social hierarchisation and the enduring assignation of otherness to those bearing the stigmas of empire. Looking at how migrants faced with European nation-states’ lack of welcome and strict immigration controls, cross territorial borders and develop informal and transnational economies, Tarrius argues that a migrant’s reference is the territory they forge, cross or conquer. Spatial displacement is therefore not related to any subjection to the values and customs of the location but rather to a crossing of the social hierarchies related to the sedentary order (Tarrius 1993). Accordingly, Tarrius’ notion of ‘circulatory territories’ not only refers to mere transnational circulations but most precisely to the overlapping of spatial and social mobility and to the way displacement enables a socialization of spaces. One of the main contributions of Tarrius’s (1993) epistemological shift is that the couple migration/territory, otherness/mobility provides a better understanding of the initiatives supported by the collective of (trans)migrants than the conventional approaches of immigration/integration based on locality and identity. He calls for considering the subversion of local centralities that (trans)migrants operate through social displacement instead of starting from the idea that the immigrants would circulate onto our juridical and ethical spaces until joining ‘us’ in a consensual location of the collective identities called citizenship. This takes into consideration the overlay of vast territories with multiple centralities - supporting numerous networks and various forms of co-presence from people with different social and cultural backgrounds - that seldom coincide with local urban centralities (1992; 2014). The couple otherness/ mobility therefore provides a useful conceptual framework to take immigrants’ narratives about the social, racial and cultural borders they cross through their spatial displacement seriously. Yet, the mobilities I’m  referring here do not refer in the strict sense to the ‘circulatory territories’

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138  Sarah Demart people develop3 or even to the ‘Black Atlantic’ (Gilroy, 1993) emerging from the transnational dynamics, networks and kinship of these individuals and groups but rather to how experiences of otherness and mobility articulate in the project of departure of the Afro-European from Europe towards North America and underlie the representation of Europe from the outside. As part of my research on race, coloniality and citizenship in Belgium (2011–15), I was particularly concerned with the location of Belgium in Congolese geographies considering the fact that this former colonial metropole, historically central, was becoming, or had already become, a mere transit space in the spatial distribution of Congolese mobilities. To this end, I conducted fieldwork in Montreal and Toronto in Canada during 2011 and 2012. The aim of these three ­two-month-­periods was to question the perception of Belgium and more broadly of European societies from the outside and to see how this other experience of the West might help to narrate the peculiarity of European cosmopolitanism, in particular the F ­ rancophone variety. In other words, the purpose of this research was to explore how Afro-European mobilities may reflect the failure of European cosmopolitanism and illuminate the on-going provincialization of Europe. For this reason, the first part of the chapter looks at the French academic controversy, which erupted in 2005 about the legitimacy and relevance of postcolonial studies in the academy as a whole. This controversy highlights useful, albeit implicit, evidence for, and the reasons why, African intellectuals socialized at French universities have been leaving France for North-America from the 1990s onwards. I thus look at some of the modalities of their ‘return’ to the French academy through their publicly stated positions on French universalism’s incapacity to move towards cosmopolitanism. I then explore empirical data relating to Congolese living in Canada after having transited through Europe to understand how they perceive European politics of inclusion, in particular those of Belgium and France. The focus on this diaspora in particular allows me to contextualise the reorientation of migratory flows in light of their experience of the European Francophone cosmopolitanism they have left behind. One of the points I am interested in, is how the space they are afforded outside of Europe shapes their narration of Europe through issues of integration, racism or communitarianism. Based on previous research conducted in Europe and DRC (2004–10) I also consider evangelical discourses about self-transformation and how the religious space brings to light the differentiated effects of Canadian versus European cosmopolitanism on immigrants’ self-representation. In respect of these data, I finally discuss the relevance of a Francophone focused-approach regarding the different regimes of mobility within this space and the different ways of narrating France and Belgium from the outside.

Afro-European Mobilities as a Mirror of the Failure of European Cosmopolitanism As the editors of this book argue, there is an urgent need to document cosmopoli­ tanism, not only from a multicultural approach questioning how non-­European and non-Christian peoples might be civically incorporated into European societies,

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Europe is over!  139 but through the lens of the historical inclusion of people as being former subjects, or descendants of former subjects, of European empires. This conceptual shift has significant epistemological and methodological implications in the realm of national belonging and citizenship. The question is not to consider the duty of integration of the ‘Others’ (i.e. the assimilationist injunction), the possible cultural arrangements to include people (i.e. the multiculturalist perspective) or the multiple ways of belonging to both host society and society of origin of the migrants and their descendants (i.e. transnational studies) but rather to address ‘living together’ and the ambivalent identity of Europe through its politics of (non) inclusion of its postcolonial subjects (Gilroy, 2004; Hansen and Jonsson, 2014). This cosmo­ politan aspiration may carry different meanings according to whether the political project and social theory or the practices and skills are prioritised in the analysis. In the field of social theory, postcolonial and decolonial studies have called for a decentred and critical cosmopolitanism (Bhambra, 2011; Mignolo, 2000) that would deconstruct the idea of cosmopolitanism as being a product of ­European categories and contexts that would necessarily result from a unilateral and centrifugal process. It involves, as Bhambra argues, breaking with the Eurocentric approach linking the practice of ‘being cosmopolitan’ with ‘being in the West’ and the ‘idea of cosmopolitanism’ as ‘exclusive of the West’ (Bhambra, ibid. 2). Accordingly, the dialogues about cosmopolitanism cannot be limited to the question of the inclusion of ‘Others’ and need to acknowledge the already existing partici­ pation of these Others as being former colonial subjects of the empire. This is to dismantle Eurocentric approaches of cosmopolitanism situating globalization as a recent phenomenon, intrinsically linked to Europe’s centrality in the world and global history. It is to argue, instead, for a more inclusive understanding of globalization, one that acknowledges the emergence of modernity and of European nation-states through conquest, enslavement and colonization (Bhambra, 2007). As Eurocentric approaches toward cosmopolitanism overlook the processes of colonization and imperialism through which that universalization was achieved (Bhambra, 2011: 3), taking into consideration the long-time presence of Afro-­ descendants in Europe engendered by the presence of Europe in Africa (Clarck Hine et al., 2008), may renew both our understanding of cosmopolitanism as well as our cosmopolitan present. For this reason, it is of epistemological importance to take seriously the view and subjectivity of those who have individually and collectively been rendered outsiders by European practices and European thought. In the field of migration and transnational studies, for example, this methodological alternative opens a wide range of investigations as cosmopolitanism is not only approached through the lens of migrants’ practices or skills, but also from their point of view and subjectivity. Black Europeans’ departure from Europe serves to highlight three facts of importance: first, immigrants or European citizens with an African background are part of the European brain drain; second, they may have perceived the ­European socio-economic crisis prior to the ‘indigenous’; third, their anticipation, and therefore subjectivity, has to be seen through the different regimes of citizenship within European societies (first and second-class citizens) that have pushed

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140  Sarah Demart them to (re)emigrate. This challenges us to think about the condition enabling the articulation of the critical project of provincializing Europe within the African spatial mobilities that actually provincialize Europe. As shown by what is commonly called the French postcolonial controversy (le débat postcolonial français) North-American academics of Afro-European background may give accounts of this process at various levels. Ten years ago, a national, multidisciplinary academic controversy arose, during which academics questioned the legitimacy of postcolonial studies for the French academy and, more indirectly, the ability of sociology to give an account of the logics of (colonial) continuity in the field of social and multicultural phenomena (Demart, 2016). Under the label of ‘postcolonial studies’, their relevance for the French academy (Bayart, 2010) and their possible institutionalisation (Bancel. et al., 2005, 2010; Smouts, 2007), French academics eventually came to address a wide range of problematic issues related to empire, the French colonial legacy or how race shape social relations and dynamics. The context was characterized by the 2005 riots, political attempts at revisionism (e.g. the law of February 23 2005, Nicholas Sarkozy’s in Dakar, 2007) and enhanced the visibility of minority expressions in the public space to politicize race and to recognize the colonial legacy of France. The scientific debate was multidisciplinary as the primary concern was one of national interest. However, as discussed elsewhere (Demart, 2016), critiques mainly emerged from history and the political sciences and were addressed to the social sciences accused of ‘sociologising’ the colonial legacy (Bayart and ­Bertrand, 2006) by developing an ahistorical mode of thinking that would not give a full account of the discontinuity underpinning the assumption of historical logics of spatial and temporal continuities - between past and present and between former colonies and metropole (Saada, 2008). What is interesting for our purpose here is that this domestic discussion and the ‘institutional resistance’ of France (i.e. both political and academic) vis-à-vis the ‘postcolonial critique’ came to be subject to interest from scholars outside the French academy working on the imperial history of France (see in particular Tomas, 2013; Aldrich, 2005; Cooper, 2002; Cohen, 2002; MacMaster, 2002; Lebovics, 2004; Stoler, 2011). Among them, African scholars based in the US and Canada socialized in the French academy raised their voices to highlight French provincialism, and sometimes condemn the political and academic difficulty of French thinking about the cosmopolitanism inherited from empire (Mbembe, 2005, 2008, 2010, 2011; Diouf, 2008; Gueye, 2010, 2011; Tshimanga et al., 2009).4 Diouf criticized the very fact of ‘claiming the right to act as a “thought police” by confiscating the validation tool of the “things of the spirit”’ as being the expression of ‘an imperial arrogance that nothing but the endless assignation of the intellectuals of the former colonies to a social status of deference could justify, rendering any possibility of intellectual confrontation impossible’(Diouf, op.cit. 155–156). Mbembe wrote a series of articles (Mbembe, 2005, 2008, 2010, 2011) on French insularism and incapacity to think of ‘the history of its presence in the world and the history of the world’s presence within France prior to and during as well as after the colonial empire’ (2010: 205).

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Europe is over!  141 Mbembe thus links the academic reluctance toward postcolonial studies to a more general tension between universalism and cosmopolitanism. The Republic, he argues, is an imaginary institution supposed to be the completed apparatus of inclusion, while its original capacities of brutality, exclusion and discrimination are consistently trivialized (Mbembe, 2005: 160). The extension of citizenship to the descendants of slaves and colonized did not involve any change in the political configuration of French democracy, nor has the functionality of race been acknowledged as being an exercise of the power and a principle of socia­ bility (Mbembe, ibid.). The settlement of the descendants of the empire’s subjects within metropolitan France therefore calls into question the criteria of national belonging as well as the politics of (mis)representation of these ‘Others’ and how it eventually undermines democracy (Mbembe, ibid.: 173–174). The sharing of singularities, he argues following Jean-Luc Nancy, is a prerequisite for a politics of our fellow man and the being-in-common (l’être-en-commun). However, the phraseology of universalism operates fundamentally as a screen for nationalism and its ethnicising and racialising assumptions (Mbembe, ibid.: 160; 166). For Mbembe, this centrifugal conception of universalism is particularly obvious through the promotion of the French language. It reveals an imaginary geo­graphy where France is at the centre of the world and its language, a vehicle for ‘universal values’ such as Enlightenment, Reason, Human Rights or a certain aesthetic sensibility. In this ‘metaphysical relation’ to the language, he argues, speaking and writing French in a pure form provides the ultimate evidence of true Frenchness (Mbembe, ibid.: 166–167). In a context of globalization and the triumph of English, this excessive nationalisation of the language, he goes on, makes of the language a local idiom conveying local values. Therefore, the shape of universalism is nothing but the reproduction ad infinitum of French provincialism. The ‘Other’ is eventually a narcissistic duplication upon which a strong denial of race and even racism is built (2005; 2010). By opposing universalism to communitarianism, certain political and intellectual elites not only prevent any renewal of thinking about difference and otherness but also mutilate the history of France in the world (enslavement, colonisation) and the history of the world in France (Mbembe, 2005: 167–173). Thus, it is not about provincializing France, as France is already provincialized, but questioning the epistemological conditions through which France could move on from universalism to cosmopolitanism, which is at play for Mbembe. In line with the abovementioned critiques, Gueye argues that the descendants of immigrants will never be considered as full citizens but as mere ‘intermittent inhabitants of the (i.e. French) nation and citizenship’ (2010). He refers for his part, to a series of public and political debates about diversity during which the descendants of immigrants’ Frenchness and citizenship has been perpetually put into question. By addressing the multiculturalism inherited from France’s past involvement with colonialism and slavery as a philosophical and actual threat for the nation, the very possibility of discussing what holds together this post-colonial nation, as Gueye stresses, is expelled. In other words, during this controversy, the public positions of these American scholars with an Afro-French background

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142  Sarah Demart have been noticeably more vocal than those of any other Black French academic. Some of these scholars have also become a resource for Black and postcolonial activism within France (and Belgium). Yet, further empirical examination would be needed to specify how they constitute a resource for the activists and the ­academy, and to acknowledge the extent to which their multi-belonging as well as the space afforded by their position outside of Europe has oriented the conceptualization of France through, for example, their use of subaltern studies (Diouf, 1999) or postcolonial studies (Mbembe, 2000) and how the provincialization of France they bring to light is linked to alternative ideas of French cosmopolitanism. The interplay of Afro-European mobilities with the loss of European centrality may equally be approached by looking at how non-academic mobilities provincialize Europe despite their potential lack of theoretical sophistication. The case of Belgium, where no such scientific controversy has emerged in spite of the obvious French influence on Belgian cultural and academic life, may give complementary data. The focus on a single diaspora, the Congolese one, allows for a socio-historical contextualization of the dynamics observed. In addition, the centrality of Belgium in the space of Congolese mobilities cannot be explained by any political attempt at assimilation nor was it fostered by any transnational space of circulation either during colonisation or afterwards. While the idea of a common space of free circulation between Congo and Belgium has been discussed during the decolonisation process (Hansen and Jonsson, op.cit.), this mobility was not part of any arrangement in terms of postcolonial citizenship. Then, following colonization, Congolese settlement in Belgium has developed regardless of the willingness of public authorities. For utilitarian reasons (the labour requirement in the colony) and ideological ones (racist segregationist logics), Belgium had never called on its colony or its mandates (Rwanda and Urundi after the First World War and until 1962) when a labour force was needed, either during colonisation or afterwards (Ndaywel, 1989; Etambala, 1989). The minority of Congolese who reached the European continent during colonisation was isolated. After Congolese independence (1960), a nucleus of male students, sometimes accompanied by their wives, and diplomats emerged. They were joined by civil servants, sailors and tourists (Demart, 2013). Until the end of the 1980s, this population remained highly mobile, developing a quite unprecedented social and symbolic appropriation of the former colonial metropole. To a certain extent, one may even say that this mobility served the ends of colonial policies. Due to the racial politics of Belgian colonization, the country needed to develop a socio-professional elite and the student mobility allowed it, in particular through cooperation agreements between Belgium and Congo (Kagné, 2001). By giving direct access to the political sphere and to Congolese public institutions, the western training centred on Belgium, filled the gaps left by colonization itself. As soon as they had graduated in Brussels, Leuven Ghent or Liège, the students went back to their home country entering the government or public institutions. In other words, Belgium was the best entry point for Congolese elites.5 During the late 1980s, however, Congolese mobility ran out and the Zairian State permanently stopped providing scholarships, leaving students in conditions

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Europe is over!  143 of extreme hardship, and their Belgian qualifications did not give them access to the local labour market. Some then crossed the border and settled in France, while others managed to get by through illegal work or one of their partner’s, often for domestic tasks. In contrast to the general trend, the Congolese were (and still are) more present in France than in the former metropole during the 1990s (­Lututala, 1997). The Congolese settlement was last to be taken into consideration both by scholars and public policies that did not undertake any particular integration ­policy measures (Morelli, 1994). Since then, Congolese migration has dramatically increased but the diversification of the migratory flow and the coming of Congolese immigrants, refugees or asylum seekers has not led to any specific policies towards this group as if the pattern of ‘forbidden mobility’ towards the metropole and then of ‘implicitly enforced mobility’ towards the home country were driving institutional thinking vis-à-vis the Congolese and their descendants. Despite three generations of Congolese living in Belgium and at least two ­decades of community organisation claiming recognition and equality, the Congolese who combine on average the highest level of education with the highest level of unemployment in Belgian society (Schoonvaere, 2010), are mostly absent from integration policies and very marginal in the corpus of migration studies. In other words, while from the 1990s the dynamic of return towards Congo was declining, despite recent renewals, an increasing number of Congolese have left the ­country, moving on to France alongside with a long -established African presence6 or migrating to Canada. It is in light of this context that we need to understand the new spatial distribution of Congolese mobilities.

From Europe to Canada: The Loss of Centrality of the Francophone Former Colonial Metropole The first fieldwork I conducted in Canada (February-March 2011, Montreal) was closely linked to my doctoral research (2005–10) on the Congolese revival in DRC and in the diaspora. It aimed to complete data on the Congolese pastor trajectories and made me realize that a number of them had transited by Paris or Brussels. Their accounts of Europe furthermore shed new light on the interaction between the Congolese pastors and the European white pastors illuminating issues of racism within religious establishments (Demart, 2014). The two other trips (July-August 2011 Montreal; July-August 2012, Toronto) were thus more systematically oriented towards the collection of data on second-wave migration and the resulting perception of Europe by the Congolese. The first empirical step was to contextualize the Congolese presence in ­Canada. I met with the ‘Elders’, those who came in the 1960s on student fellowships prior to the development of a larger Congolese migration during the 1990s.7 I then met the community leaders: the religious (Protestant, Catholic) and the civil organization (Congolese Community of Montreal Congolese Community of Toronto). From these networks, I immersed myself in the Congolese community by participating in various religious or associative events and interviewing anyone who had transited through Europe, from a few weeks to several years in a formal or informal way.

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144  Sarah Demart Almost half of the 100 people I met in Montreal and Toronto had transited through Europe for more or long stay. I did not carry out in-depth interviews with all of them but this quantitative data provided an estimate of the significance of that phenomenon. Among the community leaders the ratio increased. Yet among those who had transited through Europe, the overwhelming majority had been in France or Belgium. Likewise, among those who had a European nationality, most were French. I was therefore led to discuss and interview men and women who had left Europe after a few months either in an irregular situation as well as people who had lived in Europe for several years. When I had a chance to deepen the discussion about their trajectory, I asked them what had prompted their decision to leave Europe, and why did they choose or ended up in Canada? How did they see Canada from Africa and then from Europe? And what about their social situation here and there? Above all how do they see Europe now? It should be pointed out in passing that those who did not transit through Europe generally did not transit through the Congolese capital, Kinshasa, taking other migratory circuits in the South-East of the country through countries such as Tanzania, Zambia or Zimbabwe, and of course, South Africa. This transnational circuit is related to unexpected empirical data: the subjective dimension of racism as an experience. Racism was differently experienced and narrated depending on whether people had lived in Europe or not. Those who had been in Europe tended to minimize or relativize racism in Canada. Not in a denegation framework but as if Europe had somehow accustomed them to a racism of a higher intensity. For the Afro-European on the other hand, Canadian policies emphasize the ‘doublespeak’ of the Francophone European injunction to integration, meaning the contradictory injunction, which urges assimilation while at the same time excluding migrants from full citizenship on an implicitly racial basis. Despite individual nuances, the understanding and knowledge about the Canadian ‘system’ (i.e. how migration and integration policies work) was stated as the central element of a possible and ‘true integration’ in Canada by contrast with Europe where diplomas, skills, documents or citizenship do not prevent the black body and spirit from being confined to otherness. Here is a concrete example of a man who left Belgium ­ niversity of Leuven: 20 years ago after having graduated in engineering at the U Those who were at the university with me are unemployed. One is a cook, after 22–23 years, he’s a cook; They haven’t progressed, they can’t progress, I have no friend who can call me and say I was at the university of Leuven, now I work for the ministry of Health, at the ministry of Tourism, etc. I only know two doctors among them. I don’t have a single friend who works in the public service. When I go back to Belgium, I say to myself we have not progressed at all … I wonder why do they (the Belgians) have this attitude towards the Congolese, they don’t give you any opportunity, because they act like this, I don’t know, until today, those are the same problems that are reproduced, the Congolese have no work. (23 July 2012, Toronto)

Europe is over!  145

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Another example is this pastor who has been preaching for ten years in Canada and simultaneously, at least once a year, in Congolese churches of Belgium: It is difficult to be assimilated over there, here it’s more open … In Belgium, there’s much more unemployment, people have finished their studies, they have no work. When I arrived in Belgium I was struck by the number of unemployed people … you are with some people, we are talking until 2am in the morning, the following day at 2pm, he’s still there, but when do people work? We speak less of integration in Europe than here because if you are not assimilated in the country here, you can’t find your way. Integration here it is about recognizing where you come from, what are the strengths and weakness of your culture in order to adapt and to succeed. Everyone here wants to succeed economically, this stability is linked with the knowledge of the mechanisms, how the system works here. (15 August, Toronto) Discourses on integration are nevertheless omnipresent in Congolese-European churches (Demart, 2008; Fumanti, 2010). Their differentiated expression can be explained by the specific reality of the labour market, but more importantly by how the religious apparatus narrates the conditions of possibility of indivi­ dual and collective integration. As this Congolese pastor states, the production of ‘otherness’ in Belgium and in France translates into a particular temporality that excludes the Congolese from full citizenship. This temporality is materialized into a wide range of waiting situations: for visas, for documents, for graduate equivalence, for work, for a job corresponding to the qualifications, etc. These situations of expectation and exclusion refer to social, economic and racial boundaries produced by Europe (Belgium and France) that the religious narrative reinterprets in terms of spiritual warfare. Born again Christians have to overcome these ‘evil blockages’ with combativeness, determination, faith, morality, excellence, etc. Racism however is not the subject of any religious narratives. Deeply optimistic, Pentecostalism does not elaborate about ‘blockage’ but about deliverance, prosperity, victory, success, etc. When racism is mentioned, it is as a sin committed by the natives, something that has to be overcome and not as something ‘structural’ that would ultimately be referred to an impasse related to African ‘origins’ (Demart, 2013). The main difference between churches founded by Congolese preachers in France/Belgium and in Canada lies in the discourses about integration. Inclusion, like any kind of resolution, success and miracles, is first of all a question of self-transformation. In Europe, upward social mobility is strongly linked to the idea of an individual’s evolution and civilization, etc. The personal transformations invoked and encouraged articulate neo-colonial stereotypes and stigmas on African people who are urged to ‘evolve’. Laziness, voluntary help and mediocrity are for instance regularly mentioned. This is not the case in Canada where religious discourses may refer to racial discrimination but do not show, according to what I have observed, any particular forms of internalized colonial stereotypes in the

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146  Sarah Demart discourse about self-transformations. The inclusion into the ‘host society’ does not presuppose a break with any so-called Africanness that would stand in the way of obtaining citizenship and upward social mobility. Behaviours may require change in order to facilitate access to work, to show that immigrants are virtuous and useful to society (Mossière, 2006) or to understand how Canadian society works, nevertheless the individual and collective changes are not articulated in the language of a ‘civilizational evolution’. So in one sense, the issue is not so much that in Europe churches speak less of integration than in Canada but rather how churches speak about it in light of the Pentecostal belief asserting that success and prosperity are a divine manifestation of a believer’s faith. When a pastor calls the faithful to break with the spirit of fear, the spirit of shyness or mediocrity it may be not be obvious that Christian immigrants are in fact ‘negotiating’ their integration as Black and African, attempting to take control over the conditions of their inclusion within French or Belgian society. Therefore, the repertory of individual, cultural or social transformations that the religious apparatus call for may document the spatially differentiated experiences of racism. If we push the argument further, we might approach the discourse on self-transformation as an indicator of the production mechanisms of racism. The contradictory injunction to integration versus the relative transparency of Canadian integration policies mentioned in the interviews may also document experiences of indirect discrimination in the daily life of Africans in Europe. In countries like France and Belgium there is no official recognition of institutional racism, nor are there any serious anti-racist policies against indirect discrimination. This colour-blindness has major consequences for the public discussion of race. Activists attempting to make racism visible face mechanisms of silencing and disqualification, which are characterized by a narrative contrasting, as discussed previously, ‘their’ communitarianism with ‘our’ universalism. Although religious leaders are not involved in these forms of activism, they consider that, in comparison to France and Belgium, Canada facilitates the communal dimension of assimilation.8 To them, the Canadian promotion, even injunction, to exist as a community, and to matter as such, helps to achieve a collective inclusion and, I would add, to a more positive relation to the culture or identity of origin. I am not concerned here with any transatlantic comparison, nor do I intend to discuss the moving notions of ‘culture’ or ‘origin’. Yet, the affirmative dynamic associated with the notion of community highlights the contrast with French and Belgian contexts in which the possibility to exist as a community confronts the postcolonial subjects, ontologically, with a suspicion in terms of national belonging and l­oyalty. Again, this negativity is exacerbated in the evangelical discourses promoting virtuous citizenship which is in France and in Belgium subjugated to a necessary obliteration of ethnicity markers while in Canada the dual cultural identity of Christian migrants or Black citizens is largely enacted by the pastors (Mossière, op.cit.). Occasionally, Afro-European interviewees highlighted the violence of the Canadian treatment of First Nations peoples and the fact that economic interests hide an underlying racism. In a comparative transatlantic perspective, it would be

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Europe is over!  147 of importance to address otherness and mobilities in light of the national treatment and preferences for the otherness produced by other contexts. It would also be meaningful to explore to which extent this spatial displacement centres on ­Eurocentric ideas of freedom as liberalism to see if it implies a Eurocentric imperialism, and then if and how this alternative destination should be addressed in terms of colonial off-shoots of Europe. I do not have the possibility to answer these questions. Yet, of crucial importance is the way the interviewees portray Canadian integration policies in linguistic terms. Quebec was often described as very ‘European’ if not  ‘French’ regarding the persistent racism, and the lower socio-professional opportunities. In a number of cases, Congolese who migrated from France or Belgium to Quebec have thus decided to undertake a third migration to what appears to be a more inclusive social environment, Toronto. As mentioned above, most of the people I met had a previous migration experience in France, which can explain the double reference in their discourses to Europe and France. Yet the Francophone ‘culture’ was perceived through the peculiar relation of Frenchness to race. Belgium and France were systematically described as racially structured and divided. The omnipresence of racial operators preventing people from inclusion, access to employment, accommodation or upward social mobility was not only a discursive constant but also, to a certain extent, the very location of a tipping point in this differentiated experience of the West. France and Belgium were, however, not described as similarly racist. Compared to France, Belgium was considered as being particularly closed to any inclusion of Blacks and specifically to the Congolese. That does mean, however, that talking about racism was easier. Examples were significantly more dealing with French racism than with Belgian racism as if a pre-existing public repertory facilitated this narration. Once I was at a barbecue and while they were peeling the corn I for roasting, women started to share their experiences of racism in Belgium: forbidden access to a shop, racist insults in daily life, structural lack of socio-professional opportunity, etc. As soon as I had turned my recorder on, they stopped talking. Even among pastors who collectively tend to minimize racism and relegate it as a sin of a mere blockage that cannot resist God’s power, experience of racism in contact with White European pastors were more readily subject to narration by the French than by the Belgians either in the European context or in the Canadian context. Yet, in Canada, I was able to collect data about the situation specific to the ­Belgo-Congolese, which was silenced in Belgium by pastors as if the ­geographical (and temporal) distance helped to narrate a racist, and still painful, episode and then racism among the Belgian Protestant world. When I asked for the reasons for that Belgian silence, a dignitary of the Congolese religious scene of Toronto put forward the pain associated with experiences of racism in Belgium. This situation is not isolated and echoes the contrast between Afro-French academic critiques of French coloniality and the silence about Belgium. The only academic who raises his voice is the French-Congolese historian Elikia M’Bokolo on the occasion of various events organized by activists and cultural organization.

148  Sarah Demart

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Discussion The doublespeak of public authorities, the contradictory injunction to integration, the lack of transparency of inclusionary policies, the structural dimension of indirect racism, the institutional colour-blindness or the silencing mechanisms such as the social control of the public discussion of racism through the accusation of communitarianism … in spite of this series of indicators applied to the description of both France and Belgium, the Francophone focus does not allow to tackle ­Belgian’s specificity. Postcolonial critiques of France seem to constitute a ‘borrowing language’ to tell and to analyse the Belgian context, in particular the francophone one. The fact that Belgian-Congolese do not eventually narrate their experience of being rendered outsiders in the former colonial metropole raises question not only about the (post) colonial politics of non-inclusion of the subjects of the ‘empire’ but also about the lack of political repertory regarding issues of integration and coexistence resulting from it. In Belgium, academics and activists often put forward the comparison with France to stress the absence of public debate about Belgium’s coloniality and colonial legacy. The differentiated development of the Afro-European critique of ­European cosmopolitanisms from the outside indeed confirms the fact that ­racism is much more voiced in France than in Belgium. Yet, France’s centrality in academic and immigrants’ account also appears as a paradigmatic francophone reading grid which may overlook the specific mechanisms through which Belgium excludes the former colonial subjects and their descendants. By contrast, with the visibility of Afro-French academics, accounts collected about Belgium have shown a significant absence of specific and collective vocabulary to depict the interplay of nation and colonialism in Belgium. As such, it is unclear how the colonial past of Belgium interplays within its cosmopolitan present and project of society. While Brussels is regularly presented as one of the most cosmopolitan city of Europe9, what holds Belgium together is extremely complex and to a certain extent fragile. Due to Francophone-Dutchphone relations, not only the potential conflict and, or collapse of the country from its very beginning (1830) has led to intricate political institutions, but also to a very domestic problematic of issues related to integration and cosmopolitanism. Accordingly, there is no equivalent of the ‘Britishness’ or the French notion of ‘Republic’ which both work as a normative and racial frame shaping national identity but also as a symbolic potentially inclusive frame from which a full citizenship can be negotiated and redefined. In this sense, it is not the fact that Belgium had no empire as such, and would be less imperial than France or the UK (Stanard, 2012), but maybe the lack of a theoretical angle from which an inclusion of the Congolese in the nation of citizens and in the human community might have been discussed that characterizes Belgium and delineates its status of ‘small country’. Historians of empire have shown that the claims of the colonized for citizenship were built on the colonial discourse of empire and its contradiction (Cooper, 2014). One might say that Belgian colonial politics had no contradiction precisely

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Europe is over!  149 because the civilizing pretention was distinct from any project of assimilation. As subjects of the king, the Congolese were Belgian during colonization, but even the most accomplished category of colonial citizenship in the 1950s, the immatriculés (the immatriculated) and the carte du mérite civique (the social merit card), did not lead to any Belgian identity nor did it lead to any political and professional assimilation to the white world, or to a free circulation towards the metropole (Mulumba, 2007). In 1960, when the country gained independence, fewer than 20 people, all exclusively men, held a university degree in French, as the colonial power was Francophone. While the policies of assimilation could not conceive of overcoming racial borders, comparison with South African apartheid made by international observers in the aftermath of WW II, were energeti­ cally disputed by Belgian authorities on the grounds of the absence of formal legislative measures10. The fact that until now the qualification of Belgian racial policies is academi­ cally and politically not entrenched, as part of a wide range of colonial dispute that are likely to put Belgium at the centre of an international critique and disgrace11, reflects how Belgium addresses the inclusion of the Congolese in both national narrative and national body. Hence, while French cosmopolitanism has been failing because of the republican ‘unthinking of race’ which structures the political and scientific paradigms (Mbembe 2005), the very nature of racial identity politics is in Belgium subject to a symbolic scrambling, which reproduces ad infinitum the blind spot of the Belgian pretention to inclusion and cosmopolitanism. Troubles in narrating Belgo-Congolese relations might then have to do with the ontological position of the Congolese as ‘Others’ for Belgianness and with the intimate mechanisms through which they have been rendering absolute outsiders and subalterns (Spivak, 1988), despite their social and educational capital or academic background. Yet, further investigation of European contexts affected by similar dynamics of Afro-European departure (Gutiérrez Rodriguez, 2010) would be required to further explore how the variable ‘dominant’ versus ‘small’ countries interplays with the emergence, or not, of a cosmopolitan space from which the former colonial metropole came to be the subject of a postcolonial critique.

Notes 1 I would like to warmly thank Gurminder Bhambra and John Narayan for their patience and support as well as Marie Godin for her accurate review of the previous version of this paper. 2 From DRC, the Democratic Republic of Congo. 3 See Demart, «Itinérance prosélyte, territoires circulatoires et économie religieuse. Pour une ethnographie des circulations pastorales», Afrique contemporaine, n°252: 135–137. 4 Among various examples let us mention Cheik Modibo Diarra, astrophysicien of Malian origin, Jacques Bonjawo, scientific in the area of technology and telemedecine of ­Cameroonian origin, Achille Mbembe, historian and philosopher of Cameroonian origin, Valentin Mudimbe, philosopher and writer of Congolese origin, Mamadou Diouf, historian of Senegalese origin, Charles-Didier Gondola, historian of Congolese origin, Abdoulaye Gueye, social scientist of Senegalese origin, Charles Tshimanga, historian

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150  Sarah Demart of Congolese origin or Souleymane Blachir Diagne, philosopher of S ­ enegalese origin, etc. The less visibility of female academics raise question and might be approached from various lenses, the gendered European politics of education during and after colonisation, the prevalence until the 1980s-90s of the family reunification pattern or more subtle mechanisms silencing or rendering Black academic women less visible. 5 On the development of the diasporic political field in Belgium since 1960, see Demart and Bodeux, 2013. 6 Like the historians Ndaywel Ê Nziem and Elikia M’Bokolo or the philosophers and writers Valentin Mudimbe and Ngal Mbwil A Mpaang. 7 For the Belgian part of this exploration see Demart, 2013. 8 In particular, the French-speaking part of Belgium where I have led most of my research, due to the historical concentration of Congolese in Brussels and Wallonia. 9 See the report published by the International Organization for Migration (IOM), https:// www.iom.int/world-migration-report-2015. 10 Belgian racial policies were based on informal rules in terms of police control, urban policies and social mechanisms. As Lauro (2011) points out, the regime of segregation was nevertheless much stricter in the Belgian Congo than in French and British colonies (except for settlement colonies in the UK). 11 At the end of the 19th century, the general public discovered through the Anglo-Saxon networks, how the hands of indigenous people of the Congo Free State were cut off if they failed to reach the required level of the rubber crop harvest. Supported by photographic evidence, a denunciation campaign was launched for the first time, allowing critics to challenge the image of the humanitarian colonization of King Leopold II, to whom the Congo was granted as ‘private property’ and obliged the king to give ‘his’ Congo to the Belgian state. Congo was a private property (1885–1908), without state or government, until it was handed over to the State (1908–1960), a unique situation that personified the colonial figure and that may explain the lasting American representation of ‘Belgian colonization’ as basically the ‘worst’. The criticism stemming from Anglo-Saxon networks is regularly reiterated in American narratives (E. Morel, Conrad, B.T. Washington, R. E. Park, M. Twain, Naipaul, A. Hoschild, Peter Bast, Scorcese movie/series project (pictures), etc) and this international dimension of the Belgian colonization has obvious influence on the Belgian identity, leading to the opening of a public debate on colonial history.

References Aldrich R. (2005). Vestiges of the Colonial Empire in France: Monuments, Museums and Colonial Memories, Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. Amselle, J.-L. (2008). L’Occident décroché. Enquête sur les postcolonialismes, Stock. Bancel N., Bergnault F., Blanchard P., Boubeker A., Mbembe A., Vergès F. (2010). Ruptures postcoloniales, Les nouveaux visages de la société française, Paris: La Découverte. Bayart J.-F. (2010). Les études postcoloniales, un carnaval académique, Karthala, coll. Disputatio;. Bayart J.-F., R. Bertrand (2006). ‘De quel legs colonial parle-t-on?’ Esprit, Décembre 2006, pp. 134–160. Bhambra, G. K. (2010). ‘Sociology after Postcolonialism: Provincialized Cosmopolitanism and Connected Sociologies’ in Manuela Boatcă, Sérgio Costa, Encarnación ­Gutiérrez-Rodríguez (eds) Decolonizing European Sociology: Trans-disciplinary Approaches, pp. 33–47. Aldershot: Ashgate. Clarck Hine D., T.D. Keaton, S. Small (2008). Black Europe and the African Diaspora, New Black Studies Series, University of Illinois Press; 1st Edition edition. Cohen W.B. (2002). ‘The Algerian War, the French state and official memory’, Historical reflections 28(2):219–240.

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Europe is over!  151 Cooper F. (2002). ‘Decolonizing Situations: The Rise, Fall, and Rise of Colonial Studies, 1951–2001’, French Politics, Culture, and Society, 20(2):47–76. Cooper F. (2014). Citizenship between Empire and Nation: Remaking France and French Africa, 1945–1960, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Diouf M. (1999). L’historiographie indienne en débat. Colonialisme, nationalisme et sociétés postcoloniales, Paris: Karthala-Sephis. Diouf M. (2010). ‘Les postcolonial studies et leur réception dans le champ académique en France’ in Bancel N., Bernault F., Blanchard P., Boubeker A., Mbembe A., Vergès F. Ruptures postcoloniales, Les nouveaux visages de la société française, Paris: La Découverte:149–158. Demart S. (2013a). Histoire orale à Matonge (Bruxelles): un miroir postcolonial, Revue Européenne des Migrations Internationales, 29(1):133–155. Demart S. (2013b). Emeutes à Matonge et … indifférence des pouvoirs publics? Brussels Studies, Numéro 68, 1er juillet 2013, www.brusselsstudies.be. Demart S. (2013c) (dir.). “Congolese migration to Belgium and postcolonial perspectives” (eds.), African Diaspora, vol. 6. Etambala M. A. (1989). Présences congolaises en Belgique, 1885–1940: exhibition, éducation, émancipation, paternalisme, KU Leuven: doctoral dissertation. Fanon F. [1961] (2002). Les damnés de la terre, Paris: Éditions La Découverte/Poche, p. 313. Fumanti M. (2010). “Virtuous Citizenship”: Ethnicity and Encapsulation among Akan-Speaking Ghanaian Methodists in London, African Diaspora, vol. 3, pp. 1–30. Gilroy, P. (1993). The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness, London: Verso. Gilroy P. (2004). Postcolonial Melancholia, New York: Columbia University Press. Goddeeris, I. (2015). Postcolonial Belgium: the Memory of the Congo. Interventions: International Journal of Postcolonial Studies, 17(3):434–451. Gondola C.-D. (1997). Africanisme la crise d‘une illusion, Paris : L‘harmattan. Gueye A. (2010). Aux Nègres de France: la patrie non reconnaissante, Paris : Dagan ed. Gueye A. (2011). ‘The Colony Within the Métropole: The Racial Diversity of Contemporary France and the Insertion of the Colonial Past in the National Narrative’ in Canadian Journl of African Studies Remembering Africa to Metropolitan France: Contemporary Francophone Debates over Slavery and Colonialism, 45(1):1–6. Gutiérrez Rodriguez E. (2010). “Decolonizing Postcolonial Rhetoric”, in: Decolonizing European Sociology. Transdisciplinary Approaches, Franham/Burlington: Ashgate. Hansen P.and S. Jonsson (2014). Eurafrica: The Untold History of European Integration and Colonialism, Theory for a global age, Bloomsbury. Kagné B. (2001). Immigration, stratégies identitaires et mobilisations politiques des ­Africains en Belgique. In: G. Gosselin and J.-P. Laveau (eds.) Ethnicité et Mobilisations Sociales, Paris: L’Harmattan, pp. 207–243. Lauro A. (2011). ‘Maintenir l’ordre dans la colonie-modèle. Notes sur les désordres urbains et la police des frontières raciales au Congo Belge (1918–1945)’, Crime, Histoire & Sociétés / Crime, History & Societies, vol. 15, no 2, pp. 97–121. Lebovics H. (2004). Bringing the Empire Back Home: France in the Global Age, Duke University Press. Lututala B. (1997). L’élargissement de l’espace de vie des Africains: comment le pays des ‘oncles’ européens devient aussi celui des ‘neveux’ africains, Revue Tiers-Monde, pp. 333–346. MacMaster N. (2002). ‘The torture controversy (1998–2002): Towards a “new history” of the Algerian War?’ Modern and contemporary France 10(4):449–460. Mbembe A. (2000). De la postcolonie, Paris: Karthala. Mbembe A. (2005). ‘La République et l’impensé de la ‘race’’ In P. Blanchard, N. Bancel and S. Lemaire La fracture coloniale. La société française au prisme de l’héritage colonial, Paris: La Découverte, pp. 139–153. Mbembe A. (2010). Sortir de la grande nuit. Essai sur l’Afrique décolonisée, Paris: La Découverte, coll. ‘cahiers libres’.

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152  Sarah Demart Mbembe A. (2011). ‘Provincializing France?’ Public Culture, vol. 1(23) Racial France. On-line: http://publicculture.org/articles/view/23/1/provincializing-france. Mbembe A. (2013). Critique de la raison nègre. Ed. La Découverte, Paris. Mignolo, W. D. (2000). ‘The Many Faces of Cosmo-Polis: Border Thinking and Critical Cosmopolitanism,’ Public Culture 12(3):721–748. Morelli (1994). Les Zaïrois de Belgique sont-ils des immigrés? In: Gauthier de Villers (ed.) Belgique/Zaïre: une histoire en quête d’avenir. Cahiers Africains/Afrika Studies, 9-10-11:152–154. Mossière G. (2006). ‘Former un citoyen utile au Québec et qui reçoit de ce pays. Le rôle d’une communauté religieuse montréalaise dans la trajectoire migratoire de ses ­membres’, Les Cahiers du GRES/Diversité Urbaine, 6(1):45–61. Ndaywel ê Nziem I. 1998. Histoire générale du Congo, Bruxelles: De Boeck. Saada E. (2006). ‘Un racisme de l’expansion’, in D. Fassin et E. Fassin, De la question sociale à la question raciale, Paris: La Découverte, pp. 55–71. Schoonvaere Q., (2010). Etude de la migration congolaise et de son impact sur la présence congolaise en Belgique: analyses des principales données démographiques. Brussels: CEOOR/UCLouvain: Groupe d’étude de Démographique Appliquée. Smouts M.-C. (2007). La situation postcoloniale: Les Postcolonial Studies dans le débat français, Paris: Les Presses de Sciences Po, Collection: Sciences Po Mondes. Spivak G. (1988). Can the Subaltern Speak?” Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture. Ed. Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg. Urbana: University of Illinois, pp. 271–313. Stanard M. G. (2012). Selling the Congo. A History of European Pro-Empire Propaganda and the Making of Belgian Imperialism, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Stengers J. (1989). Congo, mythes et realites: 100 ans d’histoire, Paris et Louvain-la-Neuve: Duculot. Stoler A. L. (2011). ‘Colonial Aphasia: Race and Disabled Histories in France’, Public Culture, vol. 1(23) Racial France. On-line: http://publicculture.org/articles/view/23/1/ colonial-aphasia-race-and-disabled-histories-in-france. Tarrius A. (1993). ‘Territoires circulatoires et espaces urbains: différenciation des groupes migrants’, Les Annales de la recherche urbaine, n° 59–60, décembre. Tarrius A. (2000). Les nouveaux cosmopolitismes: mobilités, identités, territoires, La Tour d’Aigues, Ed. de l’Aube, p. 286. Tarrius A. (2014). ‘Deux notions théoriques et méthodologiques préalables à l’étude des territoires circulatoires’, Revue Européenne des Migrations. Tomas D. (2013). Noirs d’encre. Colonialisme, immigration et identité au cœur de la litté­ rature afro-française, Paris, La Découverte, coll. « cahiers libres », p. 304. Tousignant N. (1995). Les manifestations publiques du lien colonial entre la Belgique et le Congo belge (1897–1988), Québec, thèse de doctorat en histoire, Université Laval. Tshimanga C., Gondola D., Bloom J. (2009). Frenchness and the African Diaspora: Identity and Uprisng in Contemporary France, Bloomington, Indianapolis: Indiana ­University Press.

10 Fanon’s Decolonized Europe

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The Double Promise of Coloured Cosmopolitanism in the Age of Austerity John Narayan Decolonization and The Promise of Coloured Cosmopolitanism The Third World today is facing Europe as one colossal mass whose ­project must be to try and solve the problems this Europe was incapable of finding the answers to. (Fanon 2004: 238) At a time of economic and political crisis in Europe, it may appear odd to turn to the era of decolonization for ideas about reforming, renewing or even revolutioni­ zing ideas about ‘Europe’ and ‘European cosmopolitanism’. After all, decolonization caused nothing less than a systemic crisis of European power, economy, and identity. This not only saw the demise of European colonial empires, which through military and economic means had come to dominate vast swathes of humanity for over 400 years, but also signalled a crisis of Eurocentrism and its belief that Europe was the home of democracy, freedom and progress. Decolonization thus not only sought to evict occupying colonial powers from non-­European land but also to shatter the myth, once and for all, that Europe was the cultural centre of the earth. This shattering of the European-centred world had been driven by the rise and unity of the Third World’s ‘darker nations’ and their often violent fight for independence. The unity of the nascent Third World was initially formed around what W.E.B.  Du Bois (2007) had famously called the preeminent problem of the twentieth century: the ‘colour-line’. This was the dark meridian along which ­Western imperialism had divided the world into blocs of light and dark races. What emerged through the formation of the Third World as a political actor was a form of ‘coloured cosmopolitanism’, which created transnational unity between continentally and culturally disparate nations and peoples in the ‘dark’ or ‘coloured’ world.1 This constructed unity pivoted around a common history of colonial exploitation and a political present of pursuing national independence under a climate of Western neo-imperialism. Echoing the words of Frantz Fanon, Vijay Prashad outlines that the Third World ‘was not a place’ but a ‘project’ (2007: xv). Under the rubric of the

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154  John Narayan ‘Third World’, the coloured world would come together to liberate those who had been denied access to the economic and democratic fruits of European modernity, and to avoid the fait accompli that was mutual nuclear destruction. The spirit of the Third World project can be traced back to the outbreak of the ­Haitian revolution in 1791 and the anti-colonial struggles that took place towards the end of the 19th century.2 The political embodiment of this spirit would take place in 1955 at the first Afro-Asian Conference in Bandung, Indonesia, where leaders such as Nehru, Nasser and Nkrumah pledged transcontinental unity in the support of anti-imperialism and the development of the darker nations. This Afro-Asian bloc would later be turned into an African, Asian, Latin American and E ­ astern European bloc with the formation of the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) in 1961. Going forward into the 1960s and 70s, through organisations such the NAM, and later the UN Group of 77 (G77) and the United Nations ­Conference on Trade and Development (­UNCTAD), the Third World would demand that the West and the USSR acknowledge the claims of the rest of humanity for economic, social and political justice. This entailed a critique of Western neo-­ imperialism through the assertion of national sovereignty in the Third World; the rejection of capitalist development norms and the use of dependency theory to counter modernization theory; a plan for a New International Economic Order that could provide a global economy that favoured all of humanity; and the use of the United Nations as an arena to secure planetary democracy and justice (Prashad 2013a: 1–13).3 The obvious questions that might be asked are: what does that the Third World project have to do with the idea of Europe? Is the Third World project and the coloured cosmopolitanism that animated it not anti-European? And what does any of this have to do with Europe in the twenty first century? The answer to these questions centre on the fact that liberation in the Third World was based on the destruction, once and for all, of the Manichaean nature of the colonial context, and recognised that colonialism had disfigured the humanity of both the colonizer and the colonized.4 The underlying principle of the Third World’s coloured cosmopolitanism was therefore an inclusive humanism that would call into question and attempt to erase the colour-line. The Third World project and its core principles were therefore not only concerned about the ‘dark world’, but the whole of humanity; Europe and the West included. In this chapter I want to draw out the double promise of the Third World’s coloured cosmopolitanism. This entails showing how the coloured cosmo­ politanism of the Third World project not only offered a vision of liberation for the colonial world, but that decolonization and the Third World project also revealed an idea for a new Europe. This new Europe could not only move on and repay the moral debts it had accumulated through the dehumanising practices of colonialism and imperialism; it could also actively partake in the liberation of humanity. To recover decolonization’s vision of a new Europe, I will return to Frantz Fanon’s work in The Wretched of the Earth, which exemplifies the coloured cosmopolitanism of the Third World project. My intention is to show that Fanon both dismantles the Eurocentric idea of a triumphant

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Fanon’s Decolonized Europe  155 Europe, and also offers a vision of a new Europe that could play a part in the liberation of humanity. If we take seriously the fact Fanon’s work called for a new direction for humanity, Europe and the West included, then this work should be read not only as an indictment of Europe but also as a diagnosis of its core problems and how they could be solved. My claim is that Fanon’s idea of a decolonized Europe remains both academically and politically important in the twenty first century. This chapter thus consists of four parts. In the first, I trace how Fanon indicts Europe as a hypocritical and genocidal social order and frames his own idea of the Third World’s coloured cosmopolitanism around a new, expansive humanism. However, as I go on to show in part two, Fanon’s ideas about liberation in the Third World took into consideration a decolonized Europe that could help the Third World rehabilitate itself from the ravages of colonial and neo-imperial exploitation. In third part I briefly draw out the wider lessons that Fanon’s coloured cosmopolitanism and ideas about a decolonized Europe could have for approaching Europe as a political project. In the final part and I examine the idea of decolonized Europe in the context of the Eurozone crisis and debates about austerity. My contention is that the coloured cosmopolitanism that underpins the vision of a decolonized Europe offers a far better response to the age of austerity than those espousing the idea of a Cosmopoli­tan Europe.

Fanon’s Coloured Cosmopolitanism: A New Humanism Frantz Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth, published in 1961, marks a point in time when the Third World had begun to move with increased political confidence and vigour in global affairs. When the Bandung conference took place in 1955, the idea of the Third World project was largely embryonic. Kwame Nkrumah had not fully established an independent Ghana; Gamal Nasser had not yet opposed European powers at Suez; and Fidel Castro was still a lawyer rather than a revolutionary guerrilla. The Wretched of the Earth on the other hand, dictated during the latter stages of the Algerian War of Independence, was compiled with the aforementioned history fresh in the mind and at the start of the Third World’s zenith as a political actor on the global stage (Garavini 2012). Fanon thus speaks with a distinctive moxie about the ‘Third World’ as an emergent political project, which was not reducible to the Cold War protagonists of the capitalist West nor the communist Soviet Union. Nothing sums up Fanon’s idea of the Third World project, and its distaste for European colonialism, better than the concluding pages of The Wretched of the Earth. These see Fanon indict the hypocrisy of Europe’s so-called humanism in the face of its colonialism. Decolonization had laid this hypocrisy bare by showing the disjunction between Europe’s humanism, which promised equality and liberation for all, and its practices of colonialism that enslaved, exploited and often exterminated non-Europeans for capitalist profit. Fanon argued that this disjunction between theory and practice was no mere coincidence. Rather, the West’s

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narcissistic ‘spiritual adventure’ with humanism had become a justification for Europe’s colonialism and its bourgeoisie’s crimes against ‘four fifths of humanity’: All the elements of a solution to the great problems of humanity have, at different times, existed in European thought. But the Europeans did not act on the mission that was designated them and which consisted of virulently pondering these elements, modifying their configuration, their being, of changing them and finally taking the problem of man to an infinitely higher plane. (Fanon 2004: 237) Fanon’s indictment of Europe, however, was not just confined to its economic elites and cultural order but also included the European masses. Moreover, Fanon made a point of specifically focusing on Europe’s workers and its ideas of socialism. His argument was that humanism, refracted through colonial racism, had corrupted not only Europe’s bourgeois but also its proletariat, who had failed to heed the call for all the workers of the world to unite and who did not understand that the wretched of the earth were the most exploited elements of humanity. This led to a situation where Europe’s workers, and their brand of socialism, had benefitted and gained from the death and destruction of the colonized beyond Europe. Both bourgeois European humanism and European socialism were therefore two sides of the same coin, and their hypocrisy was indicative of a Europe which ‘never stops talking of man yet massacres him at every one of its street corners, at every corner of the world’ (Fanon 2004: 235). The hypocrisy of Europe, both on the left and the right, founded Fanon’s belief that Europe was now heading at ‘dizzying speed towards the brink’ and would fall apart due to its economic and political contradictions which saw it teeter between atomic destruction and spiritual disintegration (Fanon 2004: 235–237)5. This led him to caution that those newly independent Third World countries, and those seeking independence, would be best served by avoiding European models of economic and political development. This was because these models of development, and the technology and lifestyles that came with such a form of capitalist modernity, were premised on the denial of humanism and founded on the exploitation of man and nature. Instead, the Third World would have to combine its ‘muscles and brains’ to head in a ‘new direction’, one that moved beyond the limitations of the European project: So comrades, let us not pay tribute to Europe by creating states, institutions, and societies that draw their inspiration from it. Humanity expects other things from us than this grotesque and generally obscene emulation. If we want to transform Africa into a new Europe, America into a new Europe, then let us entrust the destinies of our countries to the Europeans. They will do a better job than the best of us. But if we want humanity to take one step forward, if we want to take it to another level than the one where Europe has placed it, then we must innovate, we must be pioneers. If we want to respond to the expectations of our peoples, we must look elsewhere besides

Fanon’s Decolonized Europe  157 Europe. Moreover, if we want to respond to the expectations of Europeans we must not send them back a reflection, however ideal, of their own society and their thought that periodically sickened even them. (Fanon 2004: 239)6

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Moreover, Fanon believed that the Third World could head towards this new direction through founding a new, expansive humanism that took: …account of not only the occasional prodigious theses maintained by Europe but also its crimes, the most heinous of which have been committed at the very heart of man, the pathological dismembering of his functions and erosion of his unity, and of the bloody tensions fed by class, and finally, on the immense scale of humanity, the racial hatred, slavery, exploitation and, above all, the bloodless genocide whereby one and a half billion men have been written off. … (Fanon 2004: 238) What Fanon suggests here is that the Third World could fashion a new humanism through learning from the ‘occasional prodigious theses’ of European humanism but also from the ‘crimes’ of the same doctrine. As noted earlier, these ‘occasional prodigious theses’ of European humanism were its evocation of rights (democracy, citizenship) and ethics (equality, cosmopolitanism, liberation) that promised liberty for all. It’s ‘crimes’ were the way in which humanism had been utilised to split humanity through class exploitation within Europe, and racial exploitation outside Europe. Fanon uses lessons from such crimes to ground his idea of how the new humanism in the Third World could provide both the ‘dual emergence’ of democratic national sovereignty and international solidarity with those beyond its borders. On one hand, this saw Fanon argue for a redefinition and innovation of liberal humanism within the confines of the Third World nation state. This would include a range of changes at the national and local levels such as decentralized governments and economies; a reappraisal of the relationship between the rural (peasant) and urban (worker); female equality in reality and not just legislation; the need to reign in the power of capital cities; and even how sport stadiums should be utilized for the population rather than commercial interests. These were designed to help Third World post-colonial states avoid the pitfalls of the socio-economic and political inequality of European bourgeois societies (Fanon 2004: 97–144). On the other hand, Fanon warned that if the Third World was not to repeat Europe’s compartmentalization of humanism within ethnocentric boundaries, then it would have to realise that it is ‘at the heart of national consciousness that international consciousness established itself and thrives’ (Fanon 2004: 180). This would see Third World nations use educative practices to ‘develop a human landscape’ for the sake of its ‘enlightened and sovereign inhabitants,’ and also see them pursue polices of economic and political cooperation with other Third World nations on regional and global levels. This was because the failure of European humanism had shown that the pursuit of humanism at home would have to be

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interrelated with the pursuit of humanism abroad in order fulfil the criteria of humanism in the first instance: …what we want is to walk in the company of man, every man, night and day, for all times. It is not a question of stringing the caravan out where groups are spaced so far apart they cannot see the one in front, men who no longer recognize each other, meet less and less and talk to each other less and less. (Fanon 2004: 238) As others have pointed out, Fanon’s calls for a new humanism were an attempt to call forth a future that had not yet come to pass (Gilroy 2005, Alessandrini 2014). The reality Fanon found himself within was permeated with conditions that he believed were impediments to a new humanism in the Third World. This included the regressive nationalism and native bourgeois despotism that Fanon saw engulfing newly independent Third World nation states. It also included the inherent neo-imperialism of Europe and its economic and political relations with the Third World. Fanon’s new humanism should therefore be read as a reflection on the Third World project and an attempt to flesh out the radical potential of its coloured cosmopolitanism. What I want to show in the next section, however, is  how a new decolonized Europe was also a significant part of Fanon’s ideas about a new direction for humanity.

Fanon’s Decolonized Europe: Reparations and Justice A superficial reading of Fanon’s work might give the impression that he believed Europe’s humanity had been permanently disfigured and distorted by the colonial process and therefore was irredeemable. Indeed, as highlighted above, Fanon believed Europe was heading towards disaster due to the ramifications of its own hypocritical humanism. But this anti-European reading is challenged when Fanon follows his call for the Third World to embark on a new direction for humanity with the claim that this would be ‘For Europe, for ourselves and for humanity, comrades, we must make a new start, develop a new way of thinking, and endea­vour to create a new man’ (Fanon 2004: 239). The coloured cosmopolitanism of the Third World refused to repeat the crimes of Europe against Europe itself because its expansive humanism had learned from history. The Third World’s march forward would therefore aim to foster not only an expansive humanism for the coloured world but also march forward ‘for Europe’ and its citizens. This may seem to suggest little more than the ultimate reversal of the Manichean agency of colonialism where the Third World, and not Europe, is now the driving force of history and humanity. However, this flies against the principles of an expansive humanism, and if one examines the economic changes Fanon thought would have to happen to help the Third World achieve liberation for themselves and humanity, it becomes clear that he believed Europe and its liberation would be key to such a process. Fanon’s idea of a new humanism not only dislodged humanism from its Eurocentric moorings but also saw that the fulfilment of the conditions needed

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Fanon’s Decolonized Europe  159 for humanism to emerge were tied up with the global economy and the global division of wealth and labour. As class exploitation in Europe and colonial exploitation outside Europe had shown, a new humanism would have to orient itself towards global economic realties that could offer the possibility of human liberation for all humanity. Whilst Fanon was against the Third World picking sides in the Cold War, and argued that it should not be ‘content to define itself in relation to values which preceded it,’ (Fanon 2004: 56), it is quite clear that Fanon’s vision for the Third World was both anti-capitalist and socialist. This can be inferred from his emphasis on how capitalist modernity, and the wealth divide it had engendered between the Europe and the Third World, would have to be addressed with a new global economic settlement before humanity could approach the idea of liberation: The basic confrontation which seemed to be colonialism versus anti-­ colonialism, indeed capitalism versus socialism, is already losing importance. What matters today, the issue which blocks the horizon, is the need for a redistribution of wealth. Humanity will have to address this question, no matter how devastating the consequences may be. (Fanon 2004: 55) It is within Fanon’s discussion of a new global economic settlement that one can start to find his idea for how a new, decolonized Europe could play an active role in the formation of humanity’s new global economic settlement. Moreover, in The Wretched of the Earth’s first chapter, and counter to arguments about Fanon as an unrepentant advocate of de-colonial violence against Europe (Arendt 1970; Hutching’s and Frazier 2008), Fanon unpacks an argument for the cooperation and collaboration between the emergent Third World and its ex-colonial masters in the pursuit of a new humanism through the founding of a new global economy: The Third World has no intention of organizing a vast hunger strike against Europe. What it does expect from those who have kept it in slavery for centuries is to help it rehabilitate man, and ensure his triumph everywhere, once and for all. (Fanon 2004: 61) Fanon goes on to outline what this new, decolonized Europe might resemble. It would see Europe acknowledge that it had behind the underdevelopment of the Third World and that its capitalist modernity had been founded and perpetuated on the back of the exploitation of the Third World’s natural and human resources: …European nations wallow in the most ostentatious opulence. This ­ uropean opulence is literally a scandal for it was built on the back of slaves, E it fed on the blood of slaves, and owes much of its existence to the soil and subsoil of the underdeveloped world. Europe’s well-being and progress were built on the sweat and corpses of blacks, Arabs, Indians and Asians. (Fanon 2004: 53)

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160  John Narayan As Fanon (2004: 58) stated, the ‘wealth of imperialist nations is also our wealth.’ A  new, decolonized Europe would have to recognize this fact and support the rehabilitation of the Third World’s humanity through forms of restorative economic justice. Europe would have to provide reparation payments for its colonial crimes against non-Europeans, fund new infrastructure, and eradicate the poverty European underdevelopment had bestowed on the Third World. Fanon’s arguments, however, were not just focused on the past economic crimes of European colonialism, but on the economic crimes of European neo-­ imperialism. Whilst decolonization had seen the eviction of European powers from non-European lands, Fanon understood that this did not end European imperial power. This was where the ‘apotheosis of independence becomes the curse of independence’. European powers often withdrew their armies from newly independent countries but then surrounded the new nation with an ‘­apparatus of economic pressure’ that made the new country’s economy subservient to ­European interests. This had created a neo-imperial global economy where newly independent Third World countries were on the periphery of the global economy, still predominately providing raw materials and natural resources to industrialized countries in the West, because they were unable to develop their own industries and infrastructure free of Western interference (Fanon 2004: 53–55). Fanon thus called for a total rethinking of global economy and the humani­ zing of ‘working conditions’ that neo-imperial relations had reduced to the ­‘animal level’. A decolonized Europe would aid this process through putting a stop its exploitation of the Third World’s human and natural resources; preventing capital flight out of the Third World; stopping its interference and resistance to Third World industrial development and understanding that the Cold War and its arms race diverted funds from the real problem of providing ‘investment and technical aid’ to the world’s poorest people. Moreover, this new, decolonized Europe would join the Third World in moving the global economy towards the socialism that Fanon believed would provide human liberation (Fanon 2004: 51–63).

Fanon’s Decolonized Europe Then and Now: The Problems of Neo-Imperialism and Sleeping Beauty What then are we to make of Fanon’s idea for a new Europe and his attempt to remodel European politics? What emerges from Fanon’s idea of a decolonized Europe is a critique of the Eurocentrism and neo-imperialism that Fanon believed plagued not only Europe’s colonial humanism but also its progressive, left wing politics. These were the interrelated problems of Europe’s neo-imperial economic relations with the Third World and what Fanon referred to as the problem of ‘Sleeping Beauty’: the failure of the European masses to wake up from their Eurocentrism. Fanon understood that the emergence of a new humanism through the transformation of global capitalism would only be possible with the involvement of a new Europe, one that would renounce neo-imperialism and capitalist exploitation once and for all. However, he was not naïve enough to believe that

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Fanon’s Decolonized Europe  161 the ‘cooperation and goodwill of the European governments’ would bring about such a new Europe (Fanon 2004: 62). Neither was he naïve enough to believe that the European masses would automatically see that their fate lay with the Third World. The restriction of the idea of humanism to the spatial location of Europe, both by European governments and socialists, had failed to secure liberation and democracy for humanity. This included both the idea of welfare capitalism that was becoming dominant across Western Europe and the idea of a democratic socialism that only centred on the problem of the European proletariat. Both these developments were political halfway houses because they did not seek to alter the neo-imperial conditions of the global economy so as to offer liberation to those outside Europe.7 Although Fanon believed in the need for a new Europe and the ‘crucial help’ of the European masses in the pursuit of liberation, he was skeptical about whether this would come to fruition. Substituting Western Marxism’s faith in the European proletariat with a dose of harsh reality, Fanon challenged the European masses to understand the treachery of their previous beliefs and actions, and fashion a new European socialism that would recognize the humanity of the Third World within its rationale: …This colossal task … will be achieved with the crucial help of the ­European masses who would do well to confess that they have often rallied behind the position of our common masters on colonial issues. In order to do this, the European masses must first of all decide to wake up, put on their thinking caps and stop playing the irresponsible game of Sleeping Beauty. (Fanon 2004: 62) Europe’s masses needed to understand the links between their own exploitation in Europe and the neo-imperial exploitation outside Europe. Only then could they the exploitative nature of global capitalism change and to lead to liberation and democracy inside and outside Europe. The reality of these measures would mean not simply the creation of socialism in Europe but a total rethinking of Europe’s political, economic and cultural way of life through the cessation of Europe’s  neo-imperialism. Only through this would Europe decolonize itself and be able to join the Third World in its project of liberating all humanity.8 Despite the disappearance of the Third World project and its coloured cosmopolitanism, the power of Fanon’s idea of a decolonized Europe remains as pertinent today as it did over 50 years ago.9 The reason for this centres on the present day regime of neo-imperialism between the Global North (Europe and other advanced economies) and the Global South (Third World). Indeed, this regime of neo-imperialism still largely resembles a global economy based on a centre and periphery model that facilitates the economic power of the West over the non-Western world, which Fanon narrated in 1961.10 Whilst the rise of neo-­liberal globalisation in the 1970s has seen the collapse of Fordism in the Global North, where select nations in the Global South, and their vast reserves of labour, have

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162  John Narayan become integrated into a new geography of industrial production, the global economy is still largely controlled by the power of Western nations and their multinational corporations (Patnaik 2010; Foster 2015). Disarticulated Fordism has seen large transfers of wealth and income from labour to capital in the Global North, and produced miraculous economic growth and pockets of extreme wealth in select Global South countries such as China and India, largely through producing export goods and services for consumption zones and consumers in the North (Harvey 2005). However, despite the rise of Southern neo-liberal powerhouse economies such as the BRICS11 bloc, the global economy is still based on a rough model where the Global South is the home of cheap labour, poverty and raw materials, and the Global North, which despite inducing its own deindustrialisation and structural unemployment, still holds asymmetric economic power and privilege over the Global South (Foster 2015). The neo-imperial situation is, in turn, compounded by the West’s domination of global governance institutions such as the IMF, World Bank, WTO and UN, and the supremacy of Western military powers, which aid its domination of the global economy and facilitate its access to the human and natural resources of the Global South (Wade 2013). The link between this regime of neo-imperialism and everyday life in Europe is plentiful. It extends from the minerals, resources and labour found in the production of mobile phones; the cheap shirts that are stitched in the South and worn in the North; to the illicit flows of money from the Global South into Europe’s banking systems (see Patnaik and Patnaik 2015 Foster et al. 2011; UNECA 2014). This neo-imperial reality continues to make Fanon’s idea about a d­ ecolonized Europe, and his critique of the Eurocentrism at the heart of ­European politics, prescient and urgent in the age of austerity. To highlight this, in the final part of the chapter I will utilise Fanon’s ideas about a decolonized Europe to assess the response of European intellectuals such as Beck and Habermas to the Eurozone crisis, and their evocation of Cosmopolitan Europe as an alternative to austerity. My intention is to show that the problem of neo-­ imperialism is something advocates of Cosmopolitan Europe are yet to fully comprehend in the age of austerity.

Colouring Cosmopolitan Europe’s Anti-Austerity As outlined in this book’s introduction, Cosmopolitan Europe’s response to the ­Eurozone crisis opposes Europe’s turn to austerity and argues that the crisis is actually political rather than economic (Beck 2013; Habermas 2012, 2015). ­Cosmopolitan Europe intellectuals such as Beck and Habermas thus embrace an anti-austerity position, which rejects the neo-liberal restructuring of E ­ uropean welfare states in favour of a more integrated and socially democratic ‘­Cosmopolitan Europe’. This reformation of Europe would include addressing Europe’s demo­ cratic deficit through reforming Europe’s democratic institutions, reaffirming the ideas of European citizenship and expanding the European public sphere. ­Coupled with this political integration would be an expansive economic integration of

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Northern and Southern European countries, and the continental expansion of European welfare capitalism (Habermas 2015: 28). This would marry continental political integration with continental economic redistribution and welfare policies to help Europe unify and become competitive within the contours of neo-liberal globalisation: A political integration backed by social welfare is necessary if the national diversity and incomparable cultural wealth of the biotope ‘old Europe’ are to enjoy any protection against becoming levelled in the midst of rapidly progressing globalisation. (Habermas 2012: 53) The anti-austerity of cosmopolitan writers appears a coherent response to the ­Eurozone crisis. Arguments for opposing austerity and the dismantling of ­European welfare stares through strengthening the democratic structures of the EU and the creation of trans-European re-distributive and welfare practices appear to offer a viable alternative trajectory for Europe. Moreover, this would appear to resemble the cosmopolitan desire for the EU to act as bulwark against the workings of neo-liberal globalisation. Who could disagree, for example, with the contention that in a climate of re-emergent, regressive nationalisms across Europe, which have been stirred by the immiseration and instability created by the onset of austerity, we should oppose austerity in Europe through rebooting and expanding the progressive and unifying aspects of European welfare capitalism for all Europe’s citizens? But, if we utilise the idea of Fanon’s decolonized Europe as benchmark for Europe’s future, it quickly becomes apparent that cosmopolitan Europe’s anti austerity is still premised on the basis of a Eurocentric and neo-imperial Europe. This centres specifically on how intellectuals such as Habermas appear blind to the fact that their anti-austerity vision of a new European wide social demo­ cratic settlement is entangled with the history of colonialism and present day neo-­imperialism. As pointed out in the introduction to this book, cosmopolitan accounts of European development silence how the histories and wealth generated by enslavement, colonialism and imperialism helped to found modern European states (see ­Bhambra 2011, 2016). This includes the formation of the European project itself and the development of modern welfare state capitalism within Western Europe. Within the tenets of this argument, the move towards a continental social democratic settlement suffers from a form of Eurocentrism. It evades the idea of reparatory justice for the former colonised who made Western modernity possible, and does not entertain the rights and claims of non-European citizens to the fruits of European modernity.12 This historical argument can be deepened and advanced by examining how elements of welfare capitalism at the national level in Europe, and elements of its current trans-European expansion, were not only founded on a history of colonialism but are still perpetuated through present day regime of neo-imperialism between the Global North and the Global South. An example of this link can be

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164  John Narayan found in the ‘brain drain’ of health-care workers (doctors and nurses) from the Global South, which is key to maintenance of individual European health care systems and the trans-European health care system that allows European citizens to access health care in EU member states.13 Global healthcare suffers from a shortage of workers. The World Health Organisation calculates that today this shortfall currently stands at around 7.2 ­million and that the world be short of 12.9 million health-care workers by 2035 (WHO 2013). However, not all countries or regions in the world feel this health-care worker shortage equally. Europe navigates the current shortage of healthcare workers due to the migration of health-care workers from the poor Global South into richer countries in Europe, where demand for health care is driven by technological progress and aging populations (EC 2012). Moreover, these national healthcare systems rely on a range of non-European health-care workers in order to provide the healthcare components of European welfare states to European citizens.14 Migration from the Global South to Europe is driven by ‘pull’ factors such as better remuneration and living conditions, and ‘push factors’ such as the lack of infrastructure15 and health care spending in the source countries of migrant health workers (Jensen 2013: 8). Unsurprisingly, this migration of health-care workers to Europe mirrors cultural and linguistic ties established by European colonialism16 (OECD 2015: 143). Europe’s appropriation of non-European human resources for its provision of welfare has sinister consequences for countries in the Global South, which are deprived of those resources. Across sub-Saharan Africa, where there is the greatest shortage of healthcare infrastructure and workers and the highest burden of fighting disease (WHO 2013), Europe, through the push and pull of migration, asset strips doctors from poor countries. Countries such as Sierra Leone, ­Tanzania, Mozambique, Angola and Liberia have expatriation rates of more than 50% of the doctors they train, with a significant number of these heading for ­European countries (OECD 2010). This in turn has significant impact on the ­ability of these countries to provide healthcare for their own citizens. For example, at the height of the Ebola crisis (2013–2015) in Sierra Leone, which was hastened by the country’s lack of trained staff and has to date claimed around 4,000 lives, the UK’s National Health Service employed 27 doctors and 103 nurses who were trained in Sierra Leone. This amounted to around 20% and 10% of the number of the doctors and nurses to be found in Sierra Leone itself (Sharples 2015). Neo-­imperialism thus denies the possibility of life in the Global South, even in the midst of so called naturally occurring events, in order to sustain the possibility of life in the Global North.17 The neo-imperialism that sustains European health systems ultimately reflects and sustains the staggering health inequalities between Europe and the Global South. Average healthy life expectancy in Western Europe registers at over 70 years, whilst in India it ranges between 59–50 years and across sub-Saharan Africa the range falls from 59 to below 50 years. In Sierra Leone, for example, average life expectancy is 47 (WHO 2014). Moreover, such neo-imperial brain drain leads not only to a significant inability of poor countries in the Global South to provide healthcare to their own citizens but also reinforces exploitative economic relations between rich and poor countries. This centres on the perversity

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Fanon’s Decolonized Europe  165 that sees poor countries in the Global South providing a subsidy to rich European countries because they pay for the education and training of doctors who subsequently migrate. For example, the Sierra Leonean doctors and nurses employed by the NHS saw Sierra Leone provide a financial subsidy to the UK in between the region of £14.5–22.4 million.18 One would find equally appalling amounts of subsides provided to rich countries in the Global North by poor countries in the Global South (Jensen 2013). This example of the neo-imperial aspects of European welfare capitalism highlights the perniciousness nature of Eurocentrism that Fanon warned us about over 50 years ago. Habermas’ idea about the expansion of welfare practices to encompass a European wide welfare state does not take into consideration how these practises, such as healthcare, are currently only possible because they are built on neo-imperial relations between Europe and the Global South. He makes no mention of needing to decolonise any aspect of European society but rather seeks to expand what he takes to be its strengths in order to perpetuate the European social order. This is because, unlike the tenets of coloured cosmopolitanism’s rearticulating of humanism, Eurocentrism restricts the idea of cosmopolitanism, democracy, and social welfare to Europe and Europeans. Indeed, the wider world, other than being a threat to Europe, is never really considered by such an approach to European cosmopolitanism. Habermas even admits this fact, when stating that the need for a greater social democratic, cosmopolitan Europe is really about Europe’s geo-political influence: It’s about us. But it’s also about Europe’s role in the world. Given the statistically well-documented prospect that our continent will lose political influence and economic weight on a worldwide scale in proportion to its shrinking population, it is obvious that none of the European nations will have the power to uphold its social and cultural model on its own. Just as little will a decaying Europe have the strength to play a role in shaping a stratified – and hence unjust – world society. This world has not yet learned how to master the challenges of environmental disaster, famine, poverty, economic imbalances and the risks of large-scale technology. And a cantonized Europe that belongs in the muse – the best-case (but improbable) scenario –wants to withdraw from this planning and learning process? (Habermas 2015: 72) Bearing in mind Fanon’s ideas about the need for a decolonized Europe, what Habermas is presenting as a socially democratic and cosmopolitan position, opposing austerity in Europe, is actually inherently undemocratic and neo-­imperial for those outside Europe. Moreover, it highlights the failure of ­Cosmopolitan Europe to recognise how the problem of neo-imperialism was, and is, key to the idea of Europe as a political project. The idea of a more socially democratic Cosmopolitan Europe as a response to austerity thus seems not so much a step towards greater democracy but more a perpetuation of Europe’s living standards through neo-imperialism; a trajectory for Europe that is neither democratic nor cosmopolitan.

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Conclusion: The Unfulfilled Promise of Coloured Cosmopolitanism in the Age of Austerity This chapter has attempted to demonstrate that the Third World’s coloured cosmopolitanism was not just a project for Third World liberation but also a project of human liberation. This double promise, exemplified in Fanon’s idea about a decolo­nized Europe, believed that it was only through the expansion of humanism to all corners of the world that humanity could achieve liberation. As I have shown, this centred on a specific critique of the colonial regimes and neo-­imperialism that engendered Europe’s capitalist modernity. This was seen to require not only the assertion of political agency and economic independence in the Third World, but also the move towards a decolonized Europe. This idea of a decolonized Europe would require Europe to turn its back on Eurocentrism and for the citizens of Europe to stop playing the irresponsible game of Sleeping Beauty. This idea of a decolonized Europe still holds prescient value today. As shown what is often missing from the debates about ‘Cosmopolitan Europe’ in the age of austerity are the very insights that Fanon provided at the middle of the twentieth century: the problems of Europe cannot be untangled from the neo-imperialism that takes place beyond Europe. If we are to talk about what constitutes a cosmopolitan Europe then we must follow Fanon’s lead and embrace a humanism and politics that take it as standard that the reformation of European social institutions be made with the whole of humanity in mind. This sets a challenge to any conception of European cosmopolitanism to realise that the pursuit of democracy in Europe cannot be delinked from the pursuit of democracy outside of Europe.19 And this scenario centres, as Fanon argued over 50 years ago, on shifting Europe and its ways of life away from the structures of a neo-imperial system and towards economic and political realities that would aid the liberation of all of humanity.20 This idea of decolonised Europe also holds important insights for wider ideas about anti-austerity and progressive European politics. There can be no denying that austerity in Europe should be opposed because it has disastrous consequences for populations in Southern and Northern Europe and their quality of life. But if anti-austerity in Europe is simply about saving European welfare capitalism then European anti-austerity is simply another name for the perpetuation of neo-­imperialism. This is not only due to the colonial history that is responsible for European nation states and their social institutions, but also because of the neo-imperialism that continues to underpin European society. Rather than simply saving European welfare capitalism, anti-austerity in Europe must translate into the decolonization of Europe and transformation of its neo-imperial strictures. If Europe and its citizens are to provide an anti-austerity response to neoliberal restructuring through the provision of a new social democratic settlement, which was decolonized rather neo-imperial, they must rethink the very neo-­imperial means that underpin elements of their society. If we return to the example of European healthcare system, this would include the questioning of recruitment practices of healthcare workers from the Global South and the way countries in Europe fund the education and training of their own healthcare workforce forces. However, such a discussion would have to consider the point that Europe should

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Fanon’s Decolonized Europe  167 pay compensations payments to the countries in the Global South for stealing their human resources (Jensen 2013: 38–39). On a macro level, such discussions would also have to include examining the wealth and development divide between the Global North and Global South, which engenders the very ‘push’ and ‘pull’ conditions of health-care worker migration in the first place. This would in turn, lead to questions about the reorganisation of capitalism both inside and outside Europe in order to achieve universal healthcare for all of humanity. This anti-neo-imperial logic not only applies to issues of European healthcare systems but an array of other ‘European’ issues such as wealth inequality and the competiveness of Southern Europe. For example: can we really separate debates about wealth inequality in Europe and the need for more disposable income for European citizens from the fact that what they would be induced to spend this extra income on new consumer items such as mobile phones and cheap clothing, which are produced through exploitative and neo-imperial relations with work forces in the Global South21? Can we really talk about the need to help Southern Europe become more competitive within the terms of neo-liberal globalisation without acknow­ ledging how such a system pitches labour in the Global South against labour in the Global North22? These questions are not meant to represent aporias for European politics in an age of austerity, but rather as anti-neo-imperial challenges that Europe and its citizens must meet in order to achieve a decolonized anti-austerity. For these reasons, the Third World’s coloured cosmopolitanism and Fanon’s idea for a new, decolonized and truly revolutionary Europe still hold lessons and promise for Europe in its age of austerity. The spectre of the Third World and its coloured cosmopolitism no longer haunt Europe in the visceral manner it once did. But this doubles the need for Europe to decolonise itself, as the Third World no longer can take the lead in such struggles as it did at the mid-point of the twentieth century. Moreover, the other spectre that Fanon narrated where a Europe, unable or unwilling to decolonise, saw both itself and the rest of humanity hurtling towards destruction appears ever closer on the horizon. One can see this in the environmental, economic and political turmoil that currently afflicts humanity, and the boomeranging of neo-imperial problems back into Europe. Europe and its peoples once again find themselves at a cross roads, and maybe their only salvation will be to recover this lost idea of a new decolonized Europe. But this would require that Europe now do what it refused to do fifty years ago and place its destiny with the promise of a decolonized and coloured, rather than simply European, cosmopolitanism.

Notes 1 The term coloured cosmopolitanism was coined by Nico Slate (2012), who uses it to describe the unity and cross-pollination of ideas and practices that developed between pioneering African-American Civil Rights activists and the Indian Independence Movement. As Slate shows, this pivoted on the idea of ‘darker nations’ and is exemplified in the work of Du Bois (1925) that linked the ‘problem of colour’ across national boundaries. I use the term in the same register but expand it beyond Slate’s pre-World War Two environment and shift its focus to geo-political and geo-economic issues of the post-war period. Following Prashad (2007), this sees the idea of the ‘darker nations’ as a key element of the Third World’s unity and critique of neo-imperial capitalism.

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168  John Narayan 2 For example, C.L.R. James (2001) Appendix to the 1963 edition of his path breaking history of the Haitian revolution, Black Jocobins, is entitled ‘From Toussaint ­L’Ouverture to Fidel Castro’. For more recent work that links the Haitian revolution with modern day conceptions of human rights see Blackburn (2011). 3 For more on the details of the Third World project and its relations with both the First and Third World also see Garavini (2012), Lee (2010) Mishra (2012), and Mazower (2012). For a more critical take on the Third World project see Scott (2004). 4 This is what Fanon famously called in Black Skins, White Masks (2008) the ‘double narcissism’ of European colonialism. See also Césaire (2000) for very similar views about colonialism’s dehumanisation of both colonizer and colonized. 5 Fanon here was borrowing from his former school teacher Aimé Césaire’s work, Discourse on Colonialism (2000), which had narrated the distinct link between colonial rationality and the rise of Fascism in Europe. Whilst events such as World War One and The Great Depression had provided the class cleavages for the rise of Fascism, Europe had failed to understand that the logic of Fascism, its racist dehumanization, hatred of democracy and its creation of extermination camps, were simply the extension of colonial procedures that until then had been ‘reserved exclusively for the Arabs of Algeria, the “coolies” of India and the “niggers” of Africa’ (Césaire 2000: 36). What Césaire and Fanon believed was that Europe was heading into further trouble because it failed to see how its neo-imperial societies had not solved the class and race contradictions that had made the rise of Fascism possible in the first place. 6 Fanon’s call for the Third World to create something new is not itself free from critique. For an approach that questions the Fanon’s emphasis on creating something new at the expense of the older traditions and cultures, see Shilliam (2015). 7 This point was also noted by Gunnar Mydral (1970: 299) who noted that the European welfare state was a conservative institution, which saw citizens mobilized to ‘abstain from polices for underdeveloped countries’ in order to secure their own national rights and privileges. 8 The highlighting of the link between the problem of the proletariat in Europe and the colonial problem is not exclusive to the work of Fanon but can also be found in other prominent black intellectuals of the period such as Césaire, W.E.B Du Bois, George Padmore and C.L.R. James. Indeed, this insight into the racialised and Eurocentric nature of descriptions of class relations and revolution within Europe was key to the intellectual tradition Cedric J. Robinson (2000) has labelled, Black Marxism. 9 The agency of Third World project brought ‘Third Worldism’ into the vernacular of European politics during the 60s and 70s (Garavini 2012), but this was not enough to cause Europe to embark on a new direction in the twentieth century. By 1982 The Third World project and its coloured cosmopolitanism had been brought to halt with the onset of a Western-manufactured Third World debt crisis (Prashad 2007). And by 1987, the Third World project’s last truly revolutionary representative, Burkina Faso’s Thomas Sankara was assassinated. This marked the final blow to a project that had suffered from internal problems, such as the hubris of national leaders and their failure to secure true democracy at home, and even more significantly from external problems such as the neo-imperialism of Europe and the US. This had seen the Third World become a site of neo-imperial military warfare through Cold War proxy wars and economic warfare through organisations such as the G7, International Monterey Fund (IMF) and World Bank (WB) (see Chossudovsky 2005; Klein 2007). 10 It should be noted that Fanon in fact anticipated quite a lot of these changes associated with neo-imperialism. 11 This neo-imperial situation is complicated by the BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa) and their rise as economic powers. The BRICS are often confused with an acronym coined by Goldman Sachs economist Jim O’Neill but their history

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Fanon’s Decolonized Europe  169 predates this coinage. The group are best seen as geo-political bloc, which is developing its own challenge to the dominance of the Global North. This, however, resembles more a form of inter-imperialist rivalry between neo-liberal blocs than resistance reminiscent of the Third World project (See Prashad 2013a & 2013b). 12 For an account that uses this rationale to combat the racism shown towards refugees in narrations of Europe’s current ‘migrant crisis’, see Bhambra (2015). 13 This current system functions on a reciprocal agreement between EU and European Free Trade Association countries and sees a European Health Insurance Card issued to citizens, who can then utilize free or reduced price healthcare in countries they are visiting at the time. 14 This dependence on foreign health care workers varies across Europe and the EU. Hungary, Italy and France have relatively low reliance on foreign medical doctors – less than 5%. Whilst moderate levels of dependence are found in Germany (over 5%). Belgium, Portugal, Spain, Austria and Sweden have a high reliance (ranging between 11.1–18.4%). Ranging between 22.5% and 36.8%, Slovenia, Ireland and the United Kingdom are the European countries with very high reliance on foreign medical ­doctors (Wismar et al. 2011). Regardless of level of dependence, it is still non-EU born doctors and nurses who comprise the majority of these foreign health workers. For example, in Spain (92%), UK (82%), Portugal (81%), the Netherlands (71%), ­Ireland (71%) and Sweden (51%) of foreign-born doctors were from non-EU countries (OECD 2015: 144). 15 On education and training, for example, in the 47 countries of sub-Saharan Africa, just 168 medical schools exist. Of those countries, 11 have no medical schools, and 24 countries have only one medical school. This in turn makes the brain drain from this region even crueler and heart breaking. 16 For example, the UK’s largest group of foreign-born doctors are from India, who make up over 10% of its doctor’s working in the NHS. The other top non-EU countries providing doctors to the UK are Pakistan, South Africa, Nigeria, Egypt, Sri Lanka, Iraq and Sudan. (Sharples 2015; OECD 2015: 143). 17 Another aspect of neo-imperialism was also responsible for increased suffering and death in Western Africa before and during the Ebola crisis. Over the last ­decade, the IMF, through loan conditionality, has effectively forced governments in Guinea, Liberia and Sierra Leone to cut healthcare spending in order to prioritise debt repayments and set public-wage caps which contribute to the push factors of health worker migration. As a result of the enforcement of neo-liberal polices, these ­countries’ healthcare systems were not prepared for the crisis, and a major reason why the outbreak spread so rapidly was the weakness of health systems in the region (­Kentikelenis et al 2015). 18 Sharples (2015) makes this the lower estimate based on training costs for junior doctors and nurses. The higher estimate is based on assuming the doctors are consultants. 19 For more on the problematic of linking democracy at home with democracy abroad, see Narayan (2016). 20 Given the theoretical orientation of this piece, I am unable to expand on the details of such changes but they would centre, as the Third World project and writers such as Fanon made clear, on the reconfiguration of the global economy and global governance structures to more democratic and socialist ends. From a European perspective, one primary recommendation would be cessation of Europe’s continued plundering of the Third World’s human and natural resources. 21 See Foster (2011) for a wonderful narration of how labour in the Global South is exploited for goods such as IPhones and cheap clothing that retail predominantly in the Global North. 22 For excellent account on the link between the conditions of Southern European labour and the conditions of labour in the Global South and the need for a more global perspective on issues such as the competiveness of Southern Europe, see Pradella (2015).

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References Alessandrini, A. C. (2014). Frantz Fanon and the Future of Cultural Politics. London: Lexington Books. Arendt, H. (1970). On Violence. New York: Harvest. Beck, U. (2013). German Europe. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bhambra, G. K. (2011). ‘Cosmopolitanism and Postcolonial Critique.’ In The Ashgate Companion to Cosmopolitanism, edited by Maria Rovisco and Magdalena Nowicka, 313–28. Farnham: Ashgate. Bhambra, G. K. (2015). “Europe won’t solve its ‘migrant crisis’ until it faces its own past.” https://theconversation.com/europe-wont-resolve-the-migrant-crisis-until-it-faces-itsown-past-46555 (accessed 20/12/15). Bhambra, G. K. (2016). ‘Whither Europe? Postcolonial versus Neocolonial Cosmopolitanism.’ Interventions: Journal of Postcolonial Studies 18(2): 187–202. Blackburn, R. (2011). The American Crucible: Slavery, Emancipation and Human Rights. London: Verso. Césaire, A. (2000 [1955]). Discourse on Colonialism. New York: Monthly Review Press. Chossudovsky, M. (2005). The Globalization of Poverty and the New World Order. 2nd ed. Québec: Global Research. Du Bois, W.E.B. (2007 [1903]). The Souls of Black Folk: Essays and Sketches. Oxford University Press: Oxford. Du Bois, W.E.B. (1925). ‘The Negro Mind Reaches Out,’ in The New Negro: Voices of the Harlem Renaissance, ed. Alain Locke. New York: Touchstone. EC (2012). European Commission Staff Working Document On An Action Plan For The EU Health Workforce. http://ec.europa.eu/dgs/health_consumer/docs/swd_ap_eu_­ healthcare_workforce_en.pdf (accessed 20/11/15). Fanon, F. (2004 [1961]). The Wretched of the Earth. Grove Press.Fanon, F. (2008 [1961]). Black Skin, White Masks. Grove Press. Foster J.B., (2015). ‘The New Imperialism of Globalized Monopoly-Finance Capital.’ Monthly Review 67, (03). http://monthlyreview.org/2015/07/01/the-new-­imperialismof-globalized-monopoly-finance-capital/ (accessed 20/12/15). Foster J.B., Magdof F., McChesney R.W., Jonna R.J. (2011). ‘The Global Reserve Army of Labour and the New Imperialism.’ Monthly Review 63: 1–15. Frazer, E., and Hutchings, K. (2008). ‘On Politics and Violence: Arendt Contra Fanon.’ Contemporary Political Theory. 7.1 (2008): 90–108. Garavini, G. (2012). After Empires: European Integration, Decolonization, and the Challenge from the Global South. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gilroy, P. (2005). Post-colonial Melancholia. New York: Columbia University Press. Habermas, J. (2012). The Crisis of the European Union: A Response. Cambridge: Polity Press. Habermas, J. (2015). The Lure of Technocracy. Cambridge: Polity Press. Harvey, D. (2005). A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. James, C.L.R. (2001 [1938]). The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revoutlion. London: Penguin Books. Jensen, N. (2013). ‘The Health Worker Crisis: an analysis of the issues and main international responses.’ https://www.healthpovertyaction.org/wp-content/uploads/downloads/ 2013/11/Health-worker-crisis-web.pdf (accessed 18/12/15). Kentikelenis, A., King, L., McKee, M., Stuckler, D., (2015). The International Monetary Fund and the Ebola Outbreak. The Lancet Global Health 3(2): 69–70. Klein, N (2007). The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. London: Penguin Books. Lee, C. (2010). Making A World After Empire: The Bandung Moment and its Political After-lives. Athens: Ohio. Macey, D. (2002). Frantz Fanon: A Biography. London: Picador. Mazower, M. (2012). Governing the World: The History of An Idea. London: Allen Lane.

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Fanon’s Decolonized Europe  171 Milanovic, B. (2015). ‘Migration into Europe: A Problem with no solution’ http://glineq.blog spot.co.uk/2015/06/migration-into-europe-problem-with-no.html (accessed 20/11/15). Mishra, P. (2012). From the Ruins of Empire: The Revolt Against The West and The Remaking of Asia. London: Penguin. Myrdal, G. (1970). The Challenge of World Poverty. A World Anti-Poverty Programme Outline. New York: Pantheon Books. Narayan, J. (2016). John Dewey: The Global Public and its Problems. Manchester: ­Manchester University Press. OECD (2010). Policy Brief: International Migration of Health Workers http://www.oecd. org/ migration/mig/44783473.pdf (accessed 20/11/2015).OECD (2015). International Migration Outlook 2015. Paris: OECD Publishing. Patnaik, P. (2010). ‘Notes on Contemporary Imperialism’ Monthly Review Magazine. http://mrzine.monthlyreview.org/2010/patnaik201210.html (accessed 20/11/15). Patnaik, U., and Patnaik, P., (2015). ‘Imperialism in the Era of Globalization’ Monthly Review 67, (3) http://monthlyreview.org/2015/07/01/imperialism-in-the-era-ofglobalization/ (accessed 20/11/15). Pradella, L. (2015). The Working Poor in Western Europe: Labour, Poverty and Global Capitalism. Comparative European Politics 13, pp. 596–613. Prashad, V. (2007). The Darker Nations: A People’s History of the Third World. New York: The New Press. Prashad, V. (2013a). The Poorer Nations: A Possible History of The Global South. London: Verso. Prashad, V. (2013b). Neo-Liberalism with Southern Characteristics: The Rise of the BRICS. Report for the Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung. May 2013. Robinson, C.J. (2000). Black Marxism: The Making of the Black Radical Tradition. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Scott, D. (2004). Conscripts of Modernity: The Tragedy of Colonial Enlightenment. London: Duke University Press. Sharples, N. (2015). ‘Brain Drain; Migrants are the Life Blood of the NHS, its time the UK paid for them.’ The Guardian. http://www.theguardian.com/global-development-­ professionals-network/2015/jan/06/migrants-nhs-compensation-global-health-braindrain (accessed 21/12/15). Shilliam, R. (2015). ‘Colonial Architecture or Relatable Hinterlands? Locke, Nandy, Fanon, and the Bandung Spirit’ Constellations, Online First Article (accessed 01/12/15). Slate, N. (2012). Coloured Cosmopolitanism: The Shared Struggle For Freedom In The US and India. London: Harvard University Press. UNECA (2014). Illicit Financial Flows: why Africa needs to “Track it, Stop it and Get it” United Nation Economic Commission for Africa http://www.uneca.org/sites/ default/files/PublicationFiles/illicit_financial_flows_why_africa_needs.pdf (accessed 21/01/16). Wade, R. (2013). ‘The Art of Power Maintenance: How Western States Keep the Lead in Global Organizations’ Challenge, vol. 56, no. 1, January/February 2013, pp. 5–39. WHO (2013). ‘Global health workforce shortage to reach 12.9 million in coming decades.’ http://www.who.int/mediacentre/news/releases/2013/health-workforce-shortage/en/ (accessed 21/01/16). WHO (2014). Healthy Life Expectancy both Sexes 2012 (HALE) World Health Organisation http://gamapserver.who.int/mapLibrary/Files/Maps/Global_HALE_BothSexes_ 2012.png (accessed 21/01/16). Wismar M., Maier C.B., Glinos I.A., Dussault G., Figueras J. (2011). Health Professional Mobility and Health Systems. Evidence from 17 European countries. WHO Europe. http://www.euro.who.int/en/what-we-publish/abstracts/ health-professional-mobilityand-health-systems.-evidence-from-17-european-countries (accessed 20/11/15).

11 Epilogue

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A New Vision of Europe: Learning from the South Boaventura de Sousa Santos

A sense of historical and political exhaustion haunts Europe. After five ­centuries of providing the solutions for the world, Europe seems incapable of solving its own problems. There pervades a feeling that there are no alternatives to the current critical state of affairs, that the fabric of social cohesion and post-WWII social contract that linked gains in productivity to gains in salaries and social protection is forever gone, and that the resulting increase in social inequality, rather than delivering higher economic growth, is indeed plunging Europe into stagnation. European social cohesion is degenerating before our eyes, sliding into European civil war by some Fatum (overpowering necessity) from which Leibniz saw ­modern European reason being liberated. This is all the more puzzling if we consider that at least some of these seemingly intractable problems are somewhat similar to problems that non-European countries have confronted in recent years with some measure of success. More puzzling yet is that these countries, in addressing their problems, have drawn on European ideas and experiences. But they have reinterpreted them in new ways, by twisting and reconfiguring some of their components and mixing them with other components derived from non-European sources, while engaging in a kind of intellectual and institutional bricolage focused on concrete results rather than on orthodox models and dogmas. The sense of exhaustion is compounded with a sense of miniaturization. Europe seems to be shrinking, while the non-European world seems to be expanding. New actors emerge on the global scene, such as the BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa), while Europe appears less and less relevant. ­Moreover, in a rather paradoxical way, as the EU expanded and deepened the distinctiveness of Europe’s presence and profile in world affairs became diluted. When the ­western European countries were less dependent on Brussels’s directives and were viewed as independent actors, they, however acting in isolation, projected a vision of Europe as a benevolent and peace loving actor in international affairs, a profile clearly contrasting with the one projected by the USA. In contrast, when in our days the president of France, following slavishly on the steps of the USA, enthusiastically embraces the idea of bombing Syria, with this caricatural act he is not only inducing the suicide of the French left but also wrapping up the soul of Europe in the diploma of the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to the EU in Oslo on 10th of December 2012 and setting it on fire.

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Epilogue  173 In addressing this epochal Geist, I start from two ideas that are far from being consensual.1 First, Europe, no matter how extraordinary its accomplishments in the past, has nothing to teach the world anymore. Second, Europe has extreme difficulty in learning from non-European experiences, namely from the global South. Concerning the first premise, Europe’s high period as an imperial and global power ended in 1945. Devastated by the war, it benefitted from the helping hand of the USA, then the overwhelming world power. Once the latter started to decline in the 1970’s, instead of trying to carve out a new autonomous trajectory, Europe tied its fate to that of the USA by developing a partnership with it which over the years has become more and more unequal.2 In the meantime, the peripheral countries of the global South, many of which were European colonies at the end of WWII, became independent and, in one way or another, tried to find their own ways of making history in a post-European world. It was all along a bumpy road, since Europe and its superior ally, the USA, would question and challenge any attempt at delinking from the capitalist world system; the Soviet Union, in turn, did not accept any alternative to capitalism other than the one it was itself trying to develop. The movement of the non-aligned (starting with the Bandung ­Conference in 1955, convened by the presidents Nehru (India), Sukarno (­Indonesia), Nasser (Egypt), Nkrumah (Ghana) and Tito (Yugoslavia, now ­Serbia), was a first manifestation of an historical intent to carve out a path beyond the ­double and self-contradictory vision Europe offered of itself to the world, now liberal and capitalist, now Marxist and socialist, both of them highly exclusionary and demanding unconditional loyalty. This dichotomization of global affairs, dramatically illustrated by the Cold War (at times very hot indeed, as in the Korean war), posed intractable political dilemmas to the new political elites of the global South, both at the national and regional level and at the level of the United Nations, even if for those most distanced from the western culture capitalism and communism were two twin traps laid out by the same ‘white man’s’ supremacy. Several attempts at making history with some measure of autonomy followed in the subsequent decades until we reached the end of the twentieth century with the emergence of the BRICS. Such an emergence dramatized the diversity of world experience. Interestingly enough, the political and social innovations that came with it were based for the most part on European ideas, but they were processed in different ways; they were, in a sense, re-appropriated and hybridized, mixed with non-western ideas, in a bricolage of ideas and practices. A lot can be learned from this historical experience. But here enters the second premise. The extreme difficulty Europe has to take into account such rich historical diversity, to reflect productively upon it and to use it for solving its own problems. The main reason for this difficulty lies in an entrenched colonialist prejudice that has outlived historical colonialism for many decades. For five centuries Europe saw itself as holding the key to the problems of an ever expanding and inherently problematical world. Colonialism, evangelization, neocolonialism, imperialism, development, globalization, foreign aid, human rights, humanitarian assistance have been some of the keys of the ­Eurocentric solutions for the problems of the world. Being dependent on such

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174  Boaventura de Sousa Santos solutions, the non-European world was bound to adopt them, either voluntarily or by force, in this lying its subalternity vis-à-vis Europe. The colonialist prejudice writ large is at the source of Europe’s difficulty in learning from the experiences of the world. How could Europe possibly benefit from world experiences that relate to problems that Europe had supposedly solved long ago? There is, however, one window of opportunity which has emerged in the last two decades, and to which the current financial, economic, political, ecological crisis has given it a new visibility. What if Europe, rather than being the solution for the problems of the world, were itself the problem? Is Europe so unique as having to rely solely on its own experience to solve its problems? Or is Europe, on the contrary, part of a much wider world from whose experience it could bene­fit? The question does not imply that Europe needs to take lessons but rather engage in a new conversation with the world, a process of reciprocal learning based on more horizontal relations and mutual respect for differences. For better or worse, Europe did teach lessons to the world for a long time. One might be tempted to think that now it is time for the non-European world, the global South, to teach lessons to Europe. Then Europe teaching the world; now the world teaching Europe. I think, however, that a wrong metaphor does not get better by being inverted. In my view it is rather the time for a post-colonial, post-imperial conversation between Europe and the vast non-European world. Rather than inverted teaching, we need mutual learning. Since no one has a magical solution for the problems of the world, no absolute knowledge from which such a solution could derive, a new conversation of the world is the only alternative to the continuation of imperial domination and global civil war we seem to be entering.

Learning From the South In the following I try to answer two questions. Under which conditions would such mutual learning be possible? Which would the main areas of such global learning be? Before I answer these questions it should be noted that the formulation of these questions presupposes that a new vision of Europe is both possible and ­necessary. Why do we need a new vision? How should it look like? By asking these questions we are assuming, as a hypothesis, at least, that the old vision is not valid anymore or is not working as it should. Of course, we are also assuming that we have a clear and consensual idea of how the old vision looked like. None of these assumptions can be taken for granted. It seems to me that the sense of ­uneasiness that haunts Europe today derives from this abyssal uncertainty. ­Europeans are being led to aspire for a new vision of Europe, even if they don’t exactly know why, nor how exactly such vision will differ from the old vision whose profile they at best only vaguely grasp. There are other uncertainties and paradoxes which I am not going to address here except for a brief reference to one of them. It concerns the question of what counts as Europe. How many Europes are there? Is it made of 51 countries or of the 28 European Union countries? What does it mean to be European? We should bear in mind that there is no official definition of what ‘European’ means, at least for

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Epilogue  175 cultural policies. The break-up of the Soviet Union, the re-unification of ­Germany, and the large-scale movement of migrants, workers and refugees throughout Europe have added complexity to the very idea of Europe and ­European identity, as new identities and new borderlands get juxtaposed and multiple layers of ‘insider’ or ‘outsider’ status develop. Immigration offices and customs commissions may also develop their own ideas of Europe and European identity. For this reason, some authors (e.g. Cris Shore 1993) claim that the talk of ‘the European identity’ is premature. Just as there is not ‘one Europe’ but a plurality of historically specific and competing definitions of Europe (Seton-Watson 1985; ­Wallace 1990), so there are rival and contrasting ‘European identities’, depending on where the boundaries of Europe are drawn and how the nature of ‘European- ness’ is perceived, a problem identified very early on (cf. Kundera 1984; ­Dahrendorf et al. 1989). In mentioning these complexities and uncertainties, I only want to draw attention to the fact that the idea of a new vision of Europe is intimately linked with the idea of the multiple and often contradictory boundaries of Europe.

Under Which Conditions Would Such Mutual Learning be Possible? Given Europe’s imperial and historical past, the first condition for mutual learning is the readiness to learn from the global South, from the experiences of the immense regions of the world that were once subjected to European rule. Learning from the South invokes geography and cartography. However, in the sense used here, the South is a metaphor for the systematic suffering inflicted upon large bodies of population by Western-centric colonialism, capitalism, and patriarchy (Santos 2014: 215). As should be clear, this suffering is not an exclusive doing of Europe. On the other hand, historically, Europeans have also fought against colonialism, capitalism and patriarchy. The metaphor is about measures, scales and weights, about dominant and subaltern, majority and minority movements and trends. They tell us that Europe was for centuries a very strong center that ruled the world by creating subordinate peripheries or margins. Continuing with the metaphor, there is a South because there was and still is a North. Learning from the South means learning from the peripheries, from the margins. It is not easy because, viewed from the center, the South is either too closely dependent on the North to be able to be different in any relevant way or, on the contrary, so far apart that its reality is incommensurable with that of the center. In either case, the periphery has nothing to teach to the center. 1 The first condition of learning from the South is to clarify what kind of South or Souths are to be engaged in the conversation. This clarification presupposes the willingness to consider a new cartography of Europe. We are reminded of famous phrase by Metternich, the Austrian statesman, in the first decades of the nineteenth century – ‘Asien beginnt an der Landstrasse’ – that is to say, Asia began then in the outskirts of Vienna. In the nineteenth century, the zone around the Landstrasse (the name of the street) was occupied by immigrants

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from the Balkans. Then as now, the distinction between the ­Balkans and Europe was clear, as if the Balkan countries were not part of Europe. The specification of what the South means is particularly complex in the case of Europe. The South that confronts Europe as the other is both outside and inside Europe. The South outside Europe comprises the countries which are sources of raw materials to be explored by North-based multinational corporations; countries whose natural disasters elicit European humanitarian aid; countries which are unable to sustain their population, giving thus rise to the problem of immigration that ‘afflicts’ Europe; countries which breed terrorists that must be fought with utmost severity. The South inside Europe bespeaks the immigrants, the Roma people, the children of immigrants, some of whom having lived in Europe for generations and even holding European passports, but not viewed as ‘Europeans like the others.’ They become particularly visible when rioting and their protests highlight their otherness. There is, however, another South inside Europe. It is a geographical South, though partaking of the metaphorical South as well. I mean the countries of the south of Europe, Greece, Portugal and Spain in particular. In the present circumstances, it is hard to imagine Europe learning from its southern countries. The more cynical ones will even say that from them only what is not to be done is to be learned. The way this sounds true and justifies how the economic and financial crisis is being managed has deeper historical roots than people may think. In order to understand it, we need to go back a few centuries and observe the historical oscillation between centers and peripheries inside Europe. A Mediterranean center that did not last more than a century and a half (during the sixteenth century and half of the seventeenth century) was superseded by another one that ended up lasting much longer and having far more structural impact. The latter center was a center with roots in the twelfth and thirteenth century Hanseatic League, a center oriented to the North Atlantic, the North Sea and the Baltic Sea, and embracing the cities of northern Italy, France, the Netherlands and, in the nineteenth century, Germany. This center has always been surrounded by peripheries: in the north, the Nordic countries; in the south, the Iberian Peninsula; in the southeast, the ­Balkans; in the east, feudal territories, the Ottoman Empire and semi-Europeanized Russia since the eighteenth century under Peter the Great. In the course of five centuries, only the northern peripheries had access to the center, the same center that is still the core of the European Union. The truth is that there have always been two Europes3 and often two Europes inside each country (Catalonia and Castile in Spain, northern and southern Italy, etc). This duality is more entrenched in the European culture than we might think, which may explain some of the difficulties in addressing the current financial crisis. What on the surface seems to be a financial or economic problem is, at a deeper level, also a cultural and socio-­ psychological problem. I suggest that this deeper layer may be more present in the financial or economic solutions than we might be willing to imagine. An illustration may clarify what I mean. From the fifteenth century onwards and up to the eighteenth century there are many narratives by travelers and

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Epilogue  177 merchants of northern Europe focusing on the Portuguese, the Spanish, and the living conditions of southern Europe.4 What is striking about these narratives is that they ascribe to the Portuguese and the Spanish exactly the same features that the Portuguese and Spanish colonizers ascribed to the primitive and savage peoples of their colonies. Such features ranged from precarious living conditions to laziness and lasciviousness, from violence to friendliness, from disregard of cleanliness to ignorance, from superstition to irrationality. A few quotes from the eighteenth century: ‘The Portuguese are slothful, not industrious at all, they don’t take advantage of the riches of their land, nor do they know how to sell those of their colonies’ (Chaves 1983: 20). The Portuguese are ‘tall, handsome and sturdy, generally quite dark, which results from the clime and their intermixing with negroes’ (Chaves 1983: 24).5 In other words, the miscegenation which the Portuguese viewed as one of the benevolent aspects of their colonialism is turned against them to substantiate a colonial prejudice. When one reads today some German popular press about the PIIGS6 one wonders if the underground (and even overground) colonial prejudice is not still at work. 2 The second condition of learning from the South is the acceptance that the world of the future will be a post-European world. The future will not be dictated to the world by Europe as it has been in the past. This vision of the future will however not come about before Europe settles accounts with its past. The colonial enterprise meant that the peoples and nations subjected to European rule, however heirs to pasts immensely different from those of the ­Europeans, were condemned to aspire to a future dictated by Europe, a future linked to the European one as the master’s future is linked to the slave’s. Thereby, Europe’s future became hostage to the bonds imposed on the ­others. How many ideas and projects were discarded, discredited, abandoned, demonized inside Europe just because they didn’t fit the colonial enterprise? To what extent is the colonial past overcome? Once the cycle of historical colonialism was closed, neocolonialism has proved to be a resilient burden for many countries, reproduced through a wide range of policies, some more benevolent than others, from military intervention to development programs, from special rights of access to natural resources, to humanitarian assistance. The illusion of a post-colonial interruption prevents European governments from scrutinizing more strictly the global operations of European corporations, be they promoting baby formulas in hunger-ridden regions, land grabbing, speculating with food commodities, claiming patent rights over medicines, thereby making them unaffordable to the majorities of people that need them, restricting peasants’ access to seeds, causing environmental disasters and massive displacements of people due to mining projects of unprecedented scale, etc. But the colonial world, far from being just an immense domain of victimhood, was also a multifaceted site of resistance and survival ingenuity. Herein lies the immensely diverse experience of the world which indeed might have been even greater if it were not for the massive destruction of subordinated knowledges and

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experiences (epistemicide) once deemed unfit for the service of the colonial enterprise (Santos 2014: 236). Of course, the past cannot be undone, but the ways it conditions our present should be object of deep reflection and of political transformation. Historical colonialism may be (almost) over, but it goes on under new guises in our cities, minds, and textbooks, as racism, sexism, ethnic profiling, xenophobia, intolerance, arrogant multiculturalism, punitive immigration laws, inhuman refugees’ camps, etc.

The World School of Unlearning and Learning Europe has to go back to school, the school of the world and of its infinite diversity, and be willing to unlearn many self-evident ideas that were truthful and useful in the past but are not so anymore, and willing as well to learn about new ideas, some of which are altogether unfamiliar, others which are strange as if reflected in an surprising mirror, European ideas long ago discarded and forgotten as they were excluded, suppressed from a vaster European family of ideas. While going back to school, Europe should also entertain the possibility that some of the old, most vibrant European traditions may today be found outside Europe after being appropriated and creatively transformed by the peoples subjected to ­European colonialism and neocolonialism. As strong examples, I offer three classes of unlearning followed by learning.

Human Rights and Interculturality Especially since World War II, Europe has been facing an intercultural challenge to its legal and political cohesion, due not only to migratory processes, but also to the recognition of Europe’s subnational diversity. Again, the outside-inside divide is increasingly becoming an inside-inside divide. As cultural difference becomes a dimension of cultural citizenship, human rights issues and citizenship rights issues become more intertwined than ever, even if conservative forces tend to pull them apart. The quest for a broader notion of European citizenship, moving from the traditional national scope of citizenship to a broader, European scale, is inherent to the idea of a cosmopolitan conception of humanity and human rights. It seems to me that the defence of interculturality and human rights will become more and more one and the same struggle. However, in a post 9/11 world, the call for interculturality has become both more difficult and more necessary. On the one side, there is the danger that a short-sighted conception of security will repress interculturality for fear of seeing control escape; on the other, it is increasingly obvious that the victim of such a conception will be not just interculturality but core human rights as they have been conventionally understood in Europe.7 There is no question today about the hegemony of human rights as a discourse of human dignity (Santos 2015: 1–10). To be sure, this must be considered as a European contribution to the struggle of humankind for dignity and emancipation. Nonetheless, such hegemony faces a disturbing reality. A large majority of the world’s inhabitants are not the subjects of human rights. They are rather the

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Epilogue  179 objects of human rights discourses. The question is, then, whether human rights are efficacious in helping the struggles of the excluded, the exploited, and the discriminated against, or whether, on the contrary, they make those struggles more difficult. In other words, is the hegemony claimed by human rights today the outcome of a historical victory, or rather of a historical defeat? We must begin by acknowledging that human rights have a double genealogy in European modernity, an imperial genealogy and a revolutionary genealogy. In their name, lots of atrocities have been committed against defenseless populations for no other reason than their being in the way of European plundering of their riches. But, on the other hand, human rights have been at times a powerful tool in fighting for democracy and decency and against tyranny and oppression caused by state and non-state agents. Europe has always had difficulty realizing that other grammars of human dignity, besides human rights, have always been available to people, and are still today. Suffice it to say that twentieth-century national liberation movements against colonialism did not invoke the human rights grammar to justify their causes and struggles. They fought in the name of national liberation and self-determination. Today, two other grammars of human dignity are calling for an active European engagement. The first one is not as foreign to European roots as many may think, but it is nonetheless viewed today as un-­European. I am referring to Islamic conceptions of human dignity and their emphasis on duties, rather than on rights, and on the value of the community (the umma) as the ultimate root of dignity and human worthiness. The rampant ­Islamophobia that plagues Europe is preventing Europe from engaging in a productive conversation with one fifth of the world’s population and with an increasing proportion of its citizenry. For how long can this obstinate refusal go on before civil conversation yields to civil war? In this regard, the integration of Turkey in the EU would have been a welcome development. It would build a bridge between Europe and the closest Muslim world, after, of course, the Muslim European world. In this regard, there is still another platform for a new conversation with the world involving unlearning followed by learning worth underlining. I am referring to the issue of secularism. Secularism is an entrenched paradigm in the European way of life, and rightly so. The tragic experience of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries left Europe with no other positive alternative than the separation of state and church, the idea that freedom of religion can only be accomplished in a s­ ociety whose public sphere is free from religion. I will not discuss here the complexities of the European solution to the religious question.8 I just want to emphasize that, for complex reasons, we seem to be entering a post-secular age, as Charles Taylor (2007) calls it. Habermas (2009) has likewise spoken of post-secularity as one of the defining characteristics of our time. In my view, we are heading to difficult times in this regard; European participation in the world conversation would recommend that a distinction between secularism and secularity enter the public debate as soon as possible. Secularity is a philosophical and political stance that defends the separation of state and religion but admits the presence of non-secular stances in the public sphere, whereas secularism is the embodiment of the public sphere itself and the sole authoritative source of public reason, thus leaving no

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180  Boaventura de Sousa Santos room for non-secular stances in the public space. In this regard, the European movement is uneven and we should consider, for instance, the United Kingdom more advanced than France. The other grammar calling for unlearning/learning on the part of Europe are the rights of nature. I am referring to a luminous constitution innovation brought about by the Constitution of Ecuador of 2008. It states in its article 71: ‘Nature, or pachamama, where life is reproduced and occurs, has the right to integral respect for its existence and for the maintenance and regeneration of its life cycles, structure, functions and evolutionary processes. All persons, communities, peoples and nations can call upon public authorities to enforce the rights of nature. To enforce and interpret these rights, the principles set forth in the Constitution shall be observed, as appropriate. The State shall give incentives to natural persons and legal entities and to communities to protect nature and to promote respect for all the elements comprising an ecosystem.’ In cultural terms, the idea of rights of nature is a hybrid entity. It appropriates the European idea of human rights and mixes it with non-western, indigenous cosmovisions of nature (Orbe 2010). Nature, however, for the dominant European cosmovision, at least since Descartes, is a res extensa (an extended thing, a corporeal substance without a soul) and, as such, deprived of the dignity granted to human living creatures. Given the deep ecological crisis we are entering, I suggest we learn from such conceptions of nature and rights through what I call intercultural translation9 in order to address the problems caused by the crisis (Santos 2014: 212–235). If this could be achieved, we would be witnessing a fascinating instance of a cultural boomerang: human rights would have left Europe setting humans against nature, fly over the world, and return to Europe to bring humans and nature together again. In light of this diversity concerning conceptions of dignity both inside and outside Europe, I propose, against traditional conceptions of universalism, intercultural dialogues on isomorphic concerns, for instance, between Western human rights, Hindu dharma, Islamic umma, Latin American indigenous peoples’ pachamama or buen vivir or African sage wisdom and ubuntu. As a result, a new hypothetical new human rights may become widely accepted in Europe: we have the right to be equal when difference makes us inferior; we have the right to be different when equality de-characterizes us.10

Alternatives to Development or the Other Economies In this regard, the first unlearning/learning exercise involves revisiting the world as a field of very unequal exchanges. Europe’s prosperity was achieved through huge transfers of wealth from the global south, from its colonies first and then through neocolonial conditions and restrictions. In light of recent commercial controversies setting apart Europe and the global South, a good focal point for unlearning/learning in this regard would be the consideration that what is good for European corporations is not necessarily good for Europe. Given the disturbingly massive investment in lobbying by European and non-European corporations in

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Epilogue  181 Brussels and Strasbourg, this will be a difficult lesson to learn. Short of it, the proclamations by European leaders of the need for more inclusive horizontal relationships based on cooperation and mutual respect will be viewed by their non-European partners as mystifying window dressing. The second unlearning/learning exercise concerns alternatives to development and the role of non-capitalist economic relations inside capitalist societies. The financial and economic crisis has underscored current impasses confronting global decisions on climate change and sustainable development and the disheartening marginalization of Europe in this field in spite of its leadership in ­environment-friendly energy policies. On the other hand, many initiatives are taking place in other parts of the world to which Europe, in general, pays little attention, if it knows them at all. Peasants’ claims to land that seemed historically condemned have re-emerged with great strength and political clout throughout Latin America, Africa, and India. Non-capitalistic economic organizations – often called social solidaristic economy, economy of care or ‘the other economy’ – are mushrooming in countries as diverse as Brazil, South Africa, Mozambique, and India. Recent political changes in some countries have declared a moratorium on the conventional concept of economic development and framed the economic poli­ cies by resorting to non-Western conceptions, such as Sumak Kawsay or Sumak Qamaña (buen vivir/good life, in Quechua and Aymara respectively) (Santos 2010). However involved in heated internal and international controversies, these initiatives point to post-capitalistic and post-developmentalist futures and paradigms in non-utopian terms, that is, to the extent that they translate these visions into concrete political agendas. Until very recently, Ecuador has provided a most remarkable example by advancing the most innovative proposal in a post-Kyoto world: to leave unexplored in the subsoil the immense oil reserves in the National Park Yasuni-ITT – considered by UNESCO as the world’s richest biodiversity region – on the condition that the developed countries compensate it for its losses with half of the revenue it will fail to obtain by renouncing oil exploration.11 A new social and economic common sense seems to be emerging to which the current financial, economic, energetic and environmental crises could lend a new credibility. In spite of significant progress in energy policy, Europe has not been able to affirm leadership in the global debate on sustainable development and on alternative development. Well-organized economic interests and their political leverage do their best to block these movements and the paradigmatic changes they point to. However, the trend seems irreversible and only needs a broader scope and international outlook and the political opportunity for social experimentation in order to become a central factor in the political agenda at the European level.

Healing This is probably the most surprising domain of unlearning/learning to be undertaken by Europe in the world school. Throughout European history there abound conflicts, wars, rivalries, competitions, among nations that were eventually

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182  Boaventura de Sousa Santos solved or overcome only after much suffering. Only in the WWII between 60 and 80 ­million people died; it was the deadliest conflict in human history. In spite of this, rarely were there attempts to heal the wounds of the past by other means than political arrangements that left untouched the underlying resentments, hurt feelings, painful emotions. No sustained attempts have ever been made at non-economic reparation and reconciliation. Reparation and reconciliation at the level of the soul. European inter-politics has always been the focus, not European inter-subjectivity. The immediate period after WWII is particularly illustrative in this respect. Shortly after the war, the European priority tirelessly pursued by Churchill was organizing a defense against the new enemy, Stalin, an artificial European Union built upon ruins, a ‘cold war’ zealot, delivering its security to the US global interests. It was all about politics and economics; the culture and the soul were left to each country to deal with. The current crisis, no matter how it will be solved, and even assuming that it will be solved in the most auspicious way, will leave behind a cultural trauma of great magnitude, the trauma caused by a sudden transformation: the friendly neighborhood that the EU once seem to be turned, in a matter of months, into a prison house filled with ghosts of the past, a fast transition from a political model based on equal partners to a model of master states and client states, from commonly agreed rules to imposed conditionalities and double standards, from the glorification of European values to an exclusionary rhetoric at times with racist undertones. This trauma is not just economic or political. It is cultural and will last for generations to come. In order to minimize its repercussions, Europe should engage in another instance of unlearning/learning with the world, in this case, by taking seriously the experience of the Truth and Reconciliation Commissions that in South Africa and in several Latin American countries sought to heal the wounds caused by an authoritarian recent past. The European situation is different but not completely unrelated. It will be incumbent on a new European wide pedagogy to convince the youth of southern Europe, half of it unemployed and unemployable in the near future, that they are not a lost generation and that they are as European as the other youth of the rest of Europe. Economic solidarity is, of course, crucial to overcome the current crisis, but even more crucial and far-­reaching is non-economic solidarity. If, once the crisis is over, European politics will be reduced to budgetary policing and monitoring, it may well succeed in preserving the European Union, but the soul of Europe will be lost for a very long time.

Conclusion I argue in this chapter that Europe either engages in a vast process of unlearning/ learning with the global South or is condemned to fall back into its highly problematical internal dissention and rivalry which, in the not so distant past, led to the most tragic consequences. It will be a difficult endeavor, given the centuries-old inclination of Europe to look at the outside world as an object of domination rather than as a partner for mutually enriching cooperation. While this is difficult, it is not totally impossible, if the conditions put forward in this chapter are taken

Epilogue  183

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into consideration. I do not defend a Eurocentric institutional reconstruction of Europe along the lines proposed by Habermas (2012). As magnificent as he is as a scholar, Habermas cannot conceive of the possibility of learning from the global South. As for me, on the contrary, I submit that it is in such learning, in the intercultural possibilities it opens for a vast process of democratizing democracy in Europe, that the key for the only new vision of Europe worth fighting for lies.

Notes 1 I develop these ideas in Epistemologies of the South. Justice against Epistemicide (Santos 2014) and most recently in a research project titled, ‘ALICE—Strange Mirrors, Unsuspected Lessons: Leading Europe to a new way of sharing world experiences,’ funded by the European Research Council. This project aims to develop a new theoretical paradigm for contemporary Europe based on two key ideas: the understanding of the world by far exceeds the European understanding of the world; the much needed social, political, and institutional reform in Europe may benefit from innovations taking place in regions and countries that European colonialism viewed as mere recipients of the civilizing mission. The project can be consulted at www.alice.ces.uc.pt. 2 The most recent manifestation of this unequal partnership is the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP) being negotiated between the USA and the EU. 3 See, on this, Hobsbawn 1997. 4 See, on this, Santos 2006: 211–256. 5 I have dealt with this topic in Santos 2002: 9–43 and 2011: 399–443. 6 PIIGS is a jargonistic, and offensive, acronym used in economics and finance. The derogatory term refers to the economies of: Portugal, Italy, Ireland, Greece and Spain, five EU member states that were unable to refinance their government debt or to bail out over-indebted banks on their own during the debt crisis. 7 See, on this, Santos 2007: 3–40. 8 I deal with this topic in Santos 2015. 9 Intercultural translation consists of searching for isomorphic concerns and underlying assumptions among cultures, of identifying differences and similarities, and of deve­ loping, whenever appropriate, new hybrid forms of cultural understanding and intercommunication that may be useful in favoring interactions and strengthening alliances among social movements fighting, in different cultural contexts, against capitalism, colonialism, and sexism, and for social justice, human dignity or human decency. Intercultural translation questions both the reified dichotomies among alternative knowledges (e.g., indigenous knowledge versus scientific knowledge) and the unequal abstract status of different knowledges (e.g., indigenous knowledge as a valid claim of identity, versus scientific knowledge as a valid claim of truth). 10 See, on this, Santos 2007: 3–40 and Santos 2014: 63. 11 See, on this, Santos 2010 and 2014: 30–32.

References Chaves, Castelo Branco (1983). O Portugal de D. João V Visto por Três Forasteiros. Lisboa: Biblioteca Nacional. Dahrendorf, Ralf et al. (1989). Whose Europe? Competing Visions for 1992. London: ­Institute of Economic Affairs. Habermas, Jürgen (2009). Europe: The Faltering Project. Cronin, Ciaran. Trans. Malden, MA: Polity Press. Habermas, Jürgen (2012). The Crisis of the European Union. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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184  Boaventura de Sousa Santos Hobsbawm, Eric (1997). On History. New York: New Press. Kundera, Milan (1984). The tragedy of central Europe. The New York Review of Books, 31. Orbe, Rodrigo (2010). Manual para Defensores y Defensoras de Derechos Humanos y de la Naturaleza. Quito: Fundación Regional de Asesoría en Derechos Humanos, INREDH. Santos, Boaventura de Sousa (2002). Between Prospero and Caliban: Colonialism, Post-­ colonialism, and Inter-Identity. Luso-Brazilian Review. 39, 2, 9–43. Santos, Boaventura de Sousa (2006). A gramática do tempo. Para uma nova cultura política. São Paulo: Cortez. Santos, Boaventura de Sousa (2007). ed. Another Knowledge is Possible: Beyond Northern Epistemologies. London: Verso. Santos, Boaventura de Sousa (2009). “Toward a multicultural conception of human rights”, in Isa, Felipe Gómez and Feyter, Koen eds. International Human Rights Law in a Global Context. Bilbao: University of Deusto, 97–121. Santos, Boaventura de Sousa (2010). Refundación del Estado en América Latina. Perspectivas desde una epistemología del Sur. Bogotá: Siglo del Hombre Editores. Santos, Boaventura de Sousa (2011). Portugal: Tales of Being and not Being. Portuguese Literary & Cultural Studies. 19/20, 399–443. Santos, Boaventura de Sousa (2014). Epistemologies of the South. Justice against ­Epistemicide. Boulder - London: Paradigm Publishers. Santos, Boaventura de Sousa (2015). If God Were a Human Rights Activist. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Seton-Watson, H. (1985). Thoughts on the Concept of West and East in Europe. Government and Opposition, 20: 156–165. Shore, C. (1993). Inventing the ‘People’s Europe’: Critical Approaches to European Community. Cultural Policy, 28(4), 779–800. Taylor, Charles (2007). A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard. Wallace, William (1990). The Transformation of Western Europe. London: Pinter.

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Index

Africa 43–6; Afro-European 138–140, 142–46, 148–49 and formation of European Union 3–4; and Spanish imperial expansion 87–91; panAfricanism 32, 56 Algeria 3; Independence struggle in 155 Americas 86–93, 108 Anti-colonialism 35–43, 56–7 Anti-fascism: 5, 33–6; see also Pankhurst Asia 53, 70, 82–3, 87, 95, 102, 110, 112–13, 116, 154, 159, 175 Austerity 4–6, 34, 128; cosmopolitan responses to 162–63 Bandung Conference (1955) 154–55, 170–71, 173 Beck, Ulrich 2, 4–5, 13, 106, 122, 124–25, 130, 162 Black Atlantic 106, 138 Brexit 8–13 BRICS 162, 168, 171–73 Canada 106, 116; migration to instead of Europe 136–47 Capitalism 9–11, 51, 173, 175, 183; European 12 163–66; versus socialism 159 Caribbean 34, 41, 44, 88, 106–18 Césaire, Aimé 9, 35, 168n3 Christianity 10–11, 22; and European colonialism 82, 80, 90–100; nonEuropean forms of 107, 110, 146 Citizenship 10, 18, 25, 28, 48, 57, 60, 78, 101, 137–146, 148–149, 178 Cold War 51, 62, 155, 159–60, 168, 173, 182 Colonialism 2–3, 17, 109–110, 173, 175–179; and Belgium 148; and formation of European Union 3–4; and

France 141; and Humanism 155–57; neo-colonialism 177–78, 180; settler 68 Communism 47, 173; and anti-colonialism 56–7; and internationalism 48–9, 54–5 Communitarianism 121, 138, 146, 148 Congo 136, 138, 142–52 Cosmopolitanism; Afro-European critique of 148–49; and anti-Fascism 44; and the Caribbean 108–9; coloured cosmopolitanism 153–55; critique 19–20; diasporic cosmopolitanism 126–30; European 1–6, 83–4, 148–49, 162, 165; indigenous 65–6; and multiculturalism 123; re-defining 124–26; and Spanish monarchy 101–2; and universalism 141–42 Cox, Joanne 11 Decolonization 11, 13, 114, 153–55 Delanty, Gerard 19, 47, 58, 122, 125–126, 132, 133n6 Democracy 4, 5, 7, 12, 179, 183; between Europe and others 38–9, 44–9, 165–66; democracy-to-come of Europe 18, 24–26 Derrida, Jacques 6; on Europe 20–2; on forgiveness 23–4; on mourning 26–8 Diaspora 108, 114; see also cosmopolitanism Du Bois, W.E.B. 153, 168n8 Enlightenment 2, 20–1, 33, 82, 121, 123, 141 Ethiopia 31, 32; and cosmopolitanism in Europe 43–4; New Times and Ethiopia 34–5 Eurocentrism 17–8, 20, 24, 28, 33, 83, 106, 110, 116, 126, 132, 139, 147, 153–54, 160, 162–166, 173, 183

186 Index

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European Union: 1–6, 8–9, 11, 102, 125, 174, 176, 182 Eurozone Crisis 1, 4–6, 162–63 Fanon, Frantz 136; on colonial Europe 156; and coloured cosmopolitanism 155–158; idea of decolonized Europe 158–61 Fascism 32–9, 41, 43–6, 52, 54, 130, 168; see also anti-fascism France 3, 8, 11, 37, 39, 41, 48, 55, 83, 138–50, 169, 172, 176, 180; postcolonial critique of 136–37 Germany 1, 10–11, 31–3, 37–42, 49, 55–9, 169, 175–76 Gilroy, Paul 106, 109, 127, 138–139, 158 Globalization 4–5, 9, 20, 22, 139, 141, 173, 186–187 Global South 5; Europe to learn from 172–75, 177, 180–84; inside Europe176; relationship with Global North 162–165 Greece 1, 4, 5, 130, 176, 183 Habermas, Jürgen 2, 4–6, 12–4, 33, 45, 162–65, 179, 183 Human Rights 8, 99, 141, 173, 177–80 Identity: 6–7, 11, 52, 73, 75, 84, 86 93, 96–8, 100–4, 122–24, 130, 146–50, 152–53; European 17–19, 22, 24, 28, 100, 175 Immigration 9–10, 13, 127, 131, 137, 151–152, 175–78; see also Migration Imperialism 7, 33, 39, 44, 55, 139, 153, 154, 158–64, 173; Spanish 104; see also Neo-imperialism Indigenous peoples 20, 65–81, 88–98, 124, 139, 150, 180, 183, 186 Industrialization 56, 65–66, 72, 75, 160 Internationalism 32–3; versus cosmopolitanism 48–50, 53–59 Islam 82, 87–90, 90, 96–7, 100–1, 113, 135, 179–80; Islamophobia 11 Italy 3–4, 55, 83, 86, 89–90, 169, 176, 183; invasion of Ethiopia by 33–37, 43–44 Justice 4, 8–9, 121–25, 128–33; international 34–29; reparatory 158, 160, 163 Kant, Immanuel 123; compared to internationalism of Marx 48

Kurdi, Alan 1 Kurds 127–30, 133–35 Latin America 56, 154, 180–184 Learning/Unlearning 89, 95, 12, 123–24, 128–30, 157, 165, 173–83 Lenin, Vladimir 48–50, 55–8; belief in primacy of European Proletariat 56 Liberation 56, 128, 154–55 Marx, Karl 43, 48; and nationalism 51 Memory 17–28, 30, 32, 44, 82, 97, 109, 129 Migration 106, 110–114, 123, 136–39, 143–47; forced migration and Eurozone crisis 1–2; migration and neoimperialism 164 Modernity 33, 43, 50, 69, 86, 159, 163; and colonialism 139; European 33, 179; secular modernity 107; split identity of 96, 102; and Sweden 72–5; Mourning 26–30, 108–15 Multiculturalism 2, 122–26, 130–32, 141, 178 Mussolini, Benito 31–35, 41–43 Nationalism 9–12, 21, 32–33, 100, 121–122, 158, 163; methodological 122; post-nationalism 127; transnationalism 114, 130, Neo-imperialism 7, 153, 158, 160; and anti-austerity 163–65; and Europe 161–163; see also colonialism and imperialism Neo-liberalism 4–5, 10–12, 161–67, 169 Non-Aligned Movement 154, 173 Padmore, George 56, 168n8 Pankhurst, Sylvia 33–5; and anti-colonial anti-fascism 35–40 Portugal 1, 3, 5, 55, 169, 176, 183–184; expansion in Americas 83–84, 90–1, 99 Racism 1, 8, 11–12, 21–22, 31, 39, 122, 138, 141, 143–48, 152, 156, 169, 178 Sami people 65–79; also see Indigenous peoples Secularization 22–3, 107–8, 166 Slavery 52, 93, 107, 109, 141, 151, 157, 159, 170 Spain 1, 3, 5, 169, 176, 183; and antiFascism 32–46; monarchy 83–4;

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Index  187 imperial expansion of 86–91; see also Pankhurst Spiritual Baptism; see Diaspora and Christianity Sovereignty 2, 4–7, 10, 20–9, 41–2, 78, 82–88, 92–100, 154, 157 Soviet Union 47, 49, 50–62, 173, 175 Stalin, Joseph 48, 50–62, 182 Sweden 1, 7, 77, 79, 130; and colonialism 66–9, 71–73 Syria 1, 11, 172 Third World; see coloured cosmopolitanism and global south

United Kingdom 3, 7, 9, 38, 41–2, 44, 79, 83, 114, 169, 180; see also Brexit United States of America 31–2, 68, 70, 82–3, 106, 110, 116, 156, 173 Universalism 25, 49, 121, 138, 141, 146, 180 World War I 34, 49, 142 World War II 33, 27, 38, 40, 43–4, 52–3, 65; and post-war European project 1–5, 173–74, 178, 182 Xenophobia 1, 11–12, 130, 178