Heritage and Identity

The heritage of a group or community plays a major role in establishing and maintaining a sense of identity, pride and self-worth. Recognition of heritage and group morale often go hand in hand. Excluding or marginalizing a group’s heritage can have the effect of marginalizing the group, and reducing their sense of pride and identity. The heritage of any nation, as it is defined and regulated, and at least partially managed and financed by the national government, should be inclusive.[1]

The position which Graeme Aplin takes on the issue of minority heritage and marginalisation in the conclusion to his 2002 work  Heritage: Identification, Conservation, and Management is commendable, even if its expression carries problematic terms. If we are to achieve a sound theoretical basis for the application of heritage management then it is important to understand and be wary of the complexity of the terms we use, and the values or meanings often implicitly associated with them.

To this end, the following discussion shall consider the nature of heritage and how it plays a role in the formation of identity and pride within a group. What exactly is heritage and what difficulties does it present? An answer to this question shall be explored through a reflection on the Port Arthur Historic Site (PAHS), as within this example can be observed changing ideas about what constitutes heritage, the ability to openly confront a dark past, and the difficulties created when the present left a violent and indelible mark in 1996, in a place that otherwise was carefully frozen in time.

In turn, this will allow a greater appreciation of the importance of heritage to minority groups, especially those that perceive themselves as being threatened by assimilation into a dominant culture. This part of the discussion will focus on the issue of indigenous heritage in Australia, and indentify the many challenges that must be faced in order for it to be managed sensitively.

It is tempting to consider history and heritage as having a relationship as simple as perhaps ‘two sides of the same coin’. Yet while both deal with the past, the differences are much stronger and more complicated than saying that history has to do with recording and understanding the past, and that heritage is the objects and buildings that have survived from the past. While it is true that these things can be considered heritage, just as important is the understanding that ‘a people’s cultural heritage is also reflected in non-physical forms such as music, dance, drama, folklife, unwritten languages, scriptures, prose, poetry.’[2]

With these more nebulous aspects in mind, it is relatively easy to appreciate the difficulties that surround managing or making policy for these forms of heritage. Some, for example like language, might only be kept alive through practice, in which case they are just as much a part of living culture as they are heritage. [3]

Graham et al see the origins of heritage ‘in the tastes and values of a nineteenth-century educated elite’.[4] The nineteenth century was a time of rapid and dramatic changes and upheavals. Changing modes of production and social relationships gave rise to a yearning for a simpler and romantic past and a need to preserve its grander elements. Often heritage in this sense was valued for its aesthetic qualities rather than its role in an objective history of the past. An Australian example of this can be seen at the PAHS, in that

fifty years ago Australia’s convict past was not celebrated, nor were the sites associated with it. The name ‘Port Arthur’ was actually expunged in the late nineteenth century, and the town was renamed Carnarvon in the hope that its convict past would similarly disappear.[5]

Rather the site had become a sort of Arcadian parkland by the sea, with some of the original cottages converted for holiday-makers. If, as Trotter argues, ‘history is about knowing the past, warts and all, while heritage is about celebrating the past’,[6] early visitors to the PAHS may have found little in its past to celebrate. This in itself illustrates that there is little in the concept of heritage which is objective. From a physical manifestation of Australia’s ‘convict stain’ and shameful history (at this time a shameful history that still did not include acknowledgement of the poor treatment of minority groups or indigenous peoples), the site has since become one of Australia’s top ten most visited attractions, and attended by 90 per cent of tourists who visit Tasmania.[7]

This number of tourists demonstrates both the importance of heritage to tourism, and the importance of tourism to heritage. Heritage can be seen as a resource that takes several forms; economic, social and political. It can be exploited for financial gain or simply to sustain its management. It can provide educational and social experiences. And it can contain implicit political messages. It is for all of these reasons that Aplin insists that ‘heritage is both contested and culturally constructed, which inevitably makes it a highly political topic and one with a scarcity of clear-cut definitions or answers.’[8]

When Aplin uses the term ‘culturally constructed’,[9] he is referring to the fact that although heritage is concerned with the past, it is created in the present. Every decision that is made with regard its management – such as what to preserve, how to preserve and interpret it, and why – are all answered with reference to the values of the individuals and groups who must make these decisions. These values might almost always reflect the values, self-perceptions and preoccupations of the wider society. ‘Heritage… says a lot about who we think we are, as the things we save from change make certain ideals real and reinforce our identity.’[10]

Heritage is concerned with the preservation of a past that is no longer directly accessible and at best may still only continue in the memories of some individuals. Yet I would argue that heritage can tell us more about where we have come from than it can tell us about who we are, or where we might be going – although admittedly this may reflect the relative youth of European settlement in Australia. We might believe that as a society Australia has inherited the values of its early colonisers and immigrants – mate-ship, self-sufficiency, a fair-go – and we hear this often. There is however a tendency to only remember those values that are still acceptable today. Our collective memories are a part of heritage, a part that is shaped by the stories we tell.

Andrew Newman argues that museums and galleries (often the repositories of heritage) play a role in individual and community identity and that ‘this contribution appears to go beyond simple validation of identity and plays a role in its construction. How this occurs is a complex process that may be related to memory.’[11]

Heritage professionals then, need to approach the interpretation and display of objects and stories carefully and with sensitivity to their audiences, particularly when it comes to difficult events or periods in the past. ‘Individuals use museums and galleries in ways that respond to their own and their group’s needs. The stories that curators want to tell might not be those that the visitor or participant in a project takes away.’[12]

Are we, for example, able to display the PAHS with pride because we have as a society accepted this dark and inhumane aspect of European settlement, or is it because we do not feel a direct link between ourselves and the society that produced the convict penal system? If it is the latter, and we accept the argument of Graham et al that ‘preservation and restoration freezes artifacts in time whereas previously they had been constantly changing’,[13] does the act of preserving the PAHS help to make it recede into an ever more distant past? How does the 1996 massacre at the Broad Arrow Café fit into the story of the PAHS? Is it connected to the earlier history or is it an aberration, and at what point does it become part of the history and heritage of the site?

Heritage is not so much a window to the past in that it allows us access, but rather a still image constructed from an imagined past, however objective that imagining purports to be.

When an indigenous people is colonised by a foreign power that wishes to create a settler society in the ‘new’ land, a rift is created between the indigenous people and the new arrivals. I perceive a deep and potentially irresolvable conflict with regard to the history and heritage of European settlement in Australia and the indigenous experience of this. Is there a single story that could be told that would satisfy the role of heritage in creating identity, pride and a sense of self-worth for both groups?

Aplin argues that ‘while heritage of all groups should be sensitively dealt with, indigenous heritage is often the form that is most removed from dominant groups and governments and also most under threat.’[14] If so, must it be the majority who tells the more humbling story?

I would argue that in Australia’s case the dominant culture must be just as prepared to humbly face its dark past as it must be to include indigenous culture in its wider story. We may not be content with telling two separate and seemingly conflicting stories, but we must recognise difference in valid readings of history, or risk forsaking the potential of history and heritage as means of critical enquiry in helping us to understand how our identities have developed.

One means of Australia including Aboriginal heritage is through tourism, through both indigenous initiatives and partnerships with non-indigenous tourism operators. Trotter explains that ‘some Aboriginal people are critical of tourism because tourism programs focus on traditional culture, tend to ignore cultural differences and construct a pan-Aboriginality in place of cultural diversity as well as acting as a form of exploitation.’[15]

This sentiment is echoed by Aplin, when discussing how  ‘minority heritage gains its significance from being part of a living culture and way of life.’[16] There is a danger here of constructing an image of indigenous heritage and culture as something antiquated and needing preservation for it to survive, when in actuality it is one of the oldest surviving living cultures. As such, it does not so much need protection from the passage of time as it requires the freedom to exist and continue to develop.

Thus, according to Aplin, ‘even when the majority government is keen to officially recognise minority heritage as part of the national heritage, this can only be successfully achieved with the full cooperation of the primary owners of that heritage.’[17] There are many examples of cooperation, joint management and consultation in Australia with regards Aboriginal tourism and heritage, and this is something that needs to continue in order to avoid the danger identified by Linda Richter, that ‘in some cases, it may be more infuriating to be included if one finds the interpretation unacceptable.’[18]

The idea of including minorities in a national heritage can be celebratory, but also potentially assimilative. There is a suggestion of a need for wariness of this when Aplin argues that ‘national heritage is sometimes used by a government or dominant group in society as a concept to legitimise the state, to help define it, and to advance individuals’ identification with it.’[19] This can be observed in Australia’s use of a citizenship test requiring applicants to answer questions considered important for Australians to know. This sort of civic nationalism can be inclusive, but only to the extent that individuals are willing to subscribe to the values therein. Does it also mean that those who are born into Australian citizenship implicitly support these values?

How do we pin down the values of a nation? Are they manifest in those differences that some tourists travel to experience? The values that heritage can represent are generally the values of those making the decisions about the preservation, interpretation and managing of heritage. If the presentation of heritage is seen to be inclusive and sensitive it indicates that those responsible for its management share those values.

All this suggests that it is not possible to attempt to manage heritage objectively or dispassionately, but perhaps only to present it from several subjectivities at once. There is as much danger in concentrating too much on the negative and shameful aspects of a group’s history and heritage as there is in glossing over it entirely.

Bibliography

Aplin, Graeme,  Heritage: Identification, conservation, and management, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2002.

Graham et al., ‘The uses and abuses of heritage’, in Gerard Corsane (ed.), Heritage, Museums and Galleries an introductory reader,  Abingdon, Routledge, 2005, pp. 26-37.

Newman, Andrew, ‘‘Social exclusion zone’ and ‘The feelgood factor’’, in Gerard Corsane (ed.), Heritage, Museums and Galleries an introductory reader,  Abingdon, Routledge, 2005, pp. 325-32.

Pearson, M., and Sullivan, S., Looking After Heritage Places: The basics of heritage planning for managers, landowners and administrators, Carlton, Melbourne University Press, 1996.

Richter, Linda, ‘The politics of heritage tourism development’, in Gerard Corsane (ed.), Heritage, Museums and Galleries an introductory reader,  Abingdon, Routledge, 2005, pp. 257-71.

Trotter, Robin, ‘Heritage Tourism’, in Norman Douglas et al (eds.), Special Interest Tourism, Brisbane, John Wiley & Sons Ltd., 2001, pp. 140-63.

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[1] Graeme Aplin, Heritage: Identification, conservation, and management, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2002, p. 352.

[2] Makaminan Makagiansar, The Work of UNESCO: Protection or Plunder? Safeguarding the future of our cultural heritage , p. 9, quoted in Robin Trotter, ‘Heritage Tourism’, in Norman Douglas et al (eds.), Special Interest Tourism, Brisbane, John Wiley & Sons Ltd., 2001, p. 143.

[3] Trotter, p. 148.

[4] Brian Graham et al., ‘The uses and abuses of heritage’, in Gerard Corsane (ed.), Heritage, Museums and Galleries an introductory reader,  Abingdon, Routledge, 2005, p. 29.

[5] Michael Pearson and Sharon Sullivan, Looking After Heritage Places: The basics of heritage planning for managers, landowners and administrators, Carlton, Melbourne University Press, 1996, p. 170.

[6] Trotter, p. 154.

[7] Pearson and Sullivan, p. 170.

[8] Aplin, pp. 27-8.

[9] Aplin, pp. 27-8.

[10]Aplin, p. 15.

[11] Andrew Newman, ‘‘Social exclusion zone’ and ‘The feelgood factor’’, in Gerard Corsane (ed.), Heritage, Museums and Galleries an introductory reader,  Abingdon, Routledge, 2005, p. 331.

[12] Newman, p. 332.

[13] Graham et al., p. 31.

[14] Aplin, p. 140.

[15] Trotter, p. 156.

[16] Aplin, p. 142.

[17] Aplin, p. 143.

[18] Linda K. Richter, ‘The politics of heritage tourism development’, in Gerard Corsane (ed.), Heritage, Museums and Galleries an introductory reader,  Abingdon, Routledge, 2005, p. 264.

[19] Aplin, p. 16.

Neoliberalism and the Welfare State

“The Australian welfare state has outlived its usefulness. While it may once have been necessary for the government to provide the mass of the population with schooling, health care, age pensions and other necessities of life, it is not now. We live in an age when most people could afford to buy most or all of the services they need if only they were not taxed so highly to pay for the services the government wants them to have. The welfare state has become a costly anachronism which compels us to pay for inadequate or inferior services which we could purchase at a higher quality or lower price if we were left to spend our own money ourselves.”[1]

From early in the twentieth century, states and governments began to assume larger roles for themselves in maintaining the welfare of their people. Following the end of the second world war, a new social democratic trend emerged in left-leaning governments that desired to adhere to the common socialist slogan  ‘from each according to his ability, to each according to his need.’ In many countries the welfare state has assumed different forms, arguably which fit the aspirations and individual character of their societies. From the residual models of Australia and the US to the social insurance style of the Scandinavian countries of Europe.

The rise of the ‘new right’ or neo-liberalism from the 1980s and its particular views on individuals, economics and societies saw renewed focus being applied to the welfare state. Neo-liberalism sees the welfare state as ‘anachronistic’[2] and argues that in affluent societies it is no longer required.[3]

The first part of this essay shall thus be dedicated to examining the elements of this perspective and the merit of the neo-liberal case. Much of the background and themes for this argument will be taken from the series of three articles by Peter Saunders of the Centre for Independent Studies titled ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare’ and discussed in relation to this series and the Australian context. These elements include an emphasis on individual choice, lower taxation, efficiency, market provision, self-reliance and smaller government. The Australian context is one of residual welfare, means-tested payments, and of recipients experiencing negative stigma in politics and the media.

The second part of this essay will then consider whether the neo-liberal case for dismantling the welfare state will result in a society that is still able to provide for those groups who were identified to necessitate it in the first place, and if so, will it be more or less adequately than before. That is, can the market provide us with all the services that we require that are currently provided by the welfare state at the same or better quality and reduced cost? Can this be of benefit to societies as well as individuals?

Neo-liberalism, often referred to as the ‘new right’ (although the ‘new right’ also includes conservatives who are often at odds with some neo-liberal thinking), is a doctrine which argues the belief that the market should provide us with all the goods and services we need. The market, unlike governments, is responsive to the needs and preferences of individuals and is more efficient. Exchanges which occur in the marketplace are supposed to be effected to the mutual advantage of both parties.

One reason why debates and opinion on the welfare state are so divided is because they are tied up with opposing views of human nature:

Liberalism stresses rational motives and behaviour and the role of reason in social life… and sees people as reasoning beings who will flourish and develop under conditions of minimal restrictions on their liberty.[4]

This view is at odds with those that emphasize the instinctive, emotional or even altruistic nature of people.

Schmidtz and Goodin liken an economic system to a race, where protecting winners or ensuring equal opportunity is neither its function nor ability (this implicitly suggests also that protecting runners-up and losers is also not within its ability):

Its purpose is to give people reason and opportunity to race for the finish line and thereby participate in, contribute to, and ultimately create society as a cooperative venture for mutual advantage.[5]

In the neo-liberal view, the market, made up of competition and dealings between groups and individuals will be responsive to the needs of people by seeking out new opportunities, as a way to ameliorate the risk of people choosing other goods or services.

Much neo-liberal thought has its origins in the work of Adam Smith,[6] and more recently in the more radical thinking of Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman, whose ideas respectively influenced both Margaret Thatcher in Britain and Ronald Reagan in the US. The emphasis again here is on a reduced role for governments and the responsibility of the individual to provide for themselves, and indeed make choices for themselves, free from government intervention and interference.

The quote included in our topic for discussion is taken from a series of three essays written by Peter Saunders of the Centre for Independent Studies titled ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare’. These essays are of interest as they present a neo-liberal argument (albeit with some conservative overtones) with direct reference to the Australian context.

In these essays, Saunders outlines his argument for how Australia could reduce or even abandon the welfare state. In general terms, his essays seek to answer three questions: could this be done; should this be done, and if so; how could this be done?

To Saunders, the question of abandoning the welfare state is not so much about whether we could do without it, but rather it is a question of how we would like the money we all contribute (directly through income tax or indirectly through GST) to be managed.

A key element to Saunders argument is the concept of ‘welfare churning’, of which he discusses two types: ‘simultaneous churning’, and ‘lifetime churning’. The first refers to the situation of people who are taxed while at the same time receiving welfare benefits directly, such as child care subsidies or the Family Tax Benefit. The latter concept refers to the situation where individuals at different times of their lives may be net beneficiaries or net contributors of welfare, however over the course of their life the distinction between contributor and beneficiary is less marked. That is, most people over the duration of their lives pay in taxes most of what they receive in welfare. According to Saunders, “we are borrowing and lending money to ourselves as much as transferring it to other people.”[7]

Saunders estimates that if this churning were eliminated, $85 billion less in taxes would need to be raised each year,[8] and most of us would be able to fund ourselves the services we require. Part of his proposal (Saunders stresses a number of times that these essays are intended to stimulate debate, rather than be considered as a blueprint) for achieving this is to increase the tax-free threshold from the current $6,000 p.a. to $20,000 p.a. and reduce the rate of tax for all to 10 cents for each dollar above this level. He argues that even with these cuts we would “still have enough left over to scrap the Medicare Levy, Fringe Benefits Tax and tax on superannuation contributions.”[9]

In effect, this would take many on low incomes almost entirely out of the tax system, at least notionally, except for the indirect taxes they pay in GST. Saunders even suggests in a later article titled ‘A Welfare State for Those Who Want One, Opt-outs for Those Who Don’t’ that even those on low-incomes who wish to pursue the services provided by the welfare state in the private market could be helped to ‘opt-out’ by a system of exempting them from paying GST on any of the goods or services they buy (Saunders’ sources suggest this is an average of as much as $3,000 p.a. for those in the bottom income quintile).[10]

Would removing all obligation of taxation from the lowest income earners be a viable means of assisting them, or would it serve to further distance them from government? If nothing else, and regardless of whether the overall premise is equitable, the GST at least allows all to make a contribution on something approaching an even basis. If those already on welfare find themselves stigmatized by their perceived lack of contribution, could this additional concession make the problem worse? As Rudd argues, despite Hayek’s initial long preoccupation, neo-liberalism is not overly bothered by questions of social justice, or necessarily inclined to believe it exists or is attainable.[11]

Additionally, if we accept that in some instances that welfare stigma can be politically induced through publicized campaigns to expose welfare fraud and other abusers of the ‘system’, then perhaps it is plausible that Saunders’ suggestion of a sort of self-managed welfare (if not self-funded) might help to relieve the negative image. It is an image that is perhaps largely undeserved if we consider that 93% of men will receive some form of welfare payment over their lifetime.[12]

While it is possible that taking on the responsibility of privately managing their own health and education funding by ‘opting-out’ might have positive follow-on effects, Saunders sees ‘opting-out’ ideally as a permanent decision, with disincentives to opting back in.[13] This is troublesome when considered alongside Saunders’ observation that “not everybody… could afford to self-provision… even if they spread the cost over their entire lives through saving, borrowing and insurance.”[14] Would those in this situation who ‘opt-out’ be required to experience high levels of indebtedness at various stages of life?

It is thus that Saunders is forced to concede that the role of government in providing and ensuring welfare “cannot be abolished”.[15] The concern here might be that there would be growing disparity between a widely used private system and a shrinking and ailing government system deprived of its former levels of funding and perhaps no longer able to operate with the same economies of scale as it once did. But he does not see that this should be a case of business as usual for certain groups who may already be dependent on welfare.

He argues that “households whose lifetime earning capacity is limited… may… need the state to ‘top-up’ their spending power before they can join everybody else in self-providing”,[16] but explains in a footnote to this section that ‘top-up’ here refers to a ‘voucher’ system of paying for education, healthcare and income insurance.

In the second essay of the series, Saunders identifies six arguments that he uses in favour of moving toward self-funding. He argues that money is wasted administrating welfare churn and enforcing compliance. He believes that the decreases in taxes mentioned earlier would have a stimulating effect on economic growth. He asserts that a move to self-funding would help to mitigate the effects of an ageing population.

Furthermore, Saunders believes self-funding is personally empowering and argues that “the welfare state ends up infantilizing us.”[17] He also sees self-funding as a way to build social cohesion, believing this is created from “the bottom up”. There is a hint here of the conservatism that I alluded to earlier, when he links the growth of the welfare state with a rising instance of crime (however, he stops short of asserting any causal link between the two, but it seems clear which way he would prefer our minds be made up). Last of the six key arguments is that a move to self-funding would result in a depoliticisation of civil society.[18]

Of these six arguments, there are two whose implication deserve consideration in greater detail; that of social cohesion, and of depoliticisation. With regard to social cohesion, a case which is often cited when advocating the dismantling of the welfare state is that of the ‘friendly societies’. The summary of attributes identified by Schmidtz and Goodin of the ‘friendly societies’ as being highly desirable is worth repeating here:

the ability to contain costs, to provide clients with an effective voice, to provide state-of-the-art service with a personal touch, and to reach all segments of society effectively. They also provided services like old-age pensions, unemployment insurance, life insurance, workmen’s compensation, and day care, at the same time serving as a form of community association.[19]

This model probably appeals to sentiment as much as anything, but it is interesting to see praise for this form of collectivism recurring amongst thinkers who favour individualism as an explanation for human behaviour and needs. Whether the environment is right for a reimagining of ‘friendly societies’ or whether this would require policy assistance, it is plausible that Schmidtz and Goodin are correct when they argue that ‘friendly societies’ offer a real alternative to private insurance.[20]

Indeed, I would argue that there is merit to a ‘friendly society’ alternative to equally impersonal private insurance and state welfare. There could, for example, be scope for local or regional models with reciprocal arrangements with other societies that could insure members could access services wherever they happened to be (perhaps much the same as ambulance membership of one state service offers comprehensive cover in other states).

The second argument (that of depoliticisation) that I wish to draw attention to is even more significant than the last. While in some respects it may well be positive to reduce or remove the politicisation of the welfare state (such as the removal of stigma surrounding the unemployed, single mothers, disability pensioners, etc.), in others it is quite frightening.

The welfare of society is a ‘public good’ regardless of whether that welfare is provided by the market or by the state. High standards of education and skills can have a beneficial effect on the economy (growth tends to benefits all, if unequally), and doubtless a healthy society has the capacity to be more productive than an unhealthy one, not to mention the benefits of high levels of employment. Yet, if we entrust these ‘public goods’ to self-funding and the market and celebrate the depoliticisation of health, education, and unemployment (how pleasant to be free from hearing of these troublesome old things), then what recourse have we if the market or segments of it fail?

These issues are, and should be political, precisely because positive outcomes are in the public interest and require laws to guarantee our protection.

Saunders has made a convincing argument in his series of essays. He makes provision for the poor (how adequately is difficult to say, but at least they are not ignored) and shows with examples that it is plausible that many of us could be better off if we were to self-fund our own welfare needs.[21] Whether Saunders is right in part (which I suspect he may be) or in whole is not the key issue, as he himself recognises “at this stage, it is important just to get the debate started.”[22]

A society making provision for its welfare is vital if we hold that people have certain inalienable rights. Yet the debate on how to provide this welfare is even more essential than that, as it is divided between fundamentally opposed views of human nature. Whether we subscribe entirely to the liberal view of people as rational, logical, self-centred individuals or not, we can all identify with the value of choice. Therefore, exploring alternatives to a dichotomy of a one-size-fits-all welfare state or one-size-fits-all self-funded approach may result in people having a real choice of participating in a system that suits them, and not just the system that they are currently find themselves able to afford.

References:

Burden, T., Social Policy and Welfare: A Clear Guide, London, Pluto Press, 1998.

Rudd, K., ‘What’s Wrong With the Right: A Social Democratic Response to the Neo-Liberals at Home and the Neo-Conservatives Abroad’, addressed to the Centre for Independent Studies, 16 November 2006.

Saunders, P., ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, Issue Analysis, no. 57 (7 April 2005), available http://www.cis.org.au/issue_analysis/IA57/IA57.PDF, accessed 4 June 2009.

Saunders, P., ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: Six Arguments in Favour of Self-Funding’, Issue Analysis, no. 61 (14 July 2005), p. 2. Available http://www.cis.org.au/issue_analysis/IA61/IA61.PDF, accessed 4 June 2009.

Saunders, P., ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: Twenty Million Future Funds, Issue Analysis, no. 66 (21 December 2005), available http://www.cis.org.au/issue_analysis/IA66/IA66.PDF, accessed 4 June 2009.

Saunders, P., ‘A Welfare State for Those Who Want One, Opt-outs for Those Who Don’t’, Issue Analysis, no. 79 (30 January 2007), available http://www.cis.org.au/issue_analysis/IA79/ia79.pdf, accessed 4 June 2009.

Schmidtz, D. and Goodin, R. E., Social Welfare and Individual Responsibility: For and Against, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1998.

[1] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, Issue Analysis, no. 57 (7 April 2005), available http://www.cis.org.au/issue_analysis/IA57/IA57.PDF, accessed 4 June 2009, p. 2.

[2] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, p. 2.

[3] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, pp. 3-4.

[4] Tom Burden, Social Policy and Welfare: A Clear Guide, London, Pluto Press, 1998, p. 36.

[5] David Schmidtz and Robert E. Goodin, Social Welfare and Individual Responsibility: For and Against, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1998, p. 85.

[6] Kevin, Rudd, ‘What’s Wrong With the Right: A Social Democratic Response to the Neo-Liberals at Home and the Neo-Conservatives Abroad’, addressed to the Centre for Independent Studies, 16 November 2006, p. 7.

[7] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, p. 10.

[8] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, p. 1.

[9] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, p. 12.

[10] Peter Saunders, ‘A Welfare State for Those Who Want One, Opt-outs for Those Who Don’t’, Issue Analysis, no. 79 (30 January 2007), available http://www.cis.org.au/issue_analysis/IA79/ia79.pdf, accessed 4 June 2009, p. 11.

[11] Kevin, Rudd, ‘What’s Wrong With the Right: A Social Democratic Response to the Neo-Liberals at Home and the Neo-Conservatives Abroad’, pp. 2-3.

[12] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, p. 10.

[13] Peter Saunders, ‘A Welfare State for Those Who Want One, Opt-outs for Those Who Don’t’, p. 8.

[14] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, p. 12.

[15] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, p. 12.

[16] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: The $85 Billion Tax/Welfare Churn’, p. 12.

[17] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: Six Arguments in Favour of Self-Funding’, Issue Analysis, no. 61 (14 July 2005), available http://www.cis.org.au/issue_analysis/IA61/IA61.PDF, accessed 4 June 2009, p. 1.

[18] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: Six Arguments in Favour of Self-Funding’, p. 1.

[19] Schmidtz and Goodin, p. 69.

[20] Schmidtz and Goodin, p. 72.

[21] Peter Saunders, ‘A Welfare State for Those Who Want One, Opt-outs for Those Who Don’t’, pp. 9-11.

[22] Peter Saunders, ‘Restoring Self-Reliance in Welfare: Twenty Million Future Funds, Issue Analysis, no. 66 (21 December 2005), available http://www.cis.org.au/issue_analysis/IA66/IA66.PDF, accessed 4 June 2009, p. 6.

Victorian Government and Sustainability 2008

Has the Victorian government developed a coherent approach to the question of sustainability? Are there any areas where its policies have appeared insensitive to sustainability, or inconsistent in addressing it?

The purpose of this essay is to examine the current Victorian Labor government’s approach and level of commitment to sustainability; and to highlight and explore any inconsistencies in its approach to – or disregard for – the principles of sustainability. This exploration occurs in the context of a Federal Labor government that has ratified the Kyoto protocol after years of recalcitrance by the Howard government, and which has committed to the establishment of a carbon-trading scheme.

I shall begin this essay with a sophisticated definition of sustainability and a discussion of how it differs from environmentalism. This will then be used as a frame of reference in assessing the policies and practices of the Victorian government. This assessment shall be conducted in two parts: firstly, an overview and synthesis of the Victorian Labor Party’s (VLP) policies on water from the 2006 election that relate to sustainability and a look at the VLP’s subsequent water management polices and projects.  And secondly, an overview of the Victorian Labor Party’s (VLP) policies on energy from the 2006 election and an examination of the VLP’s subsequent policy and approach to energy and power generation.

In focusing on these two major categories, it is hoped that this essay shall reveal any contradictions in a way that is both topical and relevant.

In considering the Victorian government’s approach to sustainability, it is important to understand how this concept differs from environmentalism. Victoria has long had a focus on protection of the environment, with the Environment Protection Authority (EPA) established through the Environment Protection Act of 1970. This Act preceded similarly named Acts passed in Western Australia in 1986, South Australia in 1993, and Queensland in 1994. Yet while these demonstrate a legislative commitment to protecting the health of the natural environment, inclusive of areas of human habitation and not simply confined to recreation areas perceived as ‘wilderness’, they do not broach the subject of sustainability beyond a recognition that the quality of the environment we live in is correlative to our quality of life.

Sustainability as a concept asks broader and much deeper questions. It places quality of life at the centre of its concerns and asks whether this can be maintained. In this context it “refer[s] to the capacity of human systems to provide for the full range of human concerns in the long term.”[1] That is, to achieve sustainability, human systems, insofar as we conceive them as separate, must be integrated into the natural systems of our planet in a way that does not outpace their ability to regenerate.

Most relevant to the two major issues of this essay, power-generation and water, is the commonly used phrase ‘sustainable development’. It is an acknowledgement our society has needs relating to population, infrastructure and consumption. Sustainable development has been defined most influentially by the Brundtland report in 1987 as that which “seeks to meet the needs and aspirations of the present without compromising the ability to meet those in the future.”[2] Australia, including Victoria, in the 20 years since this statement was made has enjoyed a period of economic growth and what might be called an atmosphere of prosperity, where increasing aspirations were both desirable and acceptable. However, there is a growing consciousness that levels of consumption, fueled by aspiration rather than need, must be curtailed to help avert ecological crisis.

Therefore, there must be two aspects to the question of whether the Victorian government has a consistent approach to sustainability. Is the infrastructure and projects they are planning sustainable according to the above principles, and; is enough being done to encourage reduced consumption by individuals and business?

Much debate has changed since Premier Steve Bracks led the VLP to a second election victory in 2006. Bracks stepped down, and was succeeded as Premier by John Brumby. Australia is now governed at Federal level by the Labor Party. But despite these changes, it would be short-sighted to see the 2006 election promises made by the VLP under different leadership as old news or irrelevant. With these we can measure the consistency and focus of the VLP on the question of sustainability in relation to their water and energy policy.

On paper, the VLP’s water policy for the 2006 election seems comprehensive. It covers household efficiency in the form of rebates as well as regulations for new homes, reduction in industrial use, minimizing wastage from distribution system, upgrades to existing recycling plants, investment in storm-water projects, and funding for river health programs.[3] These appear consistent with sustainability principles, in that they are designed to reduce consumption, prevent waste, and protect natural systems. However, water management and policy will fall short on perhaps the most important criteria for a sustainable system, that is integration into natural systems. As the first article in The Age’s Watershed series points out, “it’s not that we’re exactly short of water – it’s just that water cannot be relied on always to be where it should.”[4]

The appropriate policy then should be one that does not remove water from natural systems beyond their capacity to provide. It is not the place of this essay to assess the quality or effectiveness of these policies, but rather their consistency.

A significant change since the 2006 election policy has been the Government’s plans to contract the building of a saltwater desalination plant to augment Melbourne’s water supplies. Another addition has been the continuing construction of the North-South pipeline linking the Goulburn River with Melbourne. But while opposition is still vocal against each, they also seem to have attracted the most favour.

Yet they are not the only schemes to have been championed and ridiculed in the debate. Suggestions and plan have been put forward for consideration of piping water across Bass Strait from northern Tasmania, and for damming the Mitchell River in the Gippsland region. Yet, as The Age report says, “the policies and philosophies that determine Australia’s water supplies are so complex, varied and competitive, they defy any sense of cogency or purpose.”[5]

The Victorian government sees desalination as the most secure method of guaranteeing Melbourne’s water needs in the coming decades. It is a technological solution that also brings employment opportunities. Additionally, it is an approach consistent with legislation which rules against any new dams being constructed.

However, one of the biggest concerns against the proposed Wonthaggi desalination plant is the amount of electricity required to power the process. It is estimated to require 90 megawatts of power to desalinate the proposed capacity of 150 billion litres of water. The government fact sheet on the project suggests that this power use is the equivalent of connected households operating a 4-star rated fridge per household per day.[6]

The problems with this provide a snapshot into the issue of energy. The VLP has promised to power the plant using renewable energy (which in reality would most likely mean purchasing the equivalent amount of power on the grid elsewhere in Australia), however, even supplying the plant with coal-fired electricity is problematic, with suggestion it may even require its own power plant.

Labor’s 2006 election policy approach to energy follows very similar principles to their water policy. It stresses efficiency and reduction in use through rebates and funding for better appliances and insulation, as well as continued concessions for those on low incomes. These principles were promised to be applied to government operations with 25% green power use, and a 20% drop below 2000 usage levels by 2010.[7]

But unlike water, for energy generation to be sustainable the most pressing concern is not its end use or supply, so much as the manner in which it is generated. Election promises of approximately $87 million related to investment in ‘clean coal’ infrastructure and regulation for the Latrobe Valley industry, compared with a $50 million investment in a proposed solar plant. Furthermore there was a commitment to targets of 10% renewable energy by 2016, and 20% renewable and low emissions power generation by 2020.[8]

While this suggests a commitment to achieving the diversification that is associated with sustainable systems, it is arguable that the targets are set too low to be meaningful. Additionally, the policy puts forward the merits of a solar power station for northwest Victoria as having greenhouse gas emission savings equivalent to “removing 90,000 cars from our roads.”[9] This is perhaps a little misleading, as while this assertion may be correct it is difficult to ascertain whether this results in overall fewer greenhouse emissions in Victoria. For example, Drive reports that new car sales exceeded one million in Australia in 2007 and are expected to again in 2008.[10] Figures like this, in conjunction with the Melbourne’s population forecasted to reach 5 million by 2030 suggest demands for increased energy production may outpace the development of renewable sources, and the ability for emission reduction.

Perhaps appropriately, when considering that 89% of Australia’s brown coal reserves is in the Latrobe Valley,[11] both the Victorian government and the Federal government are putting their faith in ‘clean coal’ technology. Brumby in April this year announced $127 million of funding into demonstration projects for carbon capture. It is questionable whether this can eventually provide a zero emission solution when cleaner burning processes are combined with capture and storage measures. It does fit with our definitions of sustainability however, in that it seeks to maintain our present needs and aspirations in such a way that attempts to minimize harm to natural systems. Whether it can deliver on this, and whether the outcome of Australia’s ‘clean coal’ experiments will have any bearing on global warming both remain unknown quantities.

The Victorian government has developed a considered and balanced approach to the question of sustainability in its water and energy policies. There are many dissenting voices who criticize their approach. Yet each area has a diverse range of policies aimed at reducing consumption, more efficient production and better distribution. It must be remembered that in the context of this essay ‘sustainability’ is not synonymous with ‘environmentalism’. To many, however, it is. Which is why many see investment in ‘clean coal’ technology as an insignificant step in tackling global warming. But with the largest proportion of the worlds electricity being generated from coal, finding a meaningful, cleaner process of burning coal is perhaps a more significant contribution to reducing global emissions than expecting both the developed world and the developing world to convert to renewables en masse.

References:

ABS, ‘Profiles of major minerals, oil and gas’, Year Book Australia 2007, Available: http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/abs@.nsf/7d12b0f6763c78caca257061001cc588/97D983DC8C663895CA25723600027F57?opendocument, Accessed: 30/10/08.

The Age, Insight, ‘Water, water everywhere – but going nowhere’, 23 Oct. 2008, p. 6.

Goldie, J., Douglas, B., Furnass, B., ‘An urgent need to change direction’, in In Search of Sustainability, eds. J. Goldie, B. Douglas, B. Furnass, Collingwood: CSIRO Publishing, 2005, p. 3.

Our Water Our Future: Victorian Desalination  Project Fact Sheet, Available: http://www.ourwater.vic.gov.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0015/474/Fast-Facts—Merged-September-2008.pdf, Accessed: 29/10/08.

Spinks, J., Drive, ‘It’s official: new-car sales break 1 million barrier’, 7 Jan. 2008, Available: http://www.drive.com.au/Editorial/ArticleDetail.aspx?ArticleID=47114.

Victoria’s Energy Challenge, Available: http://www.alpvictoria.com.au/Policies-and-Platforms/Policies/Climate-Change/Victorias-Energy-Challenge.html, Accessed: 30/10/08.

Water: Making Every Drop Count’ from ALP Victoria, Available: http://www.alpvictoria.com.au/Policies-and-Platforms/Policies/Climate-Change/Water-Making-Every-Drop-Count.html, Accessed: 29/10/08.

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[1] J. Goldie, B. Douglas, B. Furnass, ‘An urgent need to change direction’, in In Search of Sustainability, eds. J. Goldie, B. Douglas, B. Furnass, Collingwood: CSIRO Publishing, 2005, p. 3.

[2] Brundtland report, quoted in Goldie et al. p. 2.

[3] ‘Water: Making Every Drop Count’ from ALP Victoria, Available: http://www.alpvictoria.com.au/Policies-and-Platforms/Policies/Climate-Change/Water-Making-Every-Drop-Count.html, Accessed: 29/10/08.

[4] The Age, Insight, ‘Water, water everywhere – but going nowhere’, 23 Oct. 2008, p. 6.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Our Water Our Future: Victorian Desalination  Project Fact Sheet, Available: http://www.ourwater.vic.gov.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0015/474/Fast-Facts—Merged-September-2008.pdf, Accessed: 29/10/08.

[7] Victoria’s Energy Challenge, Available: http://www.alpvictoria.com.au/Policies-and-Platforms/Policies/Climate-Change/Victorias-Energy-Challenge.html, Accessed: 30/10/08.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Jez Spinks, Drive, ‘It’s official: new-car sales break 1 million barrier’, 7 Jan. 2008, Available: http://www.drive.com.au/Editorial/ArticleDetail.aspx?ArticleID=47114.

[11]ABS, ‘Profiles of major minerals, oil and gas’, Year Book Australia 2007, Available: http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/abs@.nsf/7d12b0f6763c78caca257061001cc588/97D983DC8C663895CA25723600027F57?opendocument, Accessed: 30/10/08.

Conflict in the Cultural Landscape

Discuss the Kulin people’s mode of utilizing and culturally constituting the landscape of the region. Compare it to that of the European invaders. How did these differences shape the struggle for control of that landscape?

Many years ago on the open plains of Victoria two very different and internally diverse societies and cultures met with one another and reached an inevitable nexus of conflict. To understand the reasons for this we need to examine the different ways the Kulin people and the European settlers used and culturally understood and identified with the landscape. The exploration of these differences will show how the conflict on the frontier and the struggle for control of the landscape would fall inevitably in favour of the European settlers. However, I hope that it will also show that this conflict was much deeper than a fight for the resources of the land. On the frontier were found to be social and cultural imperatives and incompatibilities which could not be resolved and were not able to coexist.

The Kulin people, that nation who occupied southern and central Victoria, like most Aborigines, were semi-nomadic hunter-gatherers.[1] They relied on a number of different food sources and great care was taken not to exhaust any of these. Food it seems was plentiful. At the time of settlement, Richard Broome advises us that “[e]arly European observations of Aboriginal eeling, fishing, vegetable gathering or possum hunting, reveal that a family could be fed with less than five hours of work.”[2] This was certainly remarkable to Europeans, and may well have helped give credence to both dubious myths that Australia was a land of plenty, and that the Aborigines were lazy. W.B. Kimberly, in the passage titled ‘A Retrospect’ in Bendigo and Vicinity describes the Aborigine’s labour as “simple, and needed no great exercise of ingenuity”[3], with Aborigines “living as did the people of the days of Nimrod”.[4] This we shall see, was a condescending over-simplification.

There is perhaps a much darker side to this early impression of plentiful food sources for Aborigines and the perceived ease of their acquiring food. Heather Goodall reminds us of the impact of diseases, both before and after the First Fleet, when she writes that it “may have been that in the aftermath of the 1789 epidemic, Aboriginal population numbers had not recovered sufficiently to exhaust the alternative sources of subsistence”.[5] Plagues of this nature were ‘imagined’ among the Kulin people as being spread by the Myndie, a snake-like creature that could stretch out it’s body from a tree to reach the farthest tribes and spread disease.[6] It is also likely that disease arrived in the region later than the outbreak of 1789, but occurred with similar effect.[7]

More sympathetic contemporary observers, such as Major Thomas Mitchell, were more aware of the unique skills and knowledge of the landscape that the Aborigines possessed, and found their guidance on his expeditions invaluable.[8] How was it then, that Europeans very quickly managed to fish out waterholes and creeks and decimate wildlife populations through their hunting?

It may be that the indigenous population reduced significantly in number by introduced diseases meant that for a time there were larger than usual stocks of wildlife food sources. Yet this also would be a shallow analysis. Before beginning the next section on specific practices, there are two ideas which should be reflected upon. Firstly, that “[t]he efficiency of Aboriginal occupation of the whole landscape and the exploitation of its resources rested on the network of Dreaming connections and kinship links”.[9] Secondly, that “[t]hroughout 1500 generations, ten times the gestation of the agricultural mode of production, Aboriginal Victorians shaped their relationship to the land”.[10] Clearly, to achieve subsistence for this length of time required the development of a refined, cautious and balanced approach to the practices of survival. We shall now investigate these practices in closer detail.

The use of a form of proto-agriculture known as ‘fire-stick farming’ was practiced by Aborigines across almost the whole of the continent. It served often multiple purposes and had a direct effect on early European perceptions of Australia. A primary purpose was to open up the country to travel and game species that like to feed on new grasses. In this way indigenous hunters were able to encourage kangaroos and other species to feed in certain areas suited to hunting. It also encouraged the growth of particular species of edible plants, whilst ash provided nutrients for the soil. The processes of burning and hunting were also excluded from certain areas for cultural and spiritual reasons. “Aboriginal people believe that their resources will decline through any lack of observance towards rituals set down in the Dreaming.”[11]

Although he is writing of the area around Adelaide and not that of our specific interest, the sentiment is accurately transferable to this region when Philip Clarke writes “[i]t is ironic that the open landscape that Aboriginal action created was undoubtedly a major attraction of the Adelaide Plains for European colonisers.”[12] In many cases Europeans interpreted this as a natural feature of a landscape destined for their needs.

When Major Mitchell was surveying the region on September 21, 1836, he recorded

[c]ertainly a land more favourable for colonization could not be found. Flocks might be turned out upon its hills, or the plough at once set to work in the plains. No primeval forests required to be first rooted out, although there was enough wood for all purposes of utility, and as much also for embellishment as even a painter could wish.[13]

There are a number of interesting ideas in this passage. Mitchell is trying to sell the landscape to his eventual readers, pastoralists and squatters. We have learned that a landscape like this is the product of Aboriginal burning, but we know that Mitchell was not exaggerating when he claimed it was perfect for sheep, despite the considerable degradation they would eventually cause to the landscape.

According to Broome, pastoralism in the four years between 1836 and 1840 saw the economic life of central and south-western Victoria change forever.[14] It was a time of confusion, contradiction and ultimately conflict. The sheep drove out the kangaroos and the emus, and ate out the murnong (daisy yam), which were a staple of Aboriginal diets in the region within a few seasons.[15] The Aboriginal response to this incursion was not passive, but the active responses to the invaders were anything but consistent.

Ann McGrath writes that the “Kulin were active agents who negotiated and permitted temporary access to their land in exchange for reciprocal rights to European resources.”[16] Being aware of this notion of reciprocity and willingness to share resources is essential to understanding aboriginal/settler relations. Assistant Protector Parker recorded in his Journal in February 1841 of an instance where “lower down the Loddon, 200 sheep had died from severe dressing since 1^st January, and this had given the men ample means of alluring the Aborigines around them.”[17] This sort of encouragement is a contradiction to the later attitude of the holders of the pastoral leases, who, according to Protector George Augustus Robinson, seem to “think it a hardship if a native appears on their run, imagining that a ₤10 licence gives them a legal right to expel the blacks.”[18]

This hypocrisy, on the one hand showing the Kulin they were welcome to injured sheep, or to share in the resources in exchange for the settler’s use of the land; and on the other driving them off their traditional lands. It is also likely that women would have been offered, in an increasingly complicating network of social relations and responsibilities. These sorts of contradictory exchanges created, in an atmosphere of tension, situations that caused Aborigines to respond with actions against Europeans “in the traditional mode of feud, and the upholding of traditional Aboriginal law over ritual or social transgressions.”[19]

We can find this sense of contradiction at the level of personality within Major Mitchell himself. On the one hand he is the surveyor, mapping the country, describing it and naming it in such a way to sell it to the pastoralists and agriculturalists. But on the other hand there is a sense of lament, because Mitchell knows the devastating effect that the spread of settlement is having on the Aboriginal populations. His time spent with them on his expeditions fostered a measured respect for the Aborigines. Baker argues that

Mitchell believed, it would be an act merely of justice, not generosity, to prohibit white men from killing kangaroos and emus which were as essential to Aborigines as sheep and cattle were to Europeans.[20]

This of course would be an insufficient measure and probably reflects sentiment rather than a practical suggestion. It was the herds of sheep and cattle that were more efficient in marginalizing these game animals than European hunters. To add further to the impracticality, it would have been impossible to police. One can feel the palpable sense of frustration in the journals of Robinson and Parker trying to bring those guilty even of murder before the courts. Robinson writes in his journal of a conversation between Assistant Protector Parker and the squatter Hutton in January 1840

Mr Parker was talking about the rights of the natives to the soil. Mr Hutton said he could not give in to that – it was never intended that a few miserable savages were to have this fine country. This is a prevailing opinion of the squatters.[21]

The language suggests Hutton was being asked to make unfair concessions to the land. The imperatives of colonization, it seems, allowed for no compromise.

Although Mitchell was anxious to be known and regarded for opening up the country, there is much evidence even in his own accounts of the cultural artifacts of European colonization preceding him. This was a third tier in the ultimate disruption of a way of life that had developed for tens of thousands of years, and also clear testament to the mobility of the Aboriginal people. In Baker’s book studying Mitchell’s experiences with Aborigines in ‘Australia Felix’ he recounts the time Piper discovered a razor in a deserted camp near Heathcote marked ‘Old English’.[22] Earlier in the expedition they had met with Aborigines whom Piper could not at once understand as they called out to him in Irish.[23]

With the European settlers came an abundance of cheap handmade tools, in many cases superior to those used by the Kulin people. Mitchell would frequently reward helpful Aborigines with ‘tomahawks’ on his expeditions.[24] These without doubt were much more effective and durable than the stone hatchets fashioned from the greenstone quarried at Mount William. The preparation of axe blanks at Mount William was the responsibility of a clan known as the Wurundjeri-willam, who traded these for possum-skin cloaks and other valuable items. Other clans traveled significant distances to obtain these important tools.[25] The proliferation of cheap European tools however, put the economic life of this particular clan in jeopardy, and it is thought the quarry at Mount William was abandoned within only a few years of settlement in the region.

As we have seen, the arrival of Europeans in the Kulin lands proved devastating to their way of life. Their resources were destroyed or made redundant, and their lives were considered by many to be worthless. It is difficult to interpret how the Kulin people would have made sense of what was happening around them. Clarke writes

According to early colonists, in Victoria people believed that in the farthest reaches of their known landscape there were wooden props which held up the Skyworld. Apparently the eastern prop, where British expansion was gaining, had rotted and unless gifts of possum skins and stone hatchet heads were sent straight away to the old man who looked after it, everyone would be crushed by the falling vault of the heavens… There was fear that the divide between the lands of the living and the dead would be permanently ruptured.[26]

To unfairly translate this into a ‘western’ worldview, the coming of the Europeans to Australia could be compared to the coming of the apocalypse.

Thus long before Cook landed at Sydney Cove, and long before Major Thomas Mitchell published his survey of ‘Australia Felix’ elucidating and confirming (if not the reality then certainly the expectation of) the rich prospects of this new land, the machine of British society had been geared to the purpose of colonizing a land such as this. It was both powerful and relentless. It would offer disease, displacement and ultimately a form of cultural redundancy to the Aborigines.

Conflict then with the indigenous population of Australia was inevitable, as the only thing they possessed of value to the invaders was the land itself. Their knowledge of the landscape may have been valuable to men like Mitchell, but it was scorned by the squatters. If the law lacked the will and capability to uphold the rights of Aborigines being as they were considered British subjects of Empire, then the squatters and frontiersmen seldom recognised that these rights even existed.

References:

Baker, D. W. A., The Civilised Surveyor, Melbourne, Melbourne University Press, 1997.

Broome, Richard, ‘Victoria’, in Ann McGrath (ed.), Contested Ground, St. Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1995, pp. 121-167.

Brough-Smyth, R., Aborigines of Victoria, Melbourne, John Currey, O’Neil.

Clarke, Philip, ‘Adelaide as an Aboriginal Landscape’, in Valerie Chapman and Peter Read (eds.), Terrible Hard Biscuits, St. Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1996, pp. 69-93.

Clarke, Philip,  Where the Ancestors Walked, Crows Nest, Allen & Unwin, 2003.

Goodall, Heather, ‘Land in our own country’, in Valerie Chapman and Peter Read (eds.), Terrible Hard Biscuits, St. Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1996, pp. 167-201.

Kimberly, W. B., Bendigo and Vicinity, Melbourne, F. W. Niven and CO., 1895.

McGrath, Ann, ‘A National Story’, in Ann McGrath (ed.), Contested Ground, St. Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1995, pp. 1-54.

Mitchell, T. L., Eastern Australia; with descriptions of the recently explored region of Australia Felix, London, T. & W. Boone.

Mulvaney, J. and Kaminga, J., Prehistory of Australia, . Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1999.

Parker, Journal of Assistant Protector Parker, month of February 1841.

Robinson, G. A., Journals of George Augustus Robinson, 17 January, 1840. Volume 1, Melbourne, Heritage Matters, 1998.

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[1] John Mulvaney and Johan Kaminga, Prehistory of Australia, . Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1999, p. 79.

[2] Richard Broome, ‘Victoria’, in Ann McGrath (ed.), Contested Ground, St. Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1995, p. 123.

[3] W. B. Kimberly, Bendigo and Vicinity, Melbourne, F. W. Niven and CO., 1895, p. 5.

[4] Ibid.,.

[5] Heather Goodall, ‘Land in our own country’, in Valerie Chapman and Peter Read (eds.), Terrible Hard Biscuits, St. Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1996, p. 169.

[6] R. Brough-Smyth, Aborigines of Victoria, Melbourne, John Currey, O’Neil, p. 445.

[7] Philip Clarke, Where the Ancestors Walked, Crows Nest, Allen & Unwin, 2003, pp. 192-3.

[8] D. W. A. Baker, The Civilised Surveyor, Melbourne, Melbourne University Press, 1997, pp. 106-147.

[9] Clarke, p. 21.

[10] Broome, p. 123.

[11] Clarke, p. 64.

[12] Philip Clarke, ‘Adelaide as an Aboriginal Landscape’, in Valerie Chapman and Peter Read (eds.), Terrible Hard Biscuits, St. Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1996, p. 76.

[13] T. L. Mitchell, Eastern Australia; with descriptions of the recently explored region of Australia Felix, London, T. & W. Boone,  p. 271.

[14] Broome, p. 129.

[15] Ibid.,.

[16] Ann McGrath, ‘A National Story’, in Ann McGrath (ed.), Contested Ground, St. Leonards, Allen & Unwin, 1995, p. 14.

[17] Journal of Assistant Protector Parker, month of February, 1841.

[18] Journals of George Augustus Robinson, 17 January, 1840. Volume 1, Melbourne, Heritage Matters, 1998, pp. 127-8.

[19] Broome, pp. 127-8.

[20] Baker, p. 146.

[21] Journals of George Augustus Robinson, 25 January, 1840. Volume 1, Melbourne, Heritage Matters, 1998, p. 139.

[22] Baker, p. 139.

[23] Ibid., p. 117.

[24] Ibid., pp. 106-147.

[25] Clarke, Where the Ancestors Walked, p. 111.

[26] Ibid., p. 194.

The Machine-Breaking Movement

Was the machine-breaking movement aimed at destroying the entire industrial economy?

This essay on the use of ‘machine-breaking’ as a form of industrial protest in England in the late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century shall make use of the following question to frame an exploration of the themes surrounding the movement: was the machine-breaking movement aimed at destroying the entire industrial economy?

In deriving an answer to this, we must consider both the themes commonly expressed in the historiography relating to the disturbances in England between 1778 and 1831, as well as the deeper economic forces responsible for driving these arguably separate movements. This emphasis on themes will come at the expense of more rigorous case-study-like analyses, yet I believe that in the confines of this work that this approach will allow for a greater understanding of the deep and wide social changes occurring in England in these decades.

I shall approach this essay in three sections. The first shall seek to understand what the industrial economy looks like in England in these years, while also giving some consideration to the wider political context. It shall examine what sort of machine-breaking occurred where and when, and what historians have cited as the principal causes of this form of protest.

The second section shall narrow its focus towards the Luddite disturbances and consider the usefulness of analyses based on class and on E.P. Thompson’s concept of ‘moral economy’. Is the trouble simply a question of fair wages?

Lastly, the third section shall consider more directly the aims of machine-breaking during this period of seemingly relentless encroachment of capitalism and industrialisation into the working lives of England’s labouring classes. Perhaps it is not all quite as it seems: how had this way of life the machine-breakers were trying to protect really come about, and what are the meaning or lessons of its long-term defeat?

I

This section deals with some important background which will aid our understanding of the machine-breaking movement. It introduces the wider political and legal context, the scope and types of machine-breaking, and some historical perspectives. However, as we begin, it is important to comprehend that by the end of the eighteenth century industrialisation in England had reached a significant point of maturity. This maturity is not necessarily characterised by steam-engines, mills and factories; nor was the application of technology evenly spread, reliant as it was upon large amounts of capital.

John Rule puts forward the case that industrialisation in England depended upon and was preceded by a large pool of labour divorced from the land: “[t]he industrial revolution came at the end of extended and varied processes which formed the waged labour force.”[1] He argues that both skilled artisans in urban areas, and importantly labourers living in the countryside were dependent on a wage. These labourers living in rural England played a key role in what is known as proto-industrialisation. Rather than a factory system, it involved delivering work to labourers and their families who would work from home or in small workshops in trades such as textiles, nail-making or cutlery-making, and who were paid by the piece.[2]

In manufacturing industries where mechanisation was available, however, it usually only accounted for certain stages in the creation of the finished product. Thus;

[e]ighteenth- and nineteenth-century cotton manufacturers, serving domestic as well as foreign markets, typically combined steam-powered spinning in factories with large-scale employment of domestic handloom weavers and often kept a mix of powered and domestic hand weaving long after the powered technology became available.[3]

This approach not only reflected the uneven nature of technological innovation, whereby some processes were more easily mechanised, but also the prohibitive cost of investing in steam-powered machinery or water-powered mills. Yet we read in Chapman that even by 1833, handloom weavers still outnumbered power-looms two and a half times over.[4] While on the surface this may seem that conditions are still weighted in the handloomer’s favour, we shall later investigate what this growth in power-loom use actually meant.

Finally, to complete the picture of industrialisation in England relevant to this essay, is to distinguish between factory production and that of workshops, which still retained and allowed for irregular work habits[5]; that the former “requires concentration of the processes of manufacture under one roof, the use of specialised machines, and the organisation and direction of the labour force by specialised management.”[6]

I wish now to briefly introduce the political context of the period we are interested in. The spectre of the French Revolution loomed disquietingly across the channel, and many popular disturbances in England in subsequent decades led some in authority to recall it. Britain was involved for the duration of the Napoleonic wars from 1803 to 1814, which had at times a negative effect on food prices; and on exports, resulting from blockades restricting access to foreign markets.[7] 1776 saw the publishing of Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations and the birth of the age of political economy.

Parliament was quite active in passing legislation in these years. There were the Combination Acts of 1799-1800, earlier Acts against seditious meetings, the Unlawful Oaths Act, The Factory Acts of 1833. More relevant to the form and context of protest that we are interested in, was

the repeal in 1813 of the clauses of the Elizabethan Statute of Artificers which had allowed magistrates to fix wages and, in 1814 of the clauses restricting trades to those who had served apprenticeships to them.[8]

Additionally, “in 1823, it ceased to be a capital offence to destroy silk or cloth in a loom or frame.”[9] But the spread of mechanisation in the textiles industry was also having its effect on labourers and their families; “handloom weavers’ wages tumbled. In 1800, these men could earn 30s per week; thirty years later this was down to perhaps 5s or so.”[10] Some of the reasons and implications of this will be looked at more closely in section three.

A significant proportion of machine-breaking that occurred in the period of 1788 to 1831 was a form of bargaining with employers for better conditions or wages. A tradition of direct action had grown up around the food riots of the early eighteenth-century[11], and arguably this had carried over to this form of protest. Numerous references are made to the restraint, discipline and leadership of the crowds.[12] But these qualities in the crowds also generated fear, as the example given by Randall shows.[13] Yet, the crowds also inspired fear of a more conventional kind, that left employers in many cases afraid to introduce machinery to their operations.[14]

Hobsbawm identifies two different types of machine breaking – one without any particular hostility towards the machines themselves but as a method of exerting pressure on employers, as seen above. The second Hobsbawm explains as “the expression of working class hostility to the new machines of the industrial revolution, especially labour-saving ones.”[15]

The power-loom seems to have met with the most opposition and angst from the handloom weavers. David Walsh writes “[t]he power loom was both a real and symbolic manifestation of the loss of the weaver’s independence as well as a threat to their livelihood”[16]; and, in the same work on the Lancashire risings of 1826 – “[i]t is clear that the precise objects of the worker’s anger were the power looms and nothing else.”[17]

However, an important reminder is provided by Munby, which brings us closer to the answer of the question at hand, when he writes of the Nottinghamshire Luddites in 1811: “the Nottinghamshire campaign was for a very special purpose. It was not directed against new machinery – there was no new machinery in the trade.”[18] This campaign was directed against practices which resulted in inferior quality goods and brought the trade into ‘disrepute’. In this we can see a notion of protecting the trade and an attempt to maintain standards by those who John Rule demonstrated as essentially wage labourers.

More generally, historians cite other reasons for outbreaks of rioting and machine-breaking. Munby largely argues a conventional line of unemployment and poor wages[19], and; “[m]achine-breaking, whether seen as part of an industrial struggle or as an unemployed campaign against the machine itself, was merely one form of the struggle against poverty.”[20] However, there usually needed to be some sort of catalyst or provocation to encourage such extreme behaviour and such resolve[21], and Walsh argues

The outbreaks of machine-breaking can been seen as the response of a community when all non-violent means of redress (appeals to magistrates, petitions and memorials to statesmen, deputations to employers, peaceful trades union bargaining, and the withdrawal of labor) had failed.[22]

While this shows that without doubt significant efforts were made to approach the problem through ‘legitimate’ means, the motivation seems to be for security and independence in their trade. To assess whether some of the examples above show the machine-breaking movement to be aimed at destroying the industrial economy is problematic, as essentially, these protesters were a product of and dependent upon the industrial economy. This idea will be examined further in section three.

II

Perhaps the most famous incidences of machine-breaking are those known by the term Luddite. These occurred primarily between 1811 and 1812 and predominantly in Nottinghamshire, Yorkshire, Cheshire and Lancashire. The name comes from the semi-mythical figure Ned Ludd (or Lud) which was often used to sign Declarations or Letters from the movement.[23] Perhaps unfairly the term has since become somewhat synonymous with a devout opposition to technology.[24] But to base an assessment of Luddism on this, or on a simple but hard to refute story of economic hardship is to perhaps miss some of its complexity and nuance. We shall see that historians opinions of the aims of the movement differ, but then also did the aims and methods of the Luddites. Randall argues that;

[t]he single defining feature of Luddism was a common resistance to labour-saving technology… Moreover, Luddism, although characterized as a movement against new labour-saving technology, was in fact a complex amalgam of protests shaped by their local industrial, political, and historical contexts.[25]

There are perhaps complex reasons for the development of this resistance to labour-saving machinery, which I shall put forward in the last section; but it is just as relevant to take it at face value. And while Randall is correct in pointing to this common feature, just as important were the local contexts. As Patterson argues of the first Luddite riots of stocking and lace makers;

Contrary to a common impression, these were not – or only secondarily- directed against new machinery as such. What the Midland Luddites wanted was, by smashing machinery old or new, to force their employers into wage-concessions and stop the manufacture of the shoddy, ‘cut-up’ goods which they held responsible for the decline in trade, employment, and wages.[26]

This desire to protect the trade is a theme common to many of the examples of machine-breaking in the textile industry, where a decline in the demand or quality of goods had the potential to threaten a way of life.[27] Further evidence of this can be found in the Declaration of the Framework Knitters in 1812;

the Framework knitters do hereby declare the aforesaid Act to be null and void to all intents and purposes whatsoever as by the passing of this act villainous and imposing persons are enabled to make fraudulent and deceitful manufactures to the discredit and utter ruin of our Trade.[28]

Patterson maintains that “even the active Luddites were not revolutionaries aiming to overthrow the social system, but men with concrete grievances which they hoped (however mistakenly) to remedy by a few displays of violence.”[29] This may seem at odds with the a letter sent by the Yorkshire Luddites to a master in Huddersfield in 1812 that spoke in such terms as

we hope for assistance from the French Emperor in shaking off the Yoke of the Rottenest, wickedest and most Tyrannical Government that ever existed, then down comes the Hanover Tyrants and all our tyrants from the greatest to the smallest, and we will be governed by a just Republic[30]

It is thus not surprising that considerable alarm developed amongst the authorities as to the actual revolutionary nature of the protesters, as strong and fearful memories remained of the French Revolution. Although the official response was to send a large military force to occupy the disturbed areas, there seems to have been little extensive violence, with only eight rioters killed.[31]

This military presence must have had its effect though, as by the time this period of Luddism drew to a close, the mobs had been replaced by “small gangs of stockingers, young men for the most part, who were prepared to do ‘jobs’ of machine-breaking for hire.”[32] It is also possible that this suggests a remnant core of die-hards, clinging on after popular support had waned.

I wish to consider also in this section whether an analysis based upon theories of class or on E.P. Thompson’s concept of ‘moral economy’ is a useful way of approaching this topic. While on the surface machine-breaking may seem a class movement, the reality is more complex. There certainly existed a sense of solidarity; as Munby points out, in the face of capitalist propaganda arguing the necessity of machinery to devastate foreign industry “[i]t is to the credit of the victims of ‘unrestricted machinery’ that… they refused to see foreign workers as their enemy.”[33]  This, however, does not necessarily correspond to it being a ‘class for itself’, but perhaps a class against capital.[34]

To adopt for a moment Andrew’s interpretation of E.P. Thompson’s view on class “as constituted by a form of conflictive behaviour generated primarily but not exclusively by common experiences in the production process”[35], then even this cannot fully explain the movement. What of the protests involving the support and ‘patronage’ of Sheppard and Aldridge in Gloucester in 1825?[36]

Yet if the machine-breaking movement were to be seen as a ‘class against capital’ then this should definitely not be mistaken with a desire for class ascendancy. Despite the political rhetoric present in letters and declarations, there is something in the actions of the protestors that harks more of traditionalism than radicalism. While to modern eyes machine-breaking may seem radical and dramatic, in actuality it was part of a tradition of direct action.

Walsh cites Randall’s view that “that even in the industrial sphere a ‘moral economy’ on E. P. Thompson’s model can be detected in the actions of working people and their social superiors.” [37] It is consistent in the sense that appeals were made to local authority figures such as the magistrates to intervene. Yet, assuming they had the will, the political,[38] legal,[39] and economic[40] realities had moved beyond their abilities to influence the situation. But within this context, it still remains doubtful that the machine-breakers were trying to destroy the entire industrial economy. As Randall instructs; for

Entrepreneurs… made no secret of their determination to press ahead with machinery… For them the old reciprocity between master and journeymen, between merchant and master clothier, was dead. The power of capital now knew no constraints. So the Yorkshire croppers were under no illusion about what they faced. Direct action was now the sole weapon in their armoury, for there was no point in persisting in a dialogue with no listeners.[41]

III

This last section deals with the inevitability of the conflict that would arise from the introduction of machinery. I do not wish to argue that the outcome was inevitable, but the odds certainly were against the working people who had been driven to these extreme measures. Perhaps the most striking aspect of the story of the hand-loom weavers is that, although many were artisans and journeymen who had served apprenticeships, very few actually owned their weaving frame.[42] The majority of weavers would rent their frames for themselves and their family to use. In this, there are two problems. Firstly it made access to the trade seem much easier than if one had to outlay the capital for a frame, as such

cotton weaving became a debased trade, the refuge of those displaced temporarily or permanently from other jobs, and the only hope for all who could not get factory work. For many, particularly women, the children and the aged who might be called the ‘subordinate’ members of a family, hand-loom weaving was in effect the same kind of by- occupation which domestic spinning had traditionally been.[43]

Not only was there a large pool of rural people available for wage labour interested in supplementing their income by taking up what had earlier been a profitable occupation, let alone just a sideline; speculators and small manufacturers would deliberately

spread the work over as many frames as possible, by giving each worker less than a full week’s material at the weekly distribution. It therefore suited the book of such employers that there should be a surplus of labour in the industry.[44]

In this we can see that these working people, as much as they were rallying against the forces of industrialisation, capital and markets, were actually a creation of the industrial economy. Investors thought legitimately, if unscrupulously, that there were profits to be made by leasing out as many frames as possible.

Thus the demands of the master weavers that Purnell was so dismissive of, fixed rates rather than increased prices, “hierarchical distinctions between master, journeyman, and apprentice, [and] making these designations universally applicable”, and limiting the number of looms per workshop,[45] was a grasp at a more traditional way of conducting business. These small manufacturers could not generate the amount of capital required to build water-mills or operate machinery and found themselves being squeezed from the trade, like the humble weavers, by the encroachment of larger operations.

This grasp at tradition is part of a bid for security amongst the changing social relationships of time. There were multiple reasons why workers opposed the new factories. Chapman cites the similarity they held to the parish workhouses, “not so much a question of architecture, or of the stigma attached to workhouse labour, so much as the insistence in both on close and continuous supervision of work by overseers.”[46] Workers valued their independence and being master of their own craft.[47]

Workers were not frightened by the machinery itself, but by the effect it would have upon them that they could clearly envisage. It meant they could not work at their own pace, but must be regulated by the demands of the machine. In itself, the increased output was not seen as an improvement, but as a threat to secure employment and wages – “a frightening total product – frightening to workers whose sense of what it was permissible for man to achieve” [48]

The effectiveness of the different outbreaks of machine-breaking varied considerably, but the authorities were willing to make examples. Thirty Luddites were hanged between 1812 and 1817[49] and several hundred machine-breakers and rioters were transported in the years until 1830.[50] Hobsbawm argues that on a small scale, machine-breaking was an effective tool, although “it could not hold up the triumph of industrial capitalism as a whole.”[51] In this he reminds us of the question, were the machine-breakers trying to destroy the entire industrial economy?

The answer is no. Such a movement would not only have been revolutionary, it would also have been more comprehensive in its targets. As this essay has shown, it was the power-looms and the factory system which raised the worker’s ire. It is worth reflecting upon, however, that it was due to a belief in laissez-faire political economy that led to an oversupply of hand-loom weavers that was unable to contract and expand with the laws of supply and demand.

John Papworth argues that the protestors were possessed of “a sense that human life was embarked on wholly new courses and one for which none of the traditional navigational aids seemed to be of any help in determining their nature.”[52] It may be that the inability to foresee even greater changes still to come led to the eventual defeat of the machine-breaking movement. But it was not to the future that they were looking, but rather to a belief in the certainties, securities, and prosperities of the past.

Bibliography

Andrew, Edward, ‘Class in Itself and Class Against Capital: Karl Marx and His Classifiers’, Canadian Journal of Political Science, vol. 16, no. 3  (September 1983), pp. 577-84.

Berg, Maxine, and Hudson, Pat, ‘Rehabilitating the Industrial Revolution’, The Economic History Review, New Series, vol. 45, no. 1  (February 1992), pp. 24-50.

Black, Jeremy and MacRaild, Donald, Nineteenth Century Britain, London, Palgrave, 2003.

Bythell, Duncan, ‘The Hand-Loom Weavers in the English Cotton Industry during the Industrial Revolution: Some Problems’, The Economic History Review, New Series, vol. 17, no. 2  (1964), pp. 339-353.

Chapman, S.D., The Cotton Industry in the Industrial Revolution, London, The MacMillan Press Ltd, 1977.

Cole, G.D.H. and Filson, A.W., British Working Class Movements: Select Documents 1789-1875, London, MacMillan, 1967, pp. 111-115.

Hobsbawm, E.J., ‘The Machine Breakers’, Past and Present, no. 1  (February 1952), pp. 57-70.

Munby, Lionel, ‘The Luddites in the Period 1779-1830’, in Lionel Munby (ed.), The Luddites and other Essays, London, Michael Katanka Books, 1971, pp. 33-56.

Papworth, John, Small is Powerful: the future as if people really mattered, Westport, Praeger Publishers, 1995.

Patterson, A. Temple, ‘Luddism, Hampden Clubs, and Trade Unions in Leicestershire, 1816-17’, The English Historical Review, vol. 63, no. 247  (April 1948), pp. 170-188.

Randall, Adrian, Riotous Assemblies: popular protest in Hanoverian England, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2006.

Rudé, George, ‘Protest and Punishment in Nineteenth-Century Britain’, Albion: A Quarterly Journal Concerned with British Studies, vol. 5, no. 1, Violence and Social Control  (Spring 1973), pp. 1-23.

Rule, John, ‘Labour in a Changing Economy, 1700-1850’, Refresh, 12 (Spring 1991), pp. 5-8.

Stearns, Peter. N., ‘The Effort at Continuity in Working-Class Culture’, The Journal of Modern History, vol. 52, no. 4  (December 1980), pp. 626-655.

Thompson, E. P., ‘The Moral Economy of the English Crowd in the Eighteenth Century’, Past and Present, no. 50  (February 1971), pp. 76-136.

Urdank, Albion M., ‘Custom, Conflict, and Traditional Authority in the Gloucester Weaver Strike of 1825’, The Journal of British Studies, vol. 25, no. 2  (April 1986), pp. 193-226.

Walsh, David, ‘The Lancashire “Rising” of 1826’, Albion: A Quarterly Journal Concerned with British Studies, vol. 26, no. 4  (Winter, 1994), pp. 601-621.

---

[1] John Rule, ‘Labour in a Changing Economy, 1700-1850’, Refresh, 12 (Spring 1991), p. 6.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Maxine Berg and Pat Hudson, ‘Rehabilitating the Industrial Revolution’, The Economic History Review, New Series, vol. 45, no. 1  (February 1992), p. 31.

[4] S.D. Chapman, The Cotton Industry in the Industrial Revolution, London, The MacMillan Press Ltd, 1977, pp. 25-6.  A source quoted in Bythell, p. 342. puts this figure at 60,000 power-looms and 240,000 handlooms in 1833 in England and Scotland.

[5] Rule, p. 7.

[6] Chapman, p. 17. Emphasis added.

[7] Lionel Munby, ‘The Luddites in the Period 1779-1830’, in Lionel Munby (ed.), The Luddites and other Essays, London, Michael Katanka Books, 1971, p. 38.

[8] Rule, p. 8.

[9] George Rudé, ‘Protest and Punishment in Nineteenth-Century Britain’, Albion: A Quarterly Journal Concerned with British Studies, vol. 5, no. 1, Violence and Social Control  (Spring 1973), p. 20.

[10] Jeremy Black and Donald MacRaild, Nineteenth Century Britain, London, Palgrave, 2003, p. 102.

[11] E. P. Thompson, ‘The Moral Economy of the English Crowd in the Eighteenth Century’, Past and Present, no. 50  (February 1971), pp. 76-136.

[12] David Walsh, ‘The Lancashire “Rising” of 1826’, Albion: A Quarterly Journal Concerned with British Studies, vol. 26, no. 4  (Winter, 1994), p. 610.

[13] Adrian Randall, Riotous Assemblies: popular protest in Hanoverian England, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2006, p. 291.

[14] Munby, p. 36.

[15] E.J. Hobsbawm, ‘The Machine Breakers’, Past and Present, no. 1  (February 1952), p. 61.

[16] Walsh, p. 607.

[17] Ibid., p. 610.

[18] Munby, p. 38.

[19] Munby, p. 38.

[20] Ibid., p. 55.

[21] Walsh, p. 608. Evidence of Thomas Duckworth cited in C. Aspin, A Local History of Helmshore (Helmshore, 1969), p. 48.

[22] Ibid., p. 604.

[23] G.D.H. Cole and A.W. Filson, British Working Class Movements: Select Documents 1789-1875, London, MacMillan, 1967, pp. 111-115.

[24] John Papworth, Small is Powerful: the future as if people really mattered, Westport, Praeger Publishers, 1995, p. 30.

[25] Randall, p. 274.

[26] A. Temple Patterson, ‘Luddism, Hampden Clubs, and Trade Unions in Leicestershire, 1816-17’, The English Historical Review, vol. 63, no. 247  (April 1948), pp. 171-2.

[27] Black and MacRaild, p. 102.

[28] The Declaration of the Framework Knitters, Home Office Papers, 42/119. in G.D.H. Cole and A.W. Filson, pp. 112-113. The Act referred to is the 1788 Act for the Protection of Stocking Frames.

[29] Patterson, p. 175.

[30] A copy of a letter sent to a Huddersfield Master, 1812. Home Office Papers, 40/41. in G.D.H. Cole and A.W. Filson, pp. 114-115.

[31] Rudé, p. 17.

[32] Patterson, p. 174.

[33] Munby, p. 52.

[34] Edward Andrew, ‘Class in Itself and Class Against Capital: Karl Marx and His Classifiers’, Canadian Journal of Political Science, vol. 16, no. 3  (September 1983), pp. 577-84.

[35] Ibid., p. 579.

[36] Albion M. Urdank, ‘Custom, Conflict, and Traditional Authority in the Gloucester Weaver Strike of 1825’, The Journal of British Studies, vol. 25, no. 2  (April 1986), pp. 214-221.

[37] Walsh, p. 614.

[38] Cited in Hobsbawm, p. 67. – “In I829 a leading colliery manager was asked by the Lords’ Committee, whether a reduction of wages in the Tyne and Wearside coal mines could ” be effected without danger to the tranquillity of the district, or risking the destruction of all the mines, with all the machinery, and the valuable stock vested in them.” He thought not.”

[39] Rule, p. 8.  The repeal in 1813 of the clauses of the Elizabethan Statute of Artificers which had allowed magistrates to fix wages.

[40] Duncan Bythell, ‘The Hand-Loom Weavers in the English Cotton Industry during the Industrial Revolution: Some Problems’, The Economic History Review, New Series, vol. 17, no. 2  (1964), p. 346.  Bythell makes the point that the distribution of factories, reliant as they were upon water power etc meant that weavers made redundant could not necessarily find work operation power-looms in factories.

[41] Randall, pp. 298-9.

[42] Patterson, p. 173.

[43] Bythell, p. 345.

[44] Patterson, p. 173.

[45] Urdank, pp. 223-224.

[46] Chapman, p. 54.

[47] Papworth, p. 33.

[48] Peter. N. Stearns, ‘The Effort at Continuity in Working-Class Culture’, The Journal of Modern History, vol. 52, no. 4  (December 1980), p. 633.

[49] Rudé, pp. 18-19.

[50] Ibid.

[51] Hobsbawm, p. 67.

[52] Papworth, p. 39.

The European Union and the Schuman Declaration

Despite its political rhetoric, the European Union (and its predecessors) has been, from the very beginning, primarily an economic project. Its main achievement has been the economic recovery and development of Europe. Do you agree?

Synopsis: The intention behind this essay is to investigate the rhetoric in the founding declaration of the European Coal and Steel Community. The ECSC was an economic project that was intended to pave the way towards closer integration of the original signatories. Because the plan was created with ‘functional spillover’ in mind, and because the EU considers the date of the Schuman Declaration to be its own beginning, I thought it would be interesting to consider whether the rhetoric in Schuman’s declaration could be taken seriously, or whether it was simply gloss for an economic project. This examination found that many of the key themes and ideas expressed in the declaration are part of the core values and aims of the European Union today.

This essay shall investigate the claim that the European Union (EU) and its predecessors have been primarily an economic project; and that its main achievement has been the economic recovery and development of Europe. In this essay, unless stated or a distinction is otherwise required, I shall use ‘European Union (EU)’ as an umbrella term for it and its predecessors.

I shall argue that it was primarily an economic project, but that the ‘competences’ (to adopt the jargon) of the EU have expanded to include many social and cultural projects which manage to defy the primacy of economics in the agenda. In addition, I shall consider how some of the early rhetoric has paved the way for future projects and initiatives.

To do this, I plan to discuss the rhetoric of the European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC), particularly the text of the Schuman Declaration; and its present day significance in the newer institutions like the European Monetary Union (EMU) and the Single Market. I think to argue that the EU’s main achievement has been the economic recovery and development of Europe is problematic. One would have to critique the contribution of the Marshall Plan to European recovery; and also, to try to understand what the individual states might have achieved without the EU. Instead I shall argue that the EU has been successful in shaping the way Europe is today – that is, yes, recovery and development were largely its achievement – but not necessarily that these would have been impossible or more successful without the EU.

This essay is written with an awareness of the causal relationship between economic policy and the society it in which it operates, thus arguing that the European Union has always been an economic project is not to suggest that there exists a disregard of European polity or society. The European project has undeniably been radically political, however a critique on the effectiveness or legitimacy of the EU’s political institutions are beyond the scope of this work.

I want to begin this essay by talking about the ECSC, which is officially regarded as the foundation of the European Union that we know today.[1] I want to assess this idea against the question of economics and political rhetoric. The brainchild of French bureaucrat Jean Monnet, the ECSC was brought into being with the Treaty of Paris 14^th April 1951,[2] and was predicated upon the idea that Franco-German political and economic relations were central to the reconstruction of Europe.

The most explicit aim of the plan was to prevent the threat of war by elevating all responsibility and authority for coal and steel production of the joining nations (France, Germany, Italy, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg, the original signatories to the 1957 Treaty of Rome) to a supranational body, theoretically making it impossible for one country to arm itself against another. Implicitly, it had grown from a plan to rebuild the French economy with German coal and steel.[3] Yet, despite its somewhat radical nature, it was not an ambitious project along the political lines of the Pan-European Union, which had sought to implement a parliamentary system of representation both for the people of Europe, and for its states. Instead, its influence has been felt in other ways.

In the post-war years there was much talk and campaigning for a federation of Europe, including a strong voice from Winston Churchill (who had no desire for Britain to be part of this).[4] Grand political schemes like the Pan-European Union never really made the leap from vision to reality, however it is interesting to note that similar rhetoric is not at all downplayed in the functionalist approach of the ECSC. In my view, the declaration delivered by French foreign minister Robert Schuman on the 9^th of May1950 has served to enshrine many of the core values of the present day EU.

It states that “[t]he pooling of coal and steel production should immediately provide for the setting up of common foundations for economic development as a first step in the federation of Europe.”[5] Here Schuman links the acceptable economic to the controversial political. ‘Common foundations’ is a principle that has gone on to inform initiatives such as the EMU and the contentious Common Agricultural Policy, whereas ‘federation’ to this day remains a divisive subject, and instead, the less controversial and less constitutionally predicated principle of ‘subsidiarity’ is adhered to.[6]

Yet Schuman goes further, touching upon the historical, cultural and the ethnic divisions of Europe, saying that the ECSC “may be the leaven from which may grow a wider and deeper community between countries long opposed to one another by sanguinary divisions.”[7]

Not only have the language of the ideas of ‘deepening’ and ‘widening’ – whether considered complimentary or opposing – continued to be expressed in the debates over EU enlargement and expansion of competences, but we can see also that this is a process (rhetoric or not) that has been consistently engaged. As an example of widening we can observe the increases in member states in 1973, 1981, 1986, 1995, 2004, and finally 2007, bring the total number to 27 (with currently three more candidate countries). For an example of deepening, the direct elections to the European Parliament in 1979 and the introduction of the Euro in 2002 (although not its stated intention) shows some of the ways the EU has attempted or been able to come closer to its citizens.[8]

Consistent with this theme of the evolution of rhetoric into policy agenda is the vision of community between ‘sanguinary divisions’ put forward in the same quote above. In this context, I take ‘sanguinary’ to refer both to the idea that the peoples of the different nations of Europe are in fact different peoples by blood (a dubious, yet popular assumption), and to the destructive nature of the conflicts between them. 2008 has been proclaimed the European Year of Intercultural Dialogue, and the Europe Day poster for this occasion sports the slogan “It’s not them and us, it’s you and me”.[9] The poster depicts two children of distinguishable ‘sanguinary’ origins interacting (finger-painting a picture of Earth). What this shows is a consistent commitment to bridging both the perceived and real ethnic and cultural divisions which abound in Europe. Yet this also highlights what remains one of the EU’s most significant challenges as it works with Turkey on its accession process in what could be a very complicated integration project fraught with many similar difficulties as are faced by Germany with regard to its own Turkish minority.[10]

A further idea I wish to draw attention to in the Schuman Declaration is one based primarily on the economic rationalism of facilitating and not restricting trade, yet its evolution has had profound implications for the people and visitors to Europe, and to the process of enlargement itself. Schuman states that “[t]he movement of coal and steel between member countries will immediately be freed from all customs duty, and will not be affected by differential transport rates.”[11] This freedom of movement was to provide the precedent for the future creation of the Common Market and later the Single Market in 1993.[12] Now, in addition to coal and steel, people, goods, services and capital all enjoy a previously unprecedented freedom in moving between the states of Europe. Europeans have regularly crossed borders, but now in what is known as the Schengen area they can move from one state to the next without passing through border controls.

It is interesting to see an economic project being expressed in the above terms. It is true that a certain degree of rhetoric might be required to ‘sell’ an initiative like the ECSC, but still we must not forget that Monnet had already gained private approval from many of the key figures such as Konrad Adenauer and the US Secretary of State (as a step towards securing US presidential support) before Schuman made his address.[13] The ECSC was partly formed in the interests of securing peace and to meet US political pressure against imposing punitive measures against Germany in the style of the Versailles Treaty.[14]

Yet, other parts of the Declaration perhaps are not so benign or benevolent as they seem. Schuman makes a reference to one of Europe’s “essential tasks” being “the development of the African continent.”[15] At the time of the address, France still retained extensive colonial possessions in Africa and was involved in a war in Asia to retain its possession of what is now Vietnam, and by 1954, became involved in a long war against independence movements in Algeria.

What I hope I have demonstrated with this essay is that, behind the somewhat lofty and inflated language of the Schuman Declaration has been a theme of integration simultaneously economic, political and social that has since come into being in various guises.

The recovery of Europe is perhaps a misnomer, for prior to the Treaty of Rome founding the European Economic Community in 1957, Europe for centuries had been a peninsula of warring states. In contrast to a Europe resurgent and divided, is a Europe united. Rather, it could be argued that the European Union is responsible for the creation (a continuing process) of Europe, and although considerable differences remain, desire for unification at the political level remains strong. Yet, it’s success has been mixed, while both international and domestic business enjoy the uniformity of regulations and currency within the Single Market and EMU; on the other hand, it is questionable whether citizens of Europe identify with the EU as much as the integration project would hope. Kolakowski identifies that

The greatest achievement of European unification will certainly be a lasting peace. But the possibility of achieving such a peace depends on a number of conditions, nor just on the presence of a bureaucracy in Brussels.[16]

This may be true, but equally important has been the stabilizing effect of European unification. The benefits of joining the Union, primarily access to the Single Market (and it is in fact this which the EU regards as one of its greatest achievements[17]), requires potential members to accept the values of the Union that are formalized as the Copenhagen Criteria. These relate to democracy, respect for human rights, and the rule of law (among others), in addition to a market economy.[18] The creation of a union of states with a commitment to similar values and with the ability to openly and easily pursue economic relations is largely the result of a bureaucracy following the lead of the various treaties set out and agreed to by the individual member states. It is in this way that the European Union has been able to create a degree of political unity upon the strengths of its economic project, and, in my view a certain amount of rhetoric is useful in establishing the broader goals of a narrower project like the ECSC.

References

Churchill, Winston, ‘United States of Europe: Extract from speech at the University of Zurich, 19 September 1946,’ in Dick Leonard and Mark Leonard, The Pro-European Reader, London, Palgrave, pp. 13-16.

Cini, Michelle, European Union Politics: Glossary, on Oxford University Press, Available: http://www.oup.com/uk/orc/bin/9780199281954/01student/flashcards/glossary.htm#S, last updated 2007, accessed 15 April 2008.

Dinan, Desmond, ‘Reconstruction, Reconciliation, and Integration, 1945-1957’, in Ever Closer Union, Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2005.

The Economist Magazine website, Germany’s Turkish Minority: two unamalgamated worlds. Available: http://www.economist.com/world/europe/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10958534&CFID=6452871&CFTOKEN=43293919, Accessed: 22/5/08.

Europa, Europe Day Poster Gallery, 2008 ‘It’s not them and us, it’s you and me’, available:   http://europa.eu/abc/symbols/9-may/gallery/2008/index_en.htm, accessed 24 April 2008.

Europa, Europe in 12 Lessons: 10 Historic Steps,  http://europa.eu/abc/12lessons/lesson_2/index_en.htm, Europa, accessed 15 April 2008.

Europa: Ongoing Enlargement, available: http://europa.eu/scadplus/leg/en/s40015.htm, Europa, accessed 27 April 2008.

Europa, Overview of the European Union Activities: Internal Market, available: http://europa.eu/pol/singl/overview_en.htm, last updated December 2007, accessed 26 April 2008.

Europa: The 2004 enlargement: the challenge of a 25-member EU, available:  http://europa.eu/scadplus/leg/en/lvb/e50017.htm, last updated 23 January 2008, accessed 26 April 2008.

Europa, What is Europe Day?  http://europa.eu/abc/symbols/9-may/euday_en.htm, Europa, accessed 23 April 2008.

Kolakowski, Leszek ‘Can Europe Happen?’, The New Criterion, May 2003, pp. 19-27.

Schuman, Robert, Declaration of 9 May 1950, on Europa, Available: http://europa.eu/abc/symbols/9-may/decl_en.htm, accessed 15 April 2008.

---

[1] Europa, What is Europe Day?  http://europa.eu/abc/symbols/9-may/euday_en.htm, Europa, accessed 23 April 2008.

[2] Europa, Europe in 12 Lessons: 10 Historic Steps,  http://europa.eu/abc/12lessons/lesson_2/index_en.htm, Europa, accessed 15 April 2008.

[3] Desmond Dinan, ‘Reconstruction, Reconciliation, and Integration, 1945-1957’, in Ever Closer Union, Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2005, pp. 21-22.

[4] Winston Churchill, ‘United States of Europe: Extract from speech at the University of Zurich, 19 September 1946,’ in Dick Leonard and Mark Leonard, The Pro-European Reader, London, Palgrave, pp. 13-16.

[5] Robert Schuman, Declaration of 9 May 1950, on Europa, Available: http://europa.eu/abc/symbols/9-may/decl_en.htm, accessed 15 April 2008.

[6] Michelle Cini, European Union Politics: Glossary, on Oxford University Press, Available: http://www.oup.com/uk/orc/bin/9780199281954/01student/flashcards/glossary.htm#S, last updated 2007, accessed 15 April 2008.

[7] Schuman Declaration.

[8] Information on newly joined countries found on Europa: The 2004 enlargement: the challenge of a 25-member EU, available:  http://europa.eu/scadplus/leg/en/lvb/e50017.htm, last updated 23 January 2008, accessed 26 April 2008.  Europe in 12 Lessons: 10 Historic Steps, available: http://europa.eu/abc/12lessons/lesson_2/index_en.htm, Europa, accessed 15 April 2008. Ongoing Enlargement, available: http://europa.eu/scadplus/leg/en/s40015.htm, accessed 27 April 2008.

[9] Europa, Europe Day Poster Gallery, 2008 ‘It’s not them and us, it’s you and me’, available:   http://europa.eu/abc/symbols/9-may/gallery/2008/index_en.htm, accessed 24 April 2008.

[10] The Economist Magazine website, Germany’s Turkish Minority: two unamalgamated worlds. Available http://www.economist.com/world/europe/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10958534&CFID=6452871&CFTOKEN=43293919, Accessed: 22/5/08.

[11] Schuman Declaration.

[12] Europa, Europe in 12 Lessons.

[13] Dinan, p. 24.

[14] Dinan, p. 20.

[15] Schuman Declaration.

[16] Leszek Kolakowski, ‘Can Europe Happen?’, The New Criterion, May 2003, pp. 19-27.  p23

[17] Europa, Overview of the European Union Activities: Internal Market, available: http://europa.eu/pol/singl/overview_en.htm, last updated December 2007, accessed 26 April 2008.

[18] Europa: The 2004 enlargement: the challenge of a 25-member EU, available:  http://europa.eu/scadplus/leg/en/lvb/e50017.htm, last updated 23 January 2008, accessed 26 April 2008.

On Private Property

‘The system of private property is the most important guarantee of freedom, not only for those who own property, but scarcely less for those who do not.’ (F.A. Hayek)

Their positions on private property have exposed distinct division between ideologies of the left and the right. How has private property as a fundamental right been defended ideologically? How have criticisms of private property been sustained? To what extent, if at all, should the ‘rights’ of private property be infringed for collective purposes?

The ideological differences between the left and right on the question of private property are not so distinct or opposite as might be first assumed. The literature on the subject is peppered with all sorts of qualifications depending upon what sort of property is in question. To take the question to ideological extremes, the differences between the left and the right could be characterised on the one hand as the abolition of all private property in favour of communal property; and, on the other hand as the ability for each individual to acquire unlimited private property as a natural right. The reality of course, is not so simple.

The following essay considers some of the ways that the institution of private property has been justified and understood. This will include what exactly is referred to by the term property, as this can be essential to understanding other types of property such as ‘common’ and ‘state property’.

Additionally, this essay will also consider some of the sorts of criticisms which have been leveled at the ‘right’ of private property. These are generally always concerned with questions of equality and justice. However, we shall see that the language used in these cases is often not altogether different from the language used to support the right to private property.

In the literature, the term ‘property’ is used to refer to a right to a thing – rather than the thing itself, – which extends beyond actual possession of the thing. Macpherson argues that

to have a property is to have a right in the sense of an enforceable claim to some use or benefit of something, whether it is a right to share in some common resource or an individual right in some particular thing.[1]

It is this sort of definition of property that allows us to make sense of ‘common property’ as opposed to ‘individual property’. Rather than trying to make sense of how everyone together might own something as they might individually own something is much more straightforward when ‘property’ is considered as a right to make use of something.

‘Private property’ however is considered an exclusive right to a thing. It is this concept which has caused difficulty to political and social thinkers. That is, what is the basis for this exclusive right, and how can it be justified if that exclusive right might be harmful to others, albeit indirectly?

Locke argued that it was the labour of removing something from its state in nature which guaranteed and justified the property right to the individual; the right of man to the exclusive use of the fruits of his own labour. “The labour that was mine, removing them out of that common state they were in, hath fixed my Property in them.”[2]

This principle of man having a right to the means of labour, and an exclusive right to the product of his own labour is common to both the left and the right, although it has not always been conceived in the same way.

W. L. Sheldon, writing in 1893 identifies a current of thought that asserts property as a fundamental right:

            They claim the right of ownership to other property on the same principle that they assert ownership to the muscles of their body, the capacities of their brain, the qualities of their soul. They believe it to be an institution of nature, and so an institution of God.[3]

There is in this a sympathetic link with the labour principle of John Locke. That is, that although the fruits of nature are given to man in common, the facts of human life requires them to be made use of by individuals for their survival. Through their labour they can assure this survival, which is their right, thus the product of that labour is theirs by exclusive right.

This example, however, would have had limited relevance for the society Sheldon found himself in, and he seems acutely aware of this. While private property gained through the exercising of one’s labour might be justified, Sheldon saw that the actual origin of property existing in private hands could not be accounted for, that the question of its just or unjust acquisition could not be established. For this reason he argued that “it is equally positive that we cannot justify the private ownership of wealth through the causes of its first establishment as an institution.”[4]

Therefore, whatever social pressures that may have caused the establishment of the institution of private property do not necessarily continue to provide its justification. Yet even so, many writers have felt a need to explain in historical terms how the institution of private property came to be. Sometimes this was done with reference to an imagined prehistoric state of nature, as did Locke, or in the conjectural transition from hunting stage to shepherd stage to agricultural stage put forward by Adam Smith.[5] “The most general point” writes Macpherson, “is that the institution – any institution – of property is always thought to need justification by some more basic human or social purpose.”[6]

What then, of criticisms to private property? The classic criticism against the individual ownership of private property is provided by Karl Marx in The Communist Manifesto. The position seems clear when Marx states that “the theory of the Communists may be summed up in the single sentence: Abolition of private property.”[7]

But how clear is it? Marx qualifies the position taken by distinguishing between bourgeois private property and that of the petty artisan or peasant. He seems incredulous when dealing with criticisms that Communists have “desire of abolishing the right of personally acquiring property as the fruit of a man’s own labour”.[8]

There seems to be a consensus that man must have a right to what he creates with his own hands. But despite his use of this sort of language, Marx was deeply critical of the use of this argument to justify the institution of private property which he observed around him:

The selfish misconception that induces you to transform into eternal laws of nature and of reason, the social forms springing from your present mode of production and form of property – historical relations that rise and disappear in the progress of production – this misconception you share with every ruling class that has preceded you.[9]

This begs the question: can private property really be considered as a fundamental right, even under the principle of labour? Sheldon argues that “labor would give title to private property if only we could first pay off that infinite array of obligations which we owe to our fellow-men and to the race which we belong.”[10] Thus, as the vast majority of us do no lead a life that could be considered that of ‘a state of nature’, it is by and through another’s labour that we are able to produce things ourselves.  We are raised by the labour of our parents; the skills we learn are an outcome of the labour of those who have come before us.

In the present day, it can be difficult to distinguish any form of property that is not private property, and a ready general definition for common property might be hard to come by. Our institutions, which manage common property, sometimes like to refer to its users as customers, as though they were buying a service.

But Macpherson argues that “common property, rather than being ruled out by the very concept of property as rights (enforceable claims) of persons, turns out to be the most unadulterated kind of property.”[11] Unadulterated, in the sense that rights to common property are always held by ‘natural’ persons; whereas, private or state property can be held by ‘artificial’ persons.

This leads to another point. Even assuming the right of a ‘natural’ person to own property is a fundamental right related to the nature of that person’s being; what justification can be given for property owned by the state, an ‘artificial’ person? Many socialists have argued for state ownership of resources and the means of production as a way to ensure greater equality for all. But by what right may the state take this on?

Hayek is critical of those who take this view against the institution of private property. He warns,

What these people forget is that in transferring all property in the means of production to the state they put the state in a position whereby its action must in effect decide all other incomes… To believe that the power which is thus conferred on the state is merely transferred to it from others is erroneous. It is a power which is newly created and which in a competitive society nobody possesses.[12]

Marx, on the other hand might argue that the new power that Hayek is talking about is actually already controlled by class. But supposing this class acted entirely in its own interests, how cohesive is the result? It is here that Hayek supposes the ability of private property to be a guarantee of freedom:

So long as property is divided among many owners, none of them acting independently has exclusive power to determine the income and position of particular people – nobody is tied to him except by the fact that he may offer better terms than anybody else.[13]

But history has shown that these owners do not necessarily act independently. Collusion and price and wage fixing occurs now, just as it did under early industrial capitalism with fewer regulations.

There is perhaps a hint of irony in that the language which describes an exploitive capitalist class is very similar to the language that the right has typically used to describe human nature. While the left generally has a more optimistic view of human nature than is composed in the claim that it operates purely in its own rational self-interest, it is curious to see that the injustices that Marx saw perpetuated by one class could be rooted in the same view of human nature that argues a breakdown of society would occur if all wealth was distributed equally. Jeremy Bentham argued in this way, that

If all property were equally divided, at fixed periods, the sure and certain consequence would be, that presently there would be no property to divide. All would shortly be destroyed. Those whom it was intended favour, would not suffer less from the division than those at whose expense it was made. If the lot of the industrious was not better than the lot of the idle, there would be no longer any motives for industry.[14]

But it might be countered that under a socialist model of community ownership, the community itself would retain the ability to ensure the inducement of others to work. There may no longer exist an individual reward for labour, but the benefits of belonging to the community would far outweigh the ‘freedoms’ of being ostracised. Rational self-interest would dictate a pattern of behaviour which encountered the least resistance and hardship. That is, acting in the community’s interests rather than attempting to live outside of it.

Can the community and individual interests both be satisfied by a more equal distribution of property? A utilitarian case might argue that it could, provided any redistribution raised the general level of happiness more than it lowered it. The key problem is, however, that assuming the need for redistribution was universally accepted  (and thus that man would not have exclusive right to the product of his own labour), how could this then be effected. Thus even in abandoning private property, Hayek identifies the same problem

once the claim of the individual worker to the whole of ‘his’ product is disallowed, and the whole of the return from capital is to be divided among all workers, the problem of how to divide it raises the same basic issue.[15]

That is, by the very nature of some industries, some workers would benefit more than others, without it necessarily being a reflection on their specific tasks or skills.

It is perhaps in the work of Sheldon that a satisfactory justification for the right of private property can be found, one that does not rely upon the problematic labour principle or natural law. He argues  that “it is because that sense of possession in some form or another prevails so universally in the individual consciousness, that private property may be said to have received the sanction of human civilised society.”[16]

At first glance this may sound similar to the argument of an institution having ‘stood the test of time’, one which Sheldon rejects. But rather, it is one which does not seek an historical justification, nor that of natural law or right for private property, but rather an assumption of unspoken tacit agreement. This sense of possession is the tacit agreement. Thus, “we can believe that it is right to own property because it is sanctioned by the original owner of all wealth, – human society itself.”[17]

But insofar as there is qualification over what we can do with what the law recognises as our private property, there must therefore also be qualification of what we may own. As for the limits of how much we should be able to own, this is a much more difficult question.

Bibliography

Bentham, J., ‘Security and Equality of Property’, in Property: Mainstream and Critical Positions, C.B. Macpherson (ed.), Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1978, pp. 39-58.

Hayek, F.A., The Road to Serfdom, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979.

Locke, J., ‘Of Property’, in Property: Mainstream and Critical Positions, C.B. Macpherson (ed.), Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1978, pp. 15-28.

Macpherson, C.B., Property: Mainstream and Critical Positions, Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1978.

Marx, K., ‘Communist Manifesto’, in Property: Mainstream and Critical Positions, C.B. Macpherson (ed.), Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1978, pp. 59-74.

Reeve, A., Property, London, MacMillan Education, 1986.

Sheldon, W.L., ‘What Justifies Private Property?’,  International Journal of Ethics, Vol. 4, No. 1 (October, 1893), pp. 17-40.

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[1] C.B. Macpherson, Property: Mainstream and Critical Positions, Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1978, p. 3.

[2] John Locke, ‘Of Property’, in Property: Mainstream and Critical Positions, C.B. Macpherson (ed.), Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1978, p. 18.

[3] W.L. Sheldon, ‘What Justifies Private Property?’, International Journal of Ethics, Vol. 4, No. 1 (October, 1893), p. 28.

[4] Ibid., p. 27.

[5] Andrew Reeve, Property, London, MacMillan Education, 1986, p. 61.

[6] Macpherson, p. 11.

[7] Karl Marx, ‘Communist Manifesto’, in Property: Mainstream and Critical Positions, C.B. Macpherson (ed.), Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1978, p. 61.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid., p. 64.

[10] Sheldon, p. 31.

[11] Macpherson, p. 6.

[12] F.A. Hayek, The Road to Serfdom, London, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979, p. 77.

[13] Ibid., pp. 77-8.

[14] Jeremy Bentham, ‘Security and Equality of Property’, in Property: Mainstream and Critical Positions, C.B. Macpherson (ed.), Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1978, p. 43.

[15] Hayek, p. 83.

[16] Sheldon, p. 33.

[17] Sheldon, p. 36.

A discussion of Giddens’ ‘Runaway World’

In his book Runaway World, which is based on a series of BBC Reith lectures he gave in 1999, renowned sociologist and intellectual Anthony Giddens asserts that, yes, we do live in a ‘runaway world,’ a world that we find constantly slipping beyond our control. The crux of his argument is that those institutions and avenues we employ to create certainty for ourselves are paradoxically the same that have engendered some of the greatest uncertainties that the human race has yet faced.[1] Yet also key to his argument is the idea that these changes and uncertainties are much more pervasive than many of us realise, and that their consequences become manifest in unusual and often disturbing ways.[2]

Runaway World  is essentially a book about change. It is about understanding change objectively and rationally and confronting the ambivalence that is inseparable from these global and local processes. To this end, Giddens has divided his analysis and arguments into five chapters; Globalisation, Risk, Tradition, Family, and Democracy. This essay shall follow a similar approach, borrowing this structure as a basis for discussion of his work and these themes, and also to some degree as an acknowledgment to the objective humanism and optimism of his insight.

From this, I propose to talk about these five themes with a view to hopefully providing some broader context and contradiction. Globalisation is a series of processes that affect the world, nations and individuals. Likewise is the way we understand and deal with risk. Understanding tradition and family however is something that involves confronting the symbolic and nostalgic way both the past and present is often viewed. It requires a greater appreciation of the historical contexts and needs for which examples of these have arisen to meet. Finally democracy is often seen optimistically as the goal to strive for to create greater equality both globally and within nations. Within this perspective exists ideas of democracy that is both above and below the nation-state. It is the potential that democracy holds within these spheres that many see as being able to foster a new era of global equality and cooperation.

Globalisation is a term so fraught with confused meanings, associations both positive and negative, and ideology, that its very usefulness is questionable. However, its currency and the undeniable fact that most of its uses relate to very real and significant processes thus demands it receive serious and considered attention. Giddens seeks to pry the term away from its connotations and provide a balanced and ideologically secular basis for its understanding. He describes globalisation as “a complex set of processes…  And these operate in a contradictory or oppositional fashion.”[3] These processes include politics, technology, culture and economics, and have all been hugely influenced by the communications revolution of the 1960s. In this way, Giddens concludes; “I would have no hesitation… in saying that globalisation, as we are experiencing it, is in many respects not only new, but also revolutionary.”[4]

Robbie Robertson seems to agree that globalisation is not a single process, or something that is dominated by technology or capitalism. Robertson is interested in the human needs that have given shape to this phenomena long before it was ever labeled globalisation. He says “globalization reflects the material consequences of our desires for security and well being.”[5] He stresses that global consciousness is required to ensure that interactions remain empowering and mutually beneficial.[6] However in many instances the forces of globalisation are designed to be, or appear to be, of benefit to only a few.

I would agree with Robertson that the centering of economics in the concept of globalisation has led to confusion about what the process actually is, and created much opposition to what are seen as its negative manifestations. Globalisation needs to be separated from its confusion with corporatism, and be seen as stemming from the combination of complex forces Giddens identified, which cannot, and in my opinion definitely should not, be attempted to be halted. As Jane Franklin stresses, “if the focus is shifted towards understanding the process of change and working with it rather than resisting it, the new parameters of politics can begin to emerge.”[7] With climate change and global inequality the need for global cooperation has never been greater. These risks present challenges that can only be effectively met through concerted global efforts.

Giddens suggests that the concept or risk, which is different to hazard or danger, came into being when societies began to look towards the future as something to be controlled or conquered. There was a need to remove uncertainty, and part of this is what gave rise to insurance, and later the welfare state. But now, Giddens argues that the very nature of risk has changed. The danger no longer comes from nature, or what he calls ‘external’ risks, where the effects and causes are known. These ‘external’ risks can include famine, earthquakes, floods, and so on.[8]

Giddens talks about our society living after the ‘end of nature.’ He means that very little of the natural world is untouched by human action. From this comes uncertainty as to whether risks coming from the natural world are indeed natural, or the result of human interference.[9] He calls this risk, stemming from human technology and interference with natural processes ‘manufactured’ risk. This is the risk to be concerned about, as we have no historical precedents to tell us what the outcomes may be. Indeed, often there is no agreement as to whether these things – such as climate change, or genetic modification – are even risks at all. If they are, the effects are transnational, requiring the greater level of cooperation discussed above to prevent or manage them.

Risk is personal, and as individuals we all must make choices that the safety or outcome of which is obscured by conflicting science. Ordinary people must become experts and make potentially perilous decisions, for example when they choose whether to buy foods made from genetically modified crops. I have no doubt that in many cases people will not have such choice available to them. As Beck describes almost flippantly, “society has become a laboratory where there is absolutely nobody in charge.”[10]  More constructively, Beck also theorises that ‘risk society’ develops when “we can no longer take traditional certainties for granted.”[11] But what are these ‘traditional certainties’?

Giddens says this of tradition. “However much it may change, tradition provides a framework for action that can go largely unquestioned.”[12] Tradition is something which can give meaning and structure to our everyday lives. When Beck speaks of ‘traditional certainties’ he refers to a way of understanding that sees something as having always been so, and that is ‘how it should be’. In effect, most aspects of our lives are touched or guided in some way by tradition. Of interest to Giddens, though, is the idea that in contemporary life there has been a breakdown of tradition, and he argues that this can be deeply unsettling for individuals. Individuals now navigate the ‘shell institutions’ he discusses in his chapter on globalisation, such as work and marriage, with uncertainty.[13] The old rules of preceding generations are known, but they seem no longer applicable and it is not apparent what the new rules are. Giddens argues that this is a result of the impact of globalisation.[14] I would agree, but only insofar that globalisation might be considered an umbrella term for change.

The historian Eric Hobsbawm introduces the idea of ‘invented tradition’ and discusses it in a way that aligns it with forms of conservatism. He says of ‘invented traditions’ that “where possible, they normally attempt to establish continuity with a suitable historic past.”[15] This idea of a ‘suitable’ past is in my opinion one of the more dangerous aspects of tradition. It can result in a comfortable but misleading nostalgia for worlds or periods of history that never existed quite like we imagine. It can be used to give legitimacy that is based on a myth, such as that of a racially pure agrarian past that Nazis fantasised about reviving.[16] Hobsbawm sees a paradox in the modern nation, that they

and all their impedimenta generally claim to be the opposite of novel, namely rooted in the remotest antiquity, and the opposite of constructed, namely human communities so ‘natural’ as to require no definition other than self-assertion.[17]

Like Nazi Germany, which is an extreme example, we can see this idea in almost any nation, where the myths of its conception become more widely known, idealised and understood than the reality. I would argue that the future becomes frightening when it is built upon misconceptions of the past that fundamentally deny and seek to obstruct the processes of change that Franklin discusses.

Giddens relates this sense of nostalgia for the past as occurring more strongly “surrounding the lost haven of the family than for any other institution with its roots in the past.”[18] In his view the family is often a site where tradition and modernity clash.[19] But like tradition when it comes to considering a nation’s history and our views of the past, we need to also understand that the family has always been undergoing a process of change. It is not, nor has it ever been constant or perfect and its evolution has always been linked to economic circumstances. For example, in an agricultural economy where farms are operated by a family unit, it makes sense to have more children, as a source of labour and as a form of welfare in old age. Conversely, in modern western society, children represent an economic burden and are largely a lifestyle choice. However, their contribution to the economy of a welfare-state is just as important as that of the children in the agricultural family is to their family unit.

In his analysis, Giddens stresses that the family, in industrialised society has moved away from being the economic entity it once was. He argues that the couple, and their relationship is what now defines the family. “ ‘Coupling’ and ‘uncoupling’ provide a more accurate description of the arena of personal life now than do ‘marriage and the family.’”[20] This concept has been troubling for many, as a family that is defined around a couple in a relationship results in a different basis of authority than ever existed before. In recent times laws have been made defining rape between husband and wife. Previously there was no such protection. This legal recognition belatedly reflects the shifting towards greater equality between men and women in our society. Giddens sees that within the family, this is akin to a process of democratisation.[21]

Democracy is complicated. Instances of democracies across the world span every definition of the word. But for Giddens, democracy, at least politically, includes several key elements. Firstly, a number of political parties that compete for government meaningfully. Secondly, populations who have the right to vote and who take part, and freedoms of discussion, debate and association.[22]

The chapter on democracy comes last in Runaway World. This is because Giddens wishes to present it as the most effective way to approach the challenges that are being faced globally. Historian Robbie Robertson agrees with regards the potential of democratisation. He writes, “democracies enabled more inclusive societies; the empowerment they generated created new synergies and new, unplanned possibilities for economic activity.”[23] I think in many cases this can be observed to be true. That where meaningful democracy exists, also exists a reasonably healthy society.

Here though, the potential for democratisation is seen to encompass much more than the healthy operation and governance of nation-states. Giddens discusses the idea of democracy both above and below the nation. Democracy at the level of personal relationships and in institutions like work and education, but also above the nation-state. Giddens uses for his example the European Union. Despite its flaws, he cites its most important feature “is that the transnational system can actively contribute to democracy within states, as well as between them.”[24]

Regionally – if not yet globally, – if nations can follow the European example of elevating some elements of their own sovereignty, where it is seen as of benefit to all member nations, then the prospects for meaningfully tacking climate change and other transnational problems become promising. This means more than holding conferences and summits. It means acknowledgment of common interests that come before the interests of individual nations alone.

I think we need to understand that nothing has ever truly been as we have understood it to be, and nothing has been particularly sacred or constant. That everything we have ever known has been invented in some form to serve some purpose, and that there is no value in holding on to anything at the expense of cosmopolitan progress and meaningful democratic change. This is not an argument that the old ways are dead. I think in a frightening sense that they are very much still alive. This is an argument that urges these old ways of doing things – ways of doing government, ways of making money, ways of nations interacting with nations, – to be understood quite nakedly, stripped from their romanticism, nostalgia, and traditional associations. Power is not significant or potent when it is amassed together. Power becomes real and compelling when it is distributed, and as Giddens believes, this distribution needs to extend both upwards and down. To include all citizens of a nation, and to include all nations as citizens of the world.

Bibliography:

 

Franklin, J. ed. The Politics of Risk Society. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1998.

Giddens, A. Runaway World. 2^nd ed. London: Profile Books, 2002.

Hobsbawm, E. and Ranger, T., eds. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997.

Robertson, R. The Three Waves of Globalization. London: Zed Books, 2004.

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[1] Giddens, A. Runaway World. 2^nd ed. London: Profile Books, 2002, pp. 2-3.

[2] Ibid., pp. 4-5.

[3] Ibid., pp.12-13.

[4] Ibid., p. 10.

[5] Robertson, R. The Three Waves of Globalization. London: Zed Books, 2004, p. 229.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Franklin, J. ed. The Politics of Risk Society. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1998, p. 3.

[8] Giddens, pp. 21-26.

[9] Giddens, p. 27.

[10] Beck, U. ‘Politics of Risk Society’ in The Politics of Risk Society. ed. J. Franklin, Cambridge: Polity Press, 1998, p. 9.

[11] Ibid., p. 10.

[12] Giddens, p. 41.

[13] Ibid., pp. 18-19.

[14] Ibid., pp. 42-43.

[15] Hobsbawm, E. and Ranger, T., eds. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997, p. 1.

[16] Robertson, pp. 161-166.

[17] Hobsbawm, p. 14.

[18] Giddens, p. 53.

[19] Ibid.

[20] Ibid., p. 59.

[21] Ibid., pp. 62-63.

[22] Ibid., pp. 68-69.

[23] Robertson, p. 230.

[24] Giddens, p. 81.

Nationalism and Identity

What major differences exist between historians of nationalism, how do they justify their positions, and are resolutions of those differences possible?

 

The purpose of this essay is to examine some of the major theories which different historians of nationalism hold; how they justify these theories; and further, whether there can be any resolution between these often very different ideas. These examinations by necessity shall be succinct and confined to the primary elements and strongest voices.

During this process we shall observe some common and recurring themes. These will include but are not limited to: the historicity of nations versus the modernity of nations – are they ancient, or a product of modernity; ancestral and cultural myths and memories; the role of ethnicity; the role of elites; the role of institutions; and, primary and secondary nationalism.

The study of nationalism and identity requires many of the concepts I have mentioned above (and others) to be understood in new and complex ways; either more strictly adhering to their definitions or becoming contextually qualified. They are presented here in a way that hopefully make some of their uses in the literature more instructive.

I intend to approach this essay by firstly briefly discussing what nationalism has been understood to mean by some prominent historians. We shall quickly see that this is predicated upon the concept of nation itself. Therefore, a more in-depth discussion of how the major authors have handled this question logically follows. Within this comes an examination of the formation of a national consciousness. That is, if a nation does exist, how did it come to be and what processes have caused its members to consider themselves thus?

Lastly, in observing that historians of nationalism are rarely ever nationalists themselves (although few deny its power), I want to consider what weight they give national identity amongst the plethora of identities which individuals must assume. That is, having seen in the last section how it might have formed, how important is its subsequent role? I am determined to challenge the notion that national identity is the most essential, an idea which I am hoping the preceding discussions shall help make clear.

Throughout this essay will be consideration of the overarching question of whether these theoretical differences can be resolved, and also what might be the purpose of this resolution. I also wish to make clear from the outset that I shall align my own thinking more closely to the ‘modernist’ orientation.

Before I begin the section on nationalism it might prove useful to give a very brief account (necessarily vague, in-exhaustive and inconclusive) of the four paradigms mentioned above. I have relied heavily on the informative work of Anthony Smith in this undertaking. The modernist paradigm see nations as a product of modernity, that is, following events or changes such as industrialisation, capitalism, the enlightenment, and the French Revolution; and/or they were necessary to fill a social-political void and were facilitated by ‘invented traditions’ and the imaginings made possible by ‘print-capitalism’. Primordialism assumes that there is something essential or natural about the nation, that it has been present from the very beginning of human history. It might consider that members of these nations presume that links of blood, language or culture are somehow ineffable. Perennialism is primarily a historical perspective and differs between those who observe the continuity or persistence of particular nations throughout history; and those who see the concept of the nation itself as perennial, if not particular nations themselves. Ethno-Symbolism is more concerned with subjective elements and considers the influence upon nation formation of early collective cultural identities. It sees nations as coexisting with other forms of collective identity yet asserting a peculiar emotional hold over its members, and emphasizes the analyses of the cultural factors of this over an extended period of history.[1]

I shall now turn to talking about the idea of ‘nationalism’ itself. What I want to clarify is this: when we hear the term used in the public discourse or historical literature – whether derogatively, analytically, politically or historically – what exactly is meant?

I owe to Kosaku Yoshina my understanding of the distinction between primary nationalism, aimed at forging national identity and realising specific goals; and secondary nationalism, aimed at the maintenance or re-invigoration of identity in established nations.[2] The focus of this essay will be almost exclusively on primary nationalism.

Nationalism is often popularly confused with patriotism. This confusion could forgivably be attributed to the conflation of the separate concepts of nation and state. Historians generally agree that patriotism and nationalism do have a relationship of sorts, but conceptually they remain quite separate. Nationalism, although often coloured with patriotic language of love of one’s country, in reality embodies much more specific aims that are not necessarily consistent with that of the regime or state it finds itself within. As Daniele Conversi points out “[n]ationalism is indeed a movement aimed at challenging or capturing the existing political order’s legitimacy”[3]

Therefore nationalism can be seen as something that can exist independently of the state,[4] whereas patriotism is considered a product of, or even sometimes a reaction to the state.[5] Yet, to John Breuilly “[n]ationalism is inconceivable without the state and vice versa.”[6] He writes that “the concept of state modernization provides the key to contextualizing nationalism.”[7] This is a common understanding that sees nationalism as a prominent feature of modernity. Yet despite the readily accepted power of nationalism, there is some disagreement over its role as an ideology. Benedict Anderson speaks of its “philosophical poverty and… incoherence”[8], whereas the staunch modernist Elie Kedouri considered it in the 1960s as “a comprehensive doctrine which leads to a distinctive style of politics. But far from being a universal phenomenon, it is a product of European thought in the last 150 years.”[9]

The modernist theme continues, perhaps because, even if nations did exist in medieval or ancient times, their being the primary concern of a political or cultural movement is a modern phenomena. Ernest Gellner has to some extent tried to explain it in loose economic terms as “a phenomenon connected not so much with industrialisation or modernisation as such, but with its uneven diffusion.”[10]  That is to say, that the competitive forces and imbalances of power associated with these created the perfect ‘other’ for both the powerful and the powerless to oppose themselves against. An example of this might be the Nazi rhetoric concerning the perceived affluence of German Jews limiting the opportunities of other Germans; or, conversely, the sort of rhetoric one heard from the One Nation Party in Australia in the late 1990s, aimed at limiting the sharing of ‘wealth’ perceived as belonging to the nation

The immigration policies of the major political parties during the 1980s and 1990s have proven disastrous, proceeding as if there was no balance of payments problem, no foreign debt and no geographical or environmental constraints to population growth. If continued, such immigration policy will irreversibly alter the natural and urban environments, economic viability as well and [sic] undermining the maintenance and further development of a unique and valuable Australian identity and culture.[11]

Notice herein the themes of maintaining unique culture and identity. The idea of maintaining an identity is a part of what is known as secondary nationalism, as mentioned at the start of this section. This is where the state (and, for Yoshino the marketplace of ideas and culture[12]) takes an active role in promoting and preserving the way a nation sees itself. Both of these elements present further complications to our understanding. Anthony Smith manages to connect these elements with the other primary concerns usually involved when defining nationalism. To him, nationalism can be considered an “ideological movement for attaining and maintaining autonomy, unity and identity for a population which some of its members deem to constitute an actual or potential ‘nation’.”[13]

Smith’s view encompasses many of the factors which have arisen in this section – although, consistent with the ethno-symbolist paradigm he shies away from any reliance on a modern condition. As such, and albeit with that qualification, I present it here as a more comprehensive definition of nationalism than is offered by other authors, and; one that is less reliant upon – and thus more inclusive of – the specific nuances of a case in point.

As the previous discussion has shown, definitions in the historiography of nationalism elicit less academic opposition the more inclusive they are. Controversy arises when one attempts to say ‘this is how it is’. Hobsbawm shows his awareness of this when he writes “we are trying to fit historically novel, emerging, changing and, even today, far from universal entities into a framework of permanence and universality.”[14]

If we set aside for a moment whatever trepidation we might feel towards Hobsbawm’s overtly modernist approach, the most important lesson this passage yields is an emphasis on change. Whatever a nation has been or may yet become is not what it shall always remain. This is, I believe, where the key differences among historians of nationalism reach an impasse. When a nationalist or an historian of nationalism set out to say ‘this is what a nation is’, their claim must cross the divide between history and modernity; between objectivity and subjectivity; between ethnicity and culture; between territory and homeland.

Yet if we accept the notion of the ‘philosophical poverty’ of nationalism, how can we seriously expect to define a social phenomenon that quite often knowingly relies upon half-truths and fabrications? The problem lies in the disconcerting truth that for every example that exists which fits one’s definition, there are probably several others which do not.

It has been common to focus on the objective elements of nationhood. These are things which are easily measurable and observable. Often quoted is Joseph Stalin’s definition: “a nation is a historically evolved, stable community of language, territory, economic life and psychological make-up manifested in a community of culture.”[15] It appears straightforward, yet it runs the risk of becoming a tool of exclusion rather than one of inclusion. But then, this often seems to be a primary aim of nationalism, as illustrated by the One Nation Party policy used as an example earlier.

Whether for better or worse, Benedict Anderson instructs us that “nation-ness is the most universally legitimate value in the political life of our time.”[16] Therefore, if we rely on an objective definition of the nation such as the one proposed by Stalin, we risk giving legitimacy to the homogenizing forces that history has shown time and again to be more than willing to exclude individuals (often quite violently, though perhaps more often not so violently) from their societies.[17] To further criticize this definition and its approach, one need only ask certain questions of it. Such as, how many years constitutes ‘historical evolution’, and what might have been the role of key actors in shaping that process? If the country we now know as France was once ruled by the descendents of the Franks whilst the majority of the population were peasants descended from Gaulish tribes, then, according to the objective definition – how could a French nation possibly have existed until after the revolution in the late 18^th Century brought forced adherence to the French Language? Did the different regions with their own vernaculars and their own economic life (remember, France was divided into a number of généralités each with quite varied taxes and laws[18]) then fall into this definition of a nation? They could be said to possess all of these objective criteria.

It is precisely problems such as these that has led to criticisms of objective definitions of nations. An approach which differs to this is one that emphasizes the subjective elements that are said to make up the nation. This refers to intangible notions of community, shared memories, common culture and history and so forth. One of the more famous ideas that follows this line of thinking is Benedict Anderson’s concept of the ‘imagined community’ created by the modern forces of ‘print-capitalism’.[19]

Part of his at times confusing argument is the idea that humans required a modern ‘apprehension’ of time (covering notions of ‘empty time’, ‘horizontal time’, history as cause and effect, and calendar time. Time, that is, divorced from the divine) to be able to imagine a community such as a nation existing.[20] This ‘apprehension’ was further enhanced by the advances of the secular sciences and brought to the literate through popular newspapers.

If the role of ‘print-capitalism’ as Anderson instructs us is true – and I don’t suppose that it isn’t – then it is imperative to recognise and observe that the content which thus creates this ‘imagined community’ of the nation is shaped and controlled by forces with their own motives and agendas, be they political, economic or otherwise. Controversy has been used to sell news, just as censorship has been used to suppress it.

Moreover, (and I apologize for the over-simplification) does the reader of one newspaper then ‘imagine’ the community differently from that of a reader of a different newspaper? If one were to survey readers of Melbourne newspapers The Age and The Herald Sun on how they conceive the Australian nation (assuming such a thing exists), would each readership return different results?

Anthony Smith criticizes relying on subjective definitions when creating understanding of the nation as too vague[21], but also finds subjective-objective (an amalgamation of both) definitions problematic for what I will call the ‘glass-slipper effect’, whereby only a true instance of the phenomenon in question (Cinderella’s foot or the nation) can fit the definition (the slipper), and instances which don’t conform (the ugly stepsisters) are either altered to fit (in some stories they mutilated their own feet) or discarded (in other stories the prince cut off their heads). Herein lies the problem of trying to create final definitions for what are – as we have already learned – changing phenomenon.

Despite this, there is something quite important that can be learned from studying subjective definitions of the nation. That is the role of identity. Miroslav Hroch speaks of the various relationships that tie large groupings of people together. The following passage of his work emphasizes three of these as irreplaceable:

a memory of a common past, treated as a destiny of the group; a density of linguistic or religious ties enabling a higher degree of social communication within the group than beyond it; and a conception of the equality of all members of the group organized as a civil society.[22]

Of particular note here is the emphasis on ‘equality of all members’ and ‘civil society’. These are ideas generally only likely to be found articulated in the modern period, rather than the middle-ages or earlier. And yet, is Hroch correct in saying that these three relationships are irreplaceable, and together suggest nation-ness? Maybe, but I think Hobsbawm comes closer to the truth when he argues that “we cannot assume that… national identification… excludes or is always or ever superior to, the remainder of the set of identifications which constitute the social being.”[23]

With these two cases in mind, and, to persevere with Anderson’s ‘imagined community’, surely much stronger than the idea of a common history must be the very real, tangible everyday institutional interactions and relationships that people experience and are aware of others experiencing. Hobsbawm manages to eloquently capture this vital perspective in his work ‘Nations and Nationalism Since 1780’. He writes of nations:

For this reason they are, in my view, dual phenomena, constructed essentially from above, but which cannot be understood unless also analysed from below, that is in terms of the assumptions, hopes, needs, longings and interests of ordinary people, which are not necessarily national and still less nationalist.[24]

There are times when these factors, which although shared belong exclusively to individuals, override the importance that people might attach to being part of (as opposed to simply belonging to) a nation.

If we consider global migration patterns, particularly following the Second World War but certainly for many centuries prior, there is a clear pattern that shows there exists in individuals minds higher priorities than some definitions of nations and nationalism suggest. Cultural barriers can be reduced through learning, understanding and a willingness to engage. Especially when not fleeing war or natural disaster, migration is generally a permanent or temporary attempt to better the relationship that the individual has with the institutions of society such as employment, education, politics, the community, and so on. Often these needs and hopes are exploited or misused by governments or companies as can be witnessed by cases of indentured labour,[25] and the experiences of Turkish migrants to Germany who were encouraged by the government to supply unskilled labour in the 1950s, then offered cash incentives to leave in the 1980s. The result being that many of Germany’s 2.6 million Turks today do not feel welcome in the only country that they know.[26]

Care must be taken here not to suggest, in the absence of a national identity which Smith defines the ideal as “distinguished by its concern for collective character and its historical-cultural basis”,[27] a reversion to the Marxist view that says individuals posses a single primary identity – economic. While an individuals relationship, participation and sense of opportunity with regard to the economic life that surrounds them is strongly influential, “the assumptions, hopes, needs, longings and interests of ordinary people”[28] extend much further than being simply a product of these circumstances.

George Schöpflin writes of the unwelcome return of identity politics to Europe after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989. The reason for this, he says, is because “the supremacy of the state went unquestioned until the 1980s… In this very stable order, collective identities had no serious, explicit role to play.”[29] This theory finds some support in the work of Walker Connor who insightfully highlights what may be a major contradiction of modern state politics. He argues “legitimacy cannot be inferred from a peaceful situation.”[30] Therefore, a state does not need legitimacy to function. To return to the argument of Anderson that “nation-ness is the most universally legitimate value in the political life of our time”,[31] the question which comes to my mind is this: is the political need for nation-ness as rationally obscure as that legitimating rule by ‘divine right’?

As this discussion has revealed, the differences between historians of nationalism are varied and great. What needs to be understood if these differences are ever to be resolved is this: whatever role nations or nationalism may have played in the pre-modern age, much more important are their present manifestations. The notion of relying on such vagaries as a common or shared history might be perfectly adequate when trying to understand what draws large groupings of people together, yet becomes absurd when considering the reasons behind one nation opposing itself to another. In the majority of cases, the reality will be that these opponents have much more in common with each other than either of them have with their ancestral forebears of even one hundred or two hundred years ago. What they have in common is that they are made up of individuals with needs, fears, dreams, hopes and wants who see in the nation something that can protect them from the changing forces in the globalizing world. Conflict arises when groupings find themselves having to share their favourable relationship to a local or global economy with those whom they see as different from themselves, and these fears about sharing are upheld by a perversion of the economic rationale of scarcity, the perception that there is not always enough to ‘go around.’ A society does not distribute benefits to all its members in equal proportion to their contributions. When the welfare state is supposedly governed of the people and by the people, the role nationalism plays is to judge who those people are; but the nation, like the dynastic regimes of old, is also susceptible to the forces of change and the growing consciousness of the people who believe themselves under its protection.

Bibliography

Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities 2^nd ed., London: Verso, 1991.

Breuilly, John. ‘The State and Nationalism’, in M. Guibernau and J. Hutchinson (eds.), Understanding Nationalism, Cambridge, Polity Press, 2001, pp.32-53.

Connor, Walker. ‘Nationalism and Political Illegitimacy’ in Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World: Walker Connor and the Study of Nationalism, ed. D. Conversi. London: Routledge, 2000.

Conversi, Daniele. Introduction to Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World: Walker Connor and the Study of Nationalism, ed. D. Conversi. London: Routledge, 2000.

Hobsbawm, E. J. Nations and Nationalism Since 1780: Programme, Myth, Reality 2^nd ed., Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.

Hroch, Miroslav. ‘Real and constructed: the nature of the nation’ in The State of the Nation. ed. J. A. Hall, Cambridge University Press, 1998, pp.91-107.

Kedourie, Elie. Nationalism 4^th ed., Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 1993.

Muller, Jerry Z. ‘Us and them: the enduring power of ethnic nationalism’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 87, No 2, March-April 2008, pp. 18-36

Pauline Hanson’s One Nation, Immigration, Population and Social Cohesion Policy 1998. Available: http://www.australianpolitics.com/parties/onenation/immigration-policy-98.shtml, Accessed: 11/05/2008.

Robertson, Robbie, The Three Waves of Globalization, London: Zed Books, 2004.

Schöpflin, George. Nations, Identity, Power, New York: New York University Press, 2000.

Smith, Anthony D. Nationalism. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2001.

Szporluk, Roman. ‘Thoughts about change: Ernest Gellner and the history of nationalism’ in The State of the Nation. ed. J. A. Hall, Cambridge University Press, 1998, pp.23-40.

The Economist Magazine website, Germany’s Turkish Minority: two unamalgamated worlds. Available: http://www.economist.com/world/europe/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10958534&CFID=6452871&CFTOKEN=43293919, Accessed: 22/5/08.

Townson, Duncan France in Revolution, London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1990, p. 12

Yoshino, Kosaku. ‘Japan’s Nationalism in a Marketplace Perspective’, in M. Guibernau and J. Hutchinson (eds.), Understanding Nationalism, Cambridge, Polity Press, 2001, pp.142-64.

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[1] Anthony D. Smith. Nationalism, Cambridge: Polity, 2003, pp.45-60.

[2] Kosaku Yoshino, ‘Japan’s Nationalism in a Marketplace Perspective’, in M. Guibernau and J. Hutchinson (eds.), Understanding Nationalism, Cambridge, Polity Press, 2001, p.142.

[3] Daniele Conversi. Introduction to Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World, ed. D. Conversi. London: Routledge, 2000, p.6.

[4] Smith, p.16.

[5] E. J. Hobsbawm Nations and Nationalism since 1780 programme myth and reality 2^nd ed., Cambridge: Canto, 1992, pp. 89-90.

[6] John Breuilly, ‘The State and Nationalism’, in M. Guibernau and J. Hutchinson (eds.), Understanding Nationalism, Cambridge, Polity Press, 2001, p.32.

[7] Breuilly, p.51.

[8] Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities 2^nd ed. London: Verso, 1991, p.5.

[9] Elie Kedourie, Nationalism 4^th ed. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 1993, p.68.

[10] E. Gellner, Thought and Change, London, 1965, p.72, quoted in Roman Szporluk. ‘Thoughts about change: Ernest Gellner and the history of nationalism’ in The State of the Nation. ed. J. A. Hall, Cambridge University Press, 1998, pp.23-40.

[11] Pauline Hanson’s One Nation, Immigration, Population and Social Cohesion Policy 1998. Available: http://www.australianpolitics.com/parties/onenation/immigration-policy-98.shtml, Accessed: 11/05/2008.

[12] Yoshino, p.142.

[13] Smith,  p.9.

[14] Hobsbawm, p.6.

[15] Joseph Stalin. In Smith, p.11.

[16]Anderson, p.3.

[17] Jerry Z. Muller, ‘Us and them: the enduring power of ethnic nationalism’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 87, No 2, March-April 2008, pp. 18-36

[18] Duncan Townson, France in Revolution, London, Hodder & Stoughton, 1990, p. 12

[19] Anderson, pp.42-5.

[20] Ibid., pp.23-6.

[21] Smith, pp.11-12.

[22] Miroslav Hroch. ‘Real and constructed: the nature of the nation’ in The State of the Nation. ed. J. A. Hall, Cambridge University Press, 1998, pp.93-4.

[23] Hobsbawm, p.11.

[24] Ibid., p.10.

[25] Robbie Robertson, The Three Waves of Globalization, London: Zed Books, 2004, p.145.

[26] The Economist Magazine website, Germany’s Turkish Minority: two unamalgamated worlds. Available http://www.economist.com/world/europe/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10958534&CFID=6452871&CFTOKEN=43293919, Accessed: 22/5/08.

[27] Smith, p.27.

[28] Hobsbawm, p10.

[29] George Schöpflin, Nations, Identity, Power, New York: New York University Press, 2000, p.13.

[30] Walker Connor, ‘Nationalism and Political Illegitimacy’ in Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World: Walker Connor and the Study of Nationalism, ed. D. Conversi. London: Routledge, 2000, pp.37-38.

[31] Anderson, p.3.

An Essay on “Thinking globally and acting locally”

“Thinking globally and acting locally” is an often used phrase concerning sustainability. Can local action ever really address global threats and trends?

Sustainability is a global issue. Within the current narrative of economic development; sustainability of the economy, of the environment, of society and of culture itself will mean perhaps the dramatic reshaping of the global economy. This is confronting for many current political leaders who seem to see especially the environment and the economy as at odds with one another. They are correct. The current global economic paradigm is one fundamentally based upon the exploitation of resources and people. Within this context the question is raised as to whether local action can ever really address global threats and trends to remedy and halt the considerable detriment caused to the environment. Whatever the answer may be, another question is raised as to whether there is even an alternative to local action while a distinctive lack of domestic political will for change continues to be observable; a pattern of “thinking globally and doing nothing locally.”

Transportation is one of the key issues where enormous reform of expectations and use are needed. The burning of fuels derived from oil is one of the largest contributors to carbon emissions that are affecting the stability of the earth’s climate. This essay seeks to examine the question of local action against the role of transport: it’s trends, it’s threats, and it’s opportunities. To do this it is necessary to explore and understand just what constitutes ‘local’ and ‘local action’, and what relevance this has to ‘thinking globally’. This essay both argues and assumes that car use is an instigator and perpetuator of social, economic, and environmental problems; and is by no means a benign convenience, nor mark of civilization or achievement. However the current paradigm which exists must be acknowledged, and an interpretation of cases where urban form and transportation modes have been successfully re-thought must follow, to discover whether these localized initiatives can achieve global significance.

Finally, to be considered is the reality that individual action in addressing the issue of transportation is both economically and socially restrictive; how then do we deal with the personal discouragement and self-denial which seems to be the prerequisite for social and environmental altruism?

In understanding and realising the potential of local action it is necessary to arrive at some sort of definition for the term. There are many relative and qualitative interpretations of what local action could mean when discussing the sustainability of transport, particularly private transport. In some ways, local action here is the same thing as individual action, especially in Australia with our high reliance and aspiration to individual transportation in the form of the car. It is considered a ‘rite of passage’. To take action in reducing the number of motor vehicle trips generally requires the commitment of the individual to find alternatives. But however much the individual is motivated by political, economic, or environmental concerns, and however essential this is for assisting change,  it does not quite arrive at what should really be considered local action.

Of course, if we take the definition that describes local as being a part of a whole, then the scope is considerably widened as to what local action might involve. It begins to encompass nations and governments operating within their wider region. But while this may be local in a global sense, and the role and importance of governments in providing policy and legislation is unquestionable, and while they certainly have their own mandate in the push towards transport sustainability, many feel disempowered and uninvolved by the lack of progressive will and inability to move away from the status-quo.

It is this un-involvement which leads us to a meaningful perspective on local, for what remains is the inherently human need to identify themselves with others and the physical world. There is no need here to engage in any form of analyses over why humans are socially and personally dependent upon others and their environs, but suffice to say that this essay recognises it to be so. True local action involves communities working together to achieve change in their city and its environs through combination of local government and committees, collectives of individuals, and interest groups representing business.

To affect individual choice and to change car use habits which are practically considered rights requires progressive policy that is accepting of the uncomfortable truth that;

private automobiles create manifold problems: their cost and fuel needs drain wealth from a community; they are the major source of urban pollution; commuting is time consuming and often exasperating; and much urban space is devoted to cars, harming the ecology, economy, and social life of cities. (Roelofs 1996: 14)

Policy within a national framework which engages with and has adaptability for local communities is required. It is unfortunate that many of the examples to follow of local private and public transport initiatives which have had favourable environmental, social, and economic outcomes have not made their way upwards as models into national policy making.

Cars have almost redefined the effective meaning of local for individuals, bestowing the opportunity to travel increased distances at the utmost of personal convenience, and yet it remains that a high proportion of recorded car journeys are over short distances. Observing the British statistics examined by Mayer Hillman (1990: 68) it shows that of journeys under 1.6km in 1985-1986, 51% were made by car, outweighing walking as the next most common mode by 17%. These are incredibly local journeys, which poses the question as to whether the car is a means of acting locally, that does not think globally, or even of the local social consequences caused by “the growing dominance of the system of motorised mobility and its effects; ever-increasing speed, distance and dispersal alongside the erosion of ‘local community’, conviviality and ‘nature’.” (Horton 2006)

Roseland, using the research of Elsworth  and Tunali (1995 and 1996 respectively) which estimates the number of new cars per year at between 38 and 50 million, states that “our obsession with the automobile is clearly unsustainable” (Roseland 1998: 107). Writing in 1969, the economist E.F. Schumacher with reference to the county of Los Angeles describes the “monstrous inefficiency of needing nearly 4 million cars for 7 million people.” He quotes an unnamed Californian professor saying that “this does not indicate a high standard of living, but the terrible cost of transportation” (Schumacher 1998: 91).

Dave Horton (2006) makes use of the work of Carley and Spapens in concluding that “growing car ownership and use has accelerated the stretched-out and sprawling character of different parts of daily life”. He follows this by asserting that “Urban sprawl contributes to, among other things, increased air pollution, traffic congestion, ‘wasted’ time, obesity, falling public involvement, declining social interaction and deteriorating quality of life” (Horton 2006). These negative externalities and costs which Horton describes are not borne by the individual motorist when they purchase their cars, fuel, and parking. Doubtless if they were, despite their almost incalculable nature, the costs of these externalities would make individual automobile ownership incredibly prohibitive.

Their currently exists no equivalent environmentally and socially benign alternative to the sort of individual transportation that the automobile provides. Change to a completely green fuel source is both prohibited by the strength of the oil industry, and is seemingly pointless, as it will do nothing to exacerbate the traffic congestion of our cities. Herein lies one of the biggest barriers in the reformation of the global transport trend, and that is the accurate and objective recognition of the problems. The Progress in Planning (Mazza, L & Rydin, Y 1997: 22) issue dealing with urban sustainability says of the city of Edinburgh; “traffic restraint does not seem to rank very high in the policy agenda, although the problem of congestion attracts a fair degree of public concern.” Roseland identifies that “all too often, transportation planning takes projected demand as a given and attempts to satisfy it rather than trying to reduce it” (Roseland 1998: 112).

There are many example of where local communities and cities have proactively worked towards addressing many of the above issues in a progressive manner. They have identified the vehicle which provides the greatest environmental, economic and social outcomes for individual urban transport;

Bicycles are ideal for use in highly congested urban centers and thus can play an important role in sustainable transportation strategies. They avoid air pollution and high levels of fuel consumption associated with low-vehicle operating speeds and short distance, cold start trips. (Roseland 1998: 113)

And also identified is the impediment – “cities must now stress reduction of single-occupancy vehicle trips as the only way to achieve improved air quality, reduce energy consumption contributing to atmospheric change, and relieve traffic congestion” (Roseland 1998: 111).

Freiburg in Germany is often identified as a model city when talking about the success of traffic-calming measures; measures designed to slow, divert and remove car traffic. It is clear here that transport issues and policy were not examined from the perspective simply of a deficit of road infrastructure. The measure of the “vitality and viability” of an urban centre is often seen in terms of the number of cars moving in and out, and so “urban policy for traffic gets directly to the economy-environment interrelation which the concept of sustainable development seeks to tackle” (Mazza, L & Rydin, Y 1997: 17), but the response often remains fixated on increasing parking and building ring-roads. Increase of capacity results in increased use, and many diversionary measures only serve to economically isolate some areas in favour of others.

Roseland (1998: 111) identifies that “the concept of  ‘sustainable transportation’ calls for a more holistic approach to community planning, policy, and investment” and shows how Freiburg has used this principle to keep car use constant between 1976 and 1991, whilst increasing public transport use by 53% and cycle trips by 96%. The success is attributed to “sharply restricting automobile use in the city; providing affordable, convenient and safe alternatives to auto use; and strictly regulating development to ensure a compact land-use pattern conducive to public transport, bicycling, and walking” (1998: 114).

The key concern is how to adapt these ideas to suit other cities already locked into automobile independence. How can other local communities make use of the success and experiences of a city like Freiburg in countering the global automobile fixation that both allows and leads to suburbanization and sprawl? Mees sees the need to avoid the “infrastructure and technology fetishism” which has an extraordinary hold on the public imagination, the popular press, and the community of transport experts (Mees 2000: 82). Perhaps the most effective form of public transport which can lead the move away from car dependence will be the bus. The “relatively low costs of entry to the industry mean that private sector funds can flow into bus provision. This contrasts with the high costs of fixed rail projects, which require public capital subsidies” (Mazza, L & Rydin, Y 1997: 29). What is needed in replacement of infrastructure solutions then, are strategies to improve pricing, routes, timetabling, flexibility and marketing of bus services. These strategies are then much more easily adopted as models for other cities than fixed infrastructure which is forced to adapt to the local unique physical characteristics of a city, and whose engineering complexity alienates from the planning process the main beneficiaries of public transport; the public.

How then do we counter this obsession with infrastructure and technology, and as individuals not become discouraged in participating with or creating local action to change the nature of urban transport to that which is more efficient, less polluting, quieter and healthier, and resulting in a reduction in congestion. How, as individuals do we overcome the reality that “those who do not drive become second-class citizens” and that the roads which cars demand “separate neighbours and prevent intermingling” (Roelofs 1996: 14). Roseland (1998: 109) in reporting on Donald Appleyard’s 1969 study on the relationship between low traffic streets and increased community, finds that “on the light-traffic street, residents were found to have three times as many local friends and twice as many acquaintances as those on the heavy-traffic street.” John Roberts advocates;

making people realise the absurdity of each driving themselves, to the threshold where the congestion they create not only brings them to a wholly uneconomic standstill, it adversely affects green mode users too (Roberts 1990: 40)

What this shows is that a reduction in private car use is not only beneficial to the environment and the functioning of a city, but that it also brings many positive social effects relating to community interaction and equity of access.

It is clear from this discussion of both the need to reduce private automobile dependence and of the social, ecological and even economic benefits that this could bring. When we consider the relationship between local action and global threats and trends, there is a tendency towards the assumption that the ‘global’ means elsewhere in the world. Yet it is known that “Australian cities are amongst the world’s heaviest consumers of transport energy” (Newman 2006: 128) with around 13 per cent of city wealth spent on transport, compared to cities with highly patronized public transport networks, such as Tokyo spending only 5 per cent on transport. Newman concludes that the “cities with the best public transport and least car dependence are working better economically” (Newman 2006: 128).

So from this there remains little ambiguity as to where a significant part of the global threat, and the clear leader of the global trend, is really coming from. Developed Western nations have set the standards for automobile abuse which have become an aspiration and goal for developing countries. Not to say that were ‘we’ to lead, that the world would necessarily follow, but there certainly seems to be an obligation to set the standard for greener transport. As we have seen, the advantages of doing so for individual communities are local and are claimed by that community, negating the need for fully self-sacrificing altruism.

And yet while this is fairly easy to comprehend, Roberts goes on to conclude of our inability to reduce automobile dependence; simply that “rationality does not seem to be wholly adequate as a cause for change” (1990: 45). While local authorities remain in control of their transport issues, with the absence of any clear progressive vision, it seems that it shall only be as each city reaches its own transport ‘critical mass’ that meaningful change will be realised.

References:

– Roelofs, Joan (1996) Greening Cities: Building Just and Sustainable Communities. New York: The Bootstrap Press.

– Hillman, Mayer (1990) Planning for the green modes: a critique of public policy and practice. In The Greening of Urban Transport, ed. Rodney Tolley. London: Belhaven Press.

– Horton, Dave (2006) Environmentalism and the bicycle. In Environmental Politics. 15(1): 41-58.           

– Roseland, Mark (1998) Towards Sustainable Communities. Canada: New Society Publishers.

– Schumacher, E.F. (1998) This I Believe. Devon: Resurgence.

– Mazza, L & Rydin, Y (1997) Urban Sustainability: Discourses, Networks and Policy Tools. In Progress in Planning, ed. D. Diamond & B. Massan. Exeter: Elsevier Science. 47(1)

– Mees (2000) A Very Public Solution, MUP, Chapter 3 (pp77-95)

– Roberts, John (1990) The Economic Case for Green Modes. In The Greening of Urban Transport, ed. Rodney Tolley. London: Belhaven Press.

– Newman, Peter (2006) Urban Design and Transport. In In Search of Sustainability, ed. J Goldie, B Douglas, B Furnass. Collingwood: CSIRO Publishing.