Article Review: Martin Wolf – ‘The Market Crosses Borders’

 ‘The Market Crosses Borders’ – Martin Wolf, from Why Globalization Works.

The excerpt titled ‘The Market Crosses Borders’ from Martin Wolf’s 2004 book Why Globalization Works focuses primarily upon the conflict between the ability and desire of markets to cross territorial borders; and the role states and governments play in regulating the movement of goods, services, labour and capital across these borders. Wolf discusses this conflict with reference to the following key factors of global economic integration; trade, capital and labour, before considering the further implications of geography and policy.

Wolf is a strong proponent of globalisation and economic liberalization. His intellectual origins – and the economic principle of comparative advantage which permeates this work – are heralded with an opening quote taken from Adam Smith’s …the Wealth of Nations. In this extract, Wolf expounds the thesis that ‘conflict between the natural tendency of markets to cross borders and the need for the states that define those borders to support markets is at the heart of all the challenges created by a global economy.’[1]

Revealingly, the recognition of this fundamental challenge comes in the introduction to this passage, wherein Wolf subtly assembles a disparaging view of the role of states in a global economy.

Wolf does this by explaining his own role in the global division of labour, and his own experience of markets crossing borders, largely in the form of consumer items available to him that are made elsewhere. The positive view espoused is no doubt informed by his favourable geographical situation, a determinant that Wolf returns to in more detail. He then creates a reasonable sounding implication that the operation of markets is fundamentally good, because those who engage in transactions ‘expect to be made better off’ by them.[2]

It should, however, require no debate that the reality frequently falls short of the expectation, and that these transactions are not engaged upon by equal parties. But at this point, Wolf’s preference is to discuss the inequalities of states, rather than that of other economic actors. Indeed, his emphasis on the statistics put under the heading of a country’s external transactions having little to do with the state itself serves to further sideline for the reader the role of the state in the operation of markets.

Wolf’s subsequent claim that ‘political institutions behave as if the welfare of foreigners counted for far less than those of nationals and residents’[3], when read with his analysis of inequalities in the capacities and efficacy of states domestically and internationally – which, he says, ‘makes for black holes in the world economy’[4] – completes this somewhat biased view. That is, that the opportunities and benefits of cosmopolitan markets are inhibited by states seeking to distort the operation of markets in the favour of its citizens, often at the expense of foreigners.

But although Wolf is certainly in favour of  liberalization of  markets and of controls imposed at borders, Wolf does not see liberalization as an all-or-nothing pursuit, nor even as an end in itself.[5] Rather, he is in favour of that which facilitates the freeing of movement of the elements of production between different jurisdictions. Herein, using examples of  South Korea, Taiwan, Chile and China, Wolf perceives a causal link between economic liberalization, economic growth and democratization, a contention which he cannot resist following with an unsupported reference to western leftists’ admiration for totalitarian China.[6]

This coincides with one of the more contradictory ideas explored in this article. Like Sachs et al.,[7] Wolf sees geography as being the main determinant of poverty, and muses that perhaps the ‘simplest thing we can do to alleviate mass human poverty is to allow people to move freely or their labour services to be traded freely.’[8]

Yet, in light of Wolf’s discussion of the increasing returns compounded by ‘agglomerations of skills,’[9] he does not seem to be seriously advocating an acceleration of the drain of skills from the poorer countries to the rich (which already occurs, as he rightly points out). In any case, this would not be the market crossing borders, but rather people crossing from one labour market to another; a subsumption of the poor into the wealthy societies of the rich.

It is in this area of people and labour that Wolf seems to struggle to find a standpoint as neatly anti-regulation and anti-government as he managed with his sections on trade and capital.[10] But despite his lack of surety, this freeing of labour seems to be the strongest recommendation in Wolf’s conclusion. Thus, while his convictions are well argued, it is the paramount role of people in a world economy on which Wolf finds himself confounded by the fundamental challenge he earlier identified between markets and states.

 

References:

Sachs, J., Mellinger, A., and  Gallup, J., ‘The Geography of Poverty and Wealth’, in Sharad Chari and Stuart Corbridge (eds.), The Development Reader, Abingdon, Oxon, Routledge, 2008, pp. 9-13.

Wolf, M., ‘The Market Crosses Borders’, in Sharad Chari and Stuart Corbridge (eds.), The Development Reader, Abingdon, Oxon, Routledge, 2008, pp. 401-9.

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[1] Martin Wolf, ‘The Market Crosses Borders’, in Sharad Chari and Stuart Corbridge (eds.), The Development Reader, Abingdon, Oxon, Routledge, 2008, p. 402.

[2] Ibid., p. 402.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid., p. 403.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid., p. 404.

[7] J. Sachs, A. Mellinger, and  J. Gallup, ‘The Geography of Poverty and Wealth’, in Sharad Chari and Stuart Corbridge (eds.), The Development Reader, Abingdon, Oxon, Routledge, 2008, pp. 9-13.

[8] Wade, p. 406.

[9] Ibid., p. 407.

[10] Ibid., pp. 404-6.

The Human-Nature Relationship and the Social and Physical World

How do we reconcile the human-nature relationship to take into account both the social and physical world?

The relationship between nature and humans is such that it lets us arrive at no easy answers when attempting to analyse it. Instead it poses questions, and provides us with opposing viewpoints that attempt to define just exactly what that relationship is. Sociology generally has not given this relationship too much thought, until the 1970s when ‘environmental sociology’ began to emerge as a discipline in its own right.

Sociology, almost by definition is anthropocentric, in that it is the study of human society and solely interested in human relations. Nature and wilderness on the other hand have been seen as something outside of the human experience or realm. We see our world in terms of culture, the distinctive learned aspects of our society, involving both built culture, the material objects we create, and the more intangible examples like language and ceremony and law. Culture is the lens with which we use to interpret our world.

The role of sociology here then is to define perspectives of viewing and perceiving the environment which transcend cultural limitations of understanding. This is necessary because the extent of our culture and society is such that it leaves many individuals feeling dissociated from the natural world.

Following on from this comes interpretations of the nature of ‘wilderness’. Like all constructions, this too is subject to the cultural lens, and so conflict arises when different values and uses are ascribed to the environment. This has been influentially described by Peter Hay as “the ambivalence of the wilderness.”

This ambivalence is represented in sociological perspectives that seek to understand the human interpretation of the natural world. To be highlighted are the ‘mild social-constructionism’ and ‘critical realist’ approaches, as these are both useful, moderate perspectives that acknowledge their own fallibility.

Whatever the definitions or value placed upon wilderness and the environment, the reality that humans are a part of the natural world and require its resources for survival is undeniable. Perhaps the role which environmental sociology needs to play is that which will resolve the complacent construction that resources are endless so that it achieves some practical meaning in terms of changing human patterns of consumption. Here is the need to distinguish between natural capital and natural income, recognizing that the use of one is exploitive, and the other sustainable; in resolving this, perhaps it will finally reconcile the human-nature relationship and divide.

It is not hard to imagine or understand why many people feel dissociated from nature. But it is also a feeling which is hard to define. This dissociation can be attributed to our culture, both materially and immaterially, and its effect of insulating us from the natural world. Our clothing, housing, transport and all other conveniences and comforts all serve to limit the awareness we each have of being a physical organic body existing within an environment that is human independent and indifferent.

Pointed out by Simmons (1993: 66) is an emergent anthropological perspective of the 1960s that “humans were not behaviourally homogenous in the way of many animal species, and that an understanding of the ecological required a knowledge of the social.” What this means is humans can exhibit quite varied cultural practices as a result of their environment, and that a greater knowledge of our social needs is required to understand our ecological relationship; especially when this relationship becomes exploitative.

As societies made the early transition from hunter-gatherer to agrarian means of subsistence and economy there arose the basic principles that would underpin the fundamental conflict that now exists between industrial and post-industrial society, where the nature dissociation is greatest, and the environment. The hunter-gatherer society functioned with the aim of meeting the primary needs of its members of food and shelter. Any trading that occurred involved the exchange of goods directly related to the tools needed for clothing, hunting and food preparation. In contrast, the agrarian society required the creation of surplus so that members could be involved in activities not essential to individual society.

Here we see the beginnings of the human-nature dissociation, whereby one individual is not directly involved in meeting their own needs for survival. Borgmann suggests that in the days of hunter-gathering “the nature of realities and the reality of nature were divine. The world was full of divinities” (1995: 31). This understanding is the cultural construct of the time, and is considerably more benign in outcome considering low population density. Simmons highlights the suggestion that the “perceptual selectivity” made possible by low population and life expectancy could “ignore any longer term trends in the environment” (1993: 158). There is a sense that as a society we have inherited this complacency and tendency to ignore environmental problems so long as immediate needs are being met, whereas the difference may now be that management of the natural environment requires an intensely practical approach.

Perhaps somewhere in our psyche we retain an innate feeling of subservience to nature, both through being dependent on a wild landscape for survival, and this same landscape being a source of danger. For the majority of the population, this individual human-nature relationship has passed, and we live in almost completely man-made environments. When Peter Hay wrote of “the ambivalence of the wilderness” he was referring to the mixed and dual nature of the feelings and interpretations that humans hold toward the ‘wilderness’. It is seen as both a place and source of danger, and as a provider.

This has been born out in different ways, with on one hand people’s interaction with the land taking on a spiritual nature, and the opposite, where there is perceived a need to tame and conquer nature, so that it provides what humans need without any nasty surprises. This has resulted in two simplified perspectives on ‘wilderness’. Firstly that it has intrinsic value due to its lack of human interference, and that there is a need to preserve human-free spaces. And secondly, that ‘wilderness’ has no real value, because it serves no primary human needs, and thus has no cultural value or need of protection.

It must be recognised, however, that ‘wilderness’ itself, as an idea, is a cultural construct. It is what a society perceives it to be, thus the ‘ambivalence’. David Graber writes;

wilderness has taken on connotations, and mythology, that specifically reflect latter-twentieth-century values of a distinctive Anglo-American bent. It now functions to provide solitude and counterpoint to technological society in a landscape that is managed to reveal as few traces of the passage of other humans as possible. (1995: 124)

There is a resurgence being experienced in the idea of wilderness and nature having spiritual value. This is perhaps a perhaps an offshoot of idealization of aboriginal societies that are seen to have lived completely harmoniously with their environment. But “unlike the hunters and gatherers who preceded then on the land, moderns who enter wilderness do so not to live on the land, nor to use it, but rather to experience it spiritually” (1995: 124). Graber continues by discussing the general lack of awareness that these visitors have of land use practices of these aboriginal societies that resulted in change to the landscapes through hunting, clearing and agriculture.

There are many academic ways of thinking which seek to explain why humans see nature the way we do and why we interact with the non-human world in certain ways. There are of course many difficulties for doing this, not that least that we each are raised in very different cultures with different values. Simmons explains this as being because humans also inhabit a psychological world. Of our species he writes:

As well as its biophysical surroundings, it has an environment which we understand culturally. Hence, how we act towards the non-human is a consequence of our beliefs both about ourselves and what it is we are acting upon (Simmons 1993: 1).

What this illustrates is the fundamental cultural limitations of completely objective interpretation. From this it is hard to find any sociological point of view that will truly stand the test of time in its definition or understanding of the human-nature relationship because of the continually changing cultural factors which influence our way of seeing the world. Those points of view that seek to unequivocally sum up this relationship will always find themselves at odds with more liberal points of view which are more upfront about their own shortcomings.

To take for example, the extreme social constructionist approach, which sees nature and all reality as a pure social construct, although it does accept cultural differences, is to deny the idea that nature exists in its own right regardless of human interference. In contrast, the mild social constructionist approach recognises the intrinsic value of nature, and also its indifference to human activity. That we exist within it, but that it is by no means dependent upon humans.

The scientific method, careful collection of data and objective analysis of results that are themselves replicable through repeating the progression of the experiment can be seen as the way to achieve the greatest, and purest understanding of things we observe in both the human and non-human world. But there is an approach that sees even this most objective tools of arriving at human understanding as itself subject to the ‘cultural lens’. The critical realist would argue that the very hypotheses set out at the beginning of experiments is subject to our cultural and social values, and also the individual aims and aspirations of the scientist conducting them.

The position that this leaves us with is that the academic interpretation of nature will always be multi-faceted and continuously changing. There is no doubt that human activity has a deep, and more often than not, detrimental effect on the natural world. Even now there is no clear favour towards either the scientific and technical approaches, or the perspectives that wish the environment to assume a more spiritual role.

The economist and essayist E.F. Schumacher writes on the “proper use of land”. Anthropocentrically, this phrase seems to encompass everything to do with the ability of humans to sustain their lives on earth, and by default, the way we interpret and value nature. He accepts that it at first seems to be a question of achieving technical balance, but goes on to say that “the more I think about it the more I realise it is not; it is a highly philosophical subject and we are really deceiving ourselves if we think that it requires a special inventiveness of a technical kind” (Schumacher 1998: 172).

Herewith comes the realisation that the philosophical, the academic and the spiritual must all inform the practical. And that practical approach in our complex society must acknowledge the provision for succeeding generations. Here, to remain on economic terms, is the distinction between ‘natural capital’ and ‘natural income’. These terms acknowledge the reality that we gain subsistence from the natural world. Ideally, humans would live only from ‘natural income’, without exploiting or eroding ‘natural capital’, i.e. use of fossil fuels, unsustainable logging, practices which create air pollution.

It is a return to the “ambivalence of the wilderness,” where the choice may have to be made between the paradigm of human dominion to one of a role of stewardship of the environment. Essentially, a true reconciliation of the human-nature relationship would be one that recognises human dependency upon the natural world, and that, while we can influence and change it, even exploit it, that this really impacts upon the human world as much as it does the natural world.

References:

Simmons, I.G. (1993) Interpreting Nature: Cultural Constructions of the Environment. New York: Routledge.

Borgmann, A (1995) The Nature of Reality and the Reality of Nature. In Reinventing Nature? Responses to Postmodern Deconstruction, ed. M. Soule and G. Lease. Washington, D.C: Island Press.

Graber, D (1995) Resolute Biocentrism: The Dilemma of Wilderness in National Parks. In Reinventing Nature? Responses to Postmodern Deconstruction, ed. M. Soule and G. Lease. Washington, D.C: Island Press.

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

The Enlightenment, The French Revolution, and Edmund Burke

‘Burke was a lifelong student of the Enlightenment who saw in the French Revolution the ultimate threat to those modern, rational, libertarian, enlightened values that he sought to defend.’ Discuss.

The particular course of the twentieth century, from the Russian Revolution through to the Cold War which spanned almost five decades following the second world war, revived Edmund Burke from his eighteenth-century obscurity. Burke’s most famous work, his ‘Reflections on the Revolution in France’ offered a conservative moral and political philosophy which leant hope to those who held hopes of preservation – of religion, liberty, morality – in the most destructive century the world had yet known. This hope is able to be found in the writings of Burke because he clearly articulated the threats posed by ideology and revolution; because he was explicit in the values he supported; and staunch in their defense, from whatever threat. The following is an exploration of these three aspects of Edmund Burke.

Burke, unlike Nietzsche, did not suffer the fate of being largely ignored in the times in which he lived, before later being revived by the interest of scholars. Burke lived a public life as parliamentarian and writer, although he much abhorred the possibility of his private life being made public.[1]

On publication, his ‘Reflections’ sold extremely well with several new editions produced within a year of the first. Peter J. Stanlis, one of the most prominent Burkean scholars, believes the true success of the ‘Reflections’ is qualitatively different to that measured only by sales figures;

If we consider only Burke’s immediate practical intention, to warn against French revolutionary principles and to exalt a Christian and Natural Law conception of civil society, the Reflections was the most successful book of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, and it was almost totally opposed to the prevailing spirit of the age.[2]

Burke confronted the general optimism which initially greeted the French Revolution in England with stern and dire warnings, delivered eloquently and with a modest wisdom in prose which sought not to dazzle the mind with its cleverness, but to appeal to the moral sense, heart and entrails of its reader.

Frederick Dreyer prefers to downplay this successful image of Burke. He argues, “that Burke condemned the French Revolution should cause no surprise. Eventually most Englishmen of his class would come to condemn it as well.”[3] Burke however, was Irish, which combined with false insinuations he was a catholic, created a tension within his identity as a British Parliamentarian. As for the reference to class, does Dreyer here mean the political ruling-class? If class were a determining and useful referent then perhaps Burke’s being the son of a successful lawyer, and his own experience of upward social mobility would suggest more affinity with the class of professionals that formed the vanguard of the French Revolution.

There was absolutely nothing “eventual” about Burke’s opposition to the Revolution, the quality of which was first articulated in 1756 in his satirical ‘A Vindication of Natural Society’. With “eventually” being the key word, the descent into violence of the Revolution may have been what “eventually” turned much of British opinion. But Burke had foreseen this, and in 1790 his highly successful and immediately influential ‘Reflections’ became the axis – and the dividing ground – upon which this opinion turned.

More usefully, Dreyer argues that much of the ‘Reflections’ is best understood as an attack or response to the Reverend Dr. Richard Price’s ‘Discourse on the Love of Our Country’;

Without Price, Burke would not have started the ‘Reflections’ when he did; without Price the ‘Reflections’ would have turned into a different kind of book. It is not too much to say that unless we keep Price in mind it is impossible to understand fully the logic of Burke’s argument against the French Revolution.[4]

That is, many of the attacks in the ‘Reflections’ ostensibly directed at the French were a reflection of threats to English circumstances.[5]  J. G. A. Pocock concurs with Dreyer that the Reverend Dr. Price spurred on Burke to write the ‘Reflections’,[6] however the substance each attributes to this is different. Dreyer for instance, argues the passage on Marie Antoinette only makes sense when read with Price in mind.[7] On the other hand, Pocock sees at the heart of the ‘Reflections’ a question of political economy relating to the seizure of Church lands to use them as security for paper assignats (an action analogous to the spoliation of the monasteries under Henry VIII);

it is not possible to read Burke’s Reflections with both eyes open and doubt that it presents this action – and not assaulting the bedchamber of Marie Antoinette – as the central, the absolute and the unforgivable crime of the Revolutionaries.[8]

This variance in possible readings of the ‘Reflections’ is indicative generally of the unsystematic nature of Burke’s writings. As with the work of Nietzsche, this has seen Burke’s writing interpreted as the needs of different readers arose. And yet it remains, despite any charge of Burke’s writings being unsystematic (spread as they were across pamphlets, books, records of parliamentary speeches, and public and private letters), that his ‘Reflections’ were comprehensive; as Seamus F. Deane notes,

Few authors, important or obscure, managed in the following two decades to raise any objection to the philosophes which had not already been expressed by Burke; he reaped the whole harvest of disagreement, insult, and invective in that one sweeping and memorable attack.[9]

Despite his opposition to the French philosophes, which will be discussed later in more detail, there is little doubt that Edmund Burke indeed was a ‘lifelong student of the Enlightenment’, or that he was consistent in his feelings toward it.[10]

Dreyer argues “Burke can be seen as an eccentric thinker only if we define the Enlightenment in perverse and narrow terms.”[11] Burke was much involved in the thinking, writing and ideas of the age, and although his work can be seen as running counter to the ‘prevailing spirit of the age’, he is still of it. If the age of the Enlightenment were to be characterised only by the primacy of rational and scientific enquiry, then it would be no stretch to think of Burke as a nostalgic eccentric. Conservatism and nostalgia, after all, are no strange bedfellows.

Despite Burke’s devout belief in the ‘great chain of being’, he seemed ill-content with his place in it, not following in his father’s footsteps to the bar, instead pursuing a career of letters and politics. This is not to suggest that this ambiguity is the result of hypocrisy or vanity on Burke’s part. Rather, as Isaac Kramnick puts forward, “the beginning of wisdom in understanding Edmund Burke is… in discerning his basic ambivalence to the two great ideological currents whose confrontation dominated his age.”[12]

While this is good advice to keep in mind, I’m not sure it does sufficient justice to the strength of Burke’s convictions. His first published work ‘A Vindication of Natural Society’ demonstrated the need Burke felt to engage with and respond to the main current of the Enlightenment;

Burke’s satire reveals that even in his early twenties he was increasingly aware that the rationalist philosophers of the Enlightenment encouraged men to submit to destructive analysis and criticism all the achievements of men throughout history.[13]

The writing of ‘Vindications’ and its being misunderstood as a serious work by Bolingbroke, whom Burke was satirizing, highlighted to Burke the danger of moral and social theories and speculation. At the heart of Burke’s study and feelings on the Enlightenment is the perilous nature of ideas and words;

When men find that something can be said in favor of what… they have thought utterly indefensible, they grow doubtful of their own reason; they are thrown into a sort of pleasing surprise; they run along with the speaker, charmed and captivated to find such a plentiful harvest of reasoning, where all seemed barren and unpromising. This is the fairy land of philosophy… There is a sort of gloss upon ingenious falsehoods that dazzles the imagination, but which neither belongs to, nor becomes the sober part of truth…[14]

Stanlis is emphatic on this point; Burke “was convinced that words continue to influence people psychologically, even after they have rejected any belief in a historical state of nature.”[15] There can be little doubt that what Burke developed from his study of the Enlightenment was an utter revulsion for the immodest, elaborate, and self-contained historical and intellectual fictions such as ‘the state of nature’ and the abstract ‘rights of man’;

We know that we have made no discoveries; and we think that no discoveries are to be made, in morality; nor many in the great principles of government, nor in the ideas of liberty, which were understood long before we were born…[16]

For Burke, the present state of British government, Constitution and society represented centuries of achievement. The Enlightenment in large part was represented by irreverent and self-satisfied schemers who would dare risk this for the sake of their untested speculations. It is a result of his study of the Enlightenment then that Burke, according to Jeffrey Hart,

was the first to recognize the deep moral division of the West, which was just then opening up, and which today, across the board, is decisive for our moral, political, and metaphysical opinions: and because Burke, having recognized the division and defined its doctrinal grounds, took sides.[17]

If Edmund Burke did not side with the doctrine that asserted no limits to the application of human reason and claimed universal rights and freedom for men, where then, did his values lie? The answer, of course, is that there were many things which Burke held in high esteem, but the three I wish to focus on are his conception of the ‘Moral Natural Law’, civil society, and government. On the ‘natural law’, my understanding of this in relation to Burke comes largely from the work of Peter J. Stanlis. Burke wrote;

Dark and inscrutable are the ways by which we come into the world. The instincts which give rise to this mysterious process of nature are not of our making. But out of physical causes, unknown to us, perhaps unknowable, arise moral duties, which, as we are able perfectly to comprehend, we are bound indispensably to perform.[18]

God gives man his nature, and although we may not perceive clearly our origins or our end, let alone our purpose, Burke is arguing that we are able to perfectly perceive our ‘moral duties’, our obligation to which is the observance of the ‘natural law’.

Burke understood that there was a fundamental distinction between Natural Law and the philosophes’ natural rights.[19] The leveling zeal of the revolutionaries threatened the natural law, no matter how widely beneficial their egalitarian principles on the surface seemed. For Stanlis, this, rather than Price, or political economy, is the key to Burke’s response to the French Revolution;

To Burke the moral Natural Law was so basic to the ancient inherited social order of Europe that its subversion was enough proof that the revolution was the most extensive project ever launched against all religion, law, property, and real civil order and liberty.[20]

For Burke, because man’s nature was ordained by God, who prescribes his place in the ‘chain of being’, and it is in man’s nature to form society, civil society is then a divine bestowal.[21] Thus the subversion of the moral Natural Law was but one part of the blasphemy of the revolutionaries, in addition to which, Burke understood “that the spirit of the Revolution… was at its roots characterized by a hatred of the very idea of society.”[22]

In imagining a fictitious time where man in a ‘state of nature’ was uncorrupted, freer and supposedly happier than his modern counterpart, due to a lack of social roles and obligation which he must fulfill, the revolutionaries believed they could remove the ‘chains’ of society and free man within it, and without destroying it.

If Burke did imagine a ‘state of nature’, which I am not convinced he did, I imagine it may have been more akin to Hobbes than Rousseau; a ‘war of all against all’. Perhaps more telling than the comment on the ‘state of nature’ in Frank O’Gorman’s assessment is the view of civil society; “for Burke, the state of nature was anarchic and primitive from which civilised social life was a thankful deliverance.”[23] The use of the word ‘deliverance’ is perhaps no accident, through civil society might be achieved the redemption for the ‘fall’ from the biblical ‘state of nature’;

To Burke, man’s relationship to civil society is a moral necessity; it cannot be voluntaristic, for that would exalt will above right reason; nothing could be more false and wicked than the Lockian theory of a voluntary and revocable social contract based upon a hypothetical state of nature.[24]

In that man is a social creature by his ordained nature, and does not choose society but is born into it, he may not choose to forgo society and its rights or obligations. Natural Law, civil society and obligation are inextricably bound with religion. Indeed, Seamus F. Deane argues that;

The belief that the atheist should have no existence in the community because his creed denied the foundations of civil society is one of the most persistent and unshakable of Burke’s convictions.[25]

Thus the separation of church and state pursued by the revolutionaries is to Burke a repudiation of the divine gifts of government, society, and religion. Moreover, it is the interconnection of all these elements, what Rousseau would call ‘chains’, which shelters man and links him with his past and with his species

Without the warm cloak of custom, tradition, experience, history, religion, and social hierarchy – all of which radical man would rip off – man is shivering and naked. Free man from all mystery, demystify his institutions and his intellectual world, and you leave him alone in a universe of insignificance, incapacity, and inadequacy.[26]

The demystification of institutions removes the awe and respect with which Burke believed they should be viewed. None of these could be perfect for all at any given time, yet they were an inheritance that linked man with his past, and it was their duty to preserve or cautiously reform them as needed for future generations.

Kramnick asserts that “Burke repudiates the fundamental liberal belief that institutions are produced by the willful choice of specific individuals.”[27] Not only would the abolition of social institutions with the view to create new ones in their place not succeed to any specified plan, it would disinherit those yet unborn of the link to their history. Reformers in government, then, should approach with caution, with the preservation of the spirit of their institutions in mind and without false hope or millenarian pretenses; for Burke, “all that wise men ever aim at is to keep things from coming to the worst.”[28]

With more in mind, I believe, than simply preventing things coming to the worst, Burke would actively defend the principles of his convictions and the values of the moral Natural Law wherever he found them to be in danger. These occasions included the attempt to impeach Warren Hastings with regard to the abuses of the East India Company in India, and defense of the British Constitution to the point of sacrificing personal friendships. As a politician, O’Gorman argues, Burke’s

main concern was… to preserve the balanced constitution of the eighteenth century, with the separate spheres of influence apportioned to King, Parliament and People no matter from whatever quarter a threat to it might appear.[29]

The affairs of India, the actions of the East India Company, and the impeachment trial of the Governor-General of India, Warren Hastings, were a significant part of the business of Parliament in the 1780s and 1790s. Burke sought to impeach Hastings on the basis of natural law. He argued that no-one had the right to exercise arbitrary power. That the British Parliament enabling Hastings to govern as he saw fit was not a justification for the exercise of arbitrary power, nor was the excuse of arbitrary power being a general and accepted mode of government in Asia.

Stanlis demonstrates that Burke’s attacks against Hastings’s justifications of the exercise of arbitrary power “derives wholly from his ardent faith in Natural Law”.[30] Burke is seeking to defend not only the rights of the people of India as he saw them under the Natural Law, but also to defend against the introduction of “‘Eastern’ principles into England.”[31]

Against what was essentially the cultural relativist position of Hastings, Burke invoked something he believed to be universal;

Mr. Hastings has no refuge… let him fly from common law, and the sacred institutions of the country in which he was born; let him fly from acts of parliament… still the Mohammedan law condemns him… Let him fly where he will… law, thank God, meets him everywhere – arbitrary power cannot secure him against law; and I would as soon have him tried on the Koran, or any other eastern code of laws, as on the common law of this kingdom.[32]

Yet what Burke considered to be universal was inimical to the definition supplied by the philosophes. So deep ran the convictions that Burke held regarding the French Revolution, that it had the effect of separating Burke both politically and personally from many of his allies and friends who sympathized with it, notably Charles James Fox and Sir Philip Francis. Burke’s conception of his duty to the British Constitution apparently left him with no other option.[33] His words in Parliament with regard to the break with Fox are included by Jeffrey Hart, and are worth repeating here for the sense they give of Burke;

It is indiscreet at any period, but especially at my time of life, to provoke enemies or give friends occasion to desert me. Yet firm and steady adherence to the British Constitution places me in such a dilemma; I am ready to risk it, and with my last words exclaim, ‘Fly from the French Constitution’… yes, there is a loss of friends. I have done my duty at the price of my friend. Our friendship is at an end.[34]

Far from viewing events in France as a change of government, Burke observed the specter of rational revolution across the channel beginning to haunt the chambers of the British parliament. For Burke, the French Revolution wasn’t merely a turn of events he did not approve of, it was the culmination of decades of the sort of Enlightenment philosophy that he abhorred. The remaking of a constitution upon abstract universal rights and formalities invented through speculation would not be worth the paper it was printed upon. Rather, “Burke insisted upon the concrete realization of man’s natural rights in civil society, through the incorporation of basic moral principles in constitutional law.”[35]

An ailing constitution was neither the grounds for experimental surgery nor drastic doctrinal measures. In the following famous passage from his ‘Reflections’, Burke’s rhetoric paints a macabre and graphic picture of those that would tamper  irreverently with the institutions of state;

he should never dream of beginning its reformation by its subversion… he should approach to the faults of the State as to the wounds of a father, with pious awe and trembling solicitude. By this wise prejudice we are taught to look with horror on those children of their country who are prompt rashly to hack that aged parent in pieces and put him into the kettle of magicians, in hopes that by their poisonous weeds and wild incantations they may regenerate the paternal constitution and renovate their father’s life.[36]

To Burke, who spent his entire adult life in opposition to the main intellectual current of the Enlightenment, the French Revolution was the culmination of that movement. In this he saw the Revolution as a continuity of the Enlightenment, rather than an accidental misuse of its principles. Deane argues that in Burke’s view, the philosophes “helped to cause the Revolution. Burke, then, saw the French Enlightenment in terms of the Revolution.”[37] But we know that this is simply not true. Burke had strong feelings toward the Enlightenment thinkers which he expressed decades before revolution.

Burke knew that the threat to Europe didn’t originate in the French Revolution; it was born in the philosophy of sensibility which inspired and found full expression in the revolution. The combining of Cartesian reason with individualism and a conscience based on the feeling of the individual. For Stanlis, Burke’s condemnation of sensibility is the reverse side of the coin which put Natural Law at the heart of his response to the Revolution;

sensibility permeated an epicurean philosophy of pleasure, power, and will with moral feeling; it corrupted people by teaching them to justify evil means in practice for noble ends in theory, to act without restraint or a conscious reference to any legal precedents or moral code.[38]

In this is evidence of an idea that Burke would have found preposterous. The idea that the creation of a better future justified whatever speculative methods the rational politician could devise. As we have seen, Burke did not believe it possible for men to construct institutions according to their will, thus justifying harm to those living for an undeliverable benefit to those yet to be born was a frightful proposition which he saw in naked terms; “justifying perfidy and murder for public benefit, public benefit would soon become the pretext, and perfidy and murder the end.”[39]

Peter Stanlis saw that it was on this reasoning that Burke was able to predict the Terror. The Terror was murder done in the name of public good in the service of abstract rights, and “the ethical norms common to man in civil society would be extinguished in favor of emotional appeals to political slogans favoring the general welfare.”[40]

The attempt to apply Cartesian reasoning to the principles of government, with the view that through this reason might be discovered the perfect system that would be universal in its application, suitable and true for all men at all times, for Burke is an assault upon society and the divine. Deane remarks it unsurprising that Burke “should connect the abstract, universal theory of the philosophes with atheism” and that to declare this universality “is to assert human despotism against the divine plenitude.”[41]

Indeed, this despotism would also be extended over people in society in the exercise of arbitrary power in the name of abstract speculation and millenarian zeal, with no reference to the moral Natural Law. Burke detested arbitrary power, it is precisely this he sought to defend against in the impeachment of Hastings and his criticisms of Britain’s treatment of the American colonies. His support of the Americans and subsequent condemnation of the French confused many observers, but like his willingness to defend the balance of the British Constitution against the King, Parliament and the people as the need arose, so too would he employ what seemed conflicting intellectual defenses against the varied dangers of the Enlightenment thinkers; “Burke exalted reason over will when he opposed the excesses of Rousseau, and sentiment over reason when he opposed the extremism of the philosophes.”[42]

Government should be formed on a strong foundation of concrete moral standards, not on any formal division of power or scheme which is guided by theoretical and speculative rights. For Burke, the French Revolution simply provided the evidence of the intellectual sin and hubris of the Enlightenment philosophes. It was a realization of his deepest fear

that speculative abstract rationalism had the power to destroy all social institutions and conventions, all that people had constructed with great care and labor over centuries of building civilization up from crude barbarism to its present degree of perfection.[43]

What right had the philosophes to disinherit future generations of their property in society? What right to, at their fancy, undo the legacy left for them? While the philosophes would justify such actions against the universal freedom which they believed was the right of man, to Burke, this would be a liberty that encroached arbitrarily on others, those yet unborn. Sovereignty placed in the hands and whims of a majority of the people was neither legitimate or just. It was arbitrary power without check, and without deference to a moral code; and Burke would have none of it;

The French Revolution, say they, was the act of the majority of the people; and if the majority of any other people, the people of England for instance, wish to make the same change, they have the same right. Just the same undoubtedly. That is, none at all.[44]

Burke’s opposite conception of freedom and rights, argues Jeffrey Hart, was the essential element in Burke’s reaction to the Revolution; “ for Burke, freedom was a concrete and historical thing, the actual freedoms enjoyed by actual Englishmen: they enjoyed the historic rights of Englishmen.”[45] This is by no means to say that, because Burke regarded his freedom as privilege of being a member of English society, he would thus deny those same freedoms to other societies which had not managed to cultivate their own liberties and freedoms. Burke’s speeches in the impeachment of Warren Hastings demonstrate this conclusively.

Burke recognised that  “to govern is to restrain man.”[46] Man left to his own devices without the bonds of society, the links rather than the ‘chains’, was corruptible and capable of much darkness and evil. Man’s ‘state of nature’ was civil society, and in this he had proved both wicked and good. “The restraints on men,” argued Burke,

as well as their liberties, are to be reckoned among their rights. But as the liberties and restrictions vary with times and circumstances, and admit of infinite modifications, they cannot be settled upon any abstract rule: and nothing is so foolish as to discuss them upon that principle.[47]

Man’s place in society was his link to the divine. Although he knew not how this came to be, nor for what purpose, as far as man could perceive what was moral and what was just, such was his duty. So far as man could humbly and venerably influence the institutions of his society, which were the legacy of his ancestors who themselves through civil society were connected to the divine, man’s duty was to infuse these institutions with the moral Natural Law.           

Would the opportunity to create the ‘best of all possible worlds’ justify a sacrifice of human suffering to attain it? No; from this the best that could be created is the ‘second-best of all possible worlds’. The ‘best of all possible worlds’ would not require any extension of human suffering to bring it into being. Burke understood this, that although we could imagine something greater, we are restricted by what is possible. Burke believed that we always have the opportunity to work slowly and cautiously by degrees in effecting our reforms; but we do not have the ability to construct a new society from the wreckage of the old. The descent of the French Revolution into terror and violence is no small vindication of the principles of Edmund Burke.

 

Bibliography

Burke, Edmund, Reflections on the Revolution in France, New York, The Liberal Arts Press, 1955.

Deane, Seamus F., ‘Burke and the French Philosophes’,  in Iain Hampsher-Monk (ed.), Edmund Burke, Surrey, Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2009, pp. 295-320.

Dreyer, Frederick, ‘The Genesis of Burke’s Reflections’, in Iain Hampsher-Monk (ed.), Edmund Burke, Surrey, Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2009, pp. 239-56.

Hart, Jeffrey, ‘Burke and Radical Freedom’, in Iain Hampsher-Monk (ed.), Edmund Burke, Surrey, Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2009, pp. 257-74.

Kramnick, Isaac, The Rage of Edmund Burke: Portrait of An Ambivalent Conservative, New York, Basic Books, 1977.

O’Gorman, Frank, British Conservatism: Conservative Thought from Burke to Thatcher, London, Longman, 1986.

Pocock, J. G. A., ‘The Political Economy of Burke’s Analysis of the French Revolution’, in Iain Hampsher-Monk (ed.), Edmund Burke, Surrey, Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2009, pp. 275-94.

Stanlis, Peter J., Edmund Burke: The Enlightenment and Revolution, London, Transaction Publishers, 1991.

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[1] Isaac Kramnick, The Rage of Edmund Burke: Portrait of An Ambivalent Conservative, New York, Basic Books, 1977, p. 68.

[2] Peter J. Stanlis, Edmund Burke: The Enlightenment and Revolution, London, Transaction Publishers, 1991, p. 39.

[3] Frederick Dreyer, ‘The Genesis of Burke’s Reflections’, in Iain Hampsher-Monk (ed.), Edmund Burke, Surrey, Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2009, p. 239.

[4] Dreyer, p. 241.

[5] Ibid., p. 253.

[6] J. G. A. Pocock, ‘The Political Economy of Burke’s Analysis of the French Revolution’, in Iain Hampsher-Monk (ed.), Edmund Burke, Surrey, Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2009, p. 278.

[7] Dreyer, p. 251.

[8] Pocock, p. 278.

[9] Seamus F. Deane, ‘Burke and the French Philosophes’,  in Iain Hampsher-Monk (ed.), Edmund Burke, Surrey, Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2009, p. 319.

[10] Stanlis, p. 163.

[11] Dreyer, p. 256.

[12] Kramnick, p. 7.

[13] Stanlis, p. 150.

[14] Edmund Burke, quoted in Stanlis, p. 148.

[15] Stanlis, p. 167.

[16] Edmund Burke, quoted in Stanlis, p. 178.

[17] Jeffrey Hart, ‘Burke and Radical Freedom’, in Iain Hampsher-Monk (ed.), Edmund Burke, Surrey, Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2009, pp. 257-8.

[18] Edmund Burke, quoted in Stanlis, p. 47.

[19] Stanlis, p. 39.

[20] Ibid., p. 49.

[21] Ibid., p. 43.

[22] Hart, p. 262.

[23] Frank O’Gorman, British Conservatism: Conservative Thought from Burke to Thatcher, London, Longman, 1986, p. 14.

[24] Stanlis, p. 42.

[25] Deane, p. 301.

[26] Kramnick, p. 33.

[27] Ibid., p. 25.

[28] Ibid., p. 22.

[29] O’Gorman, p. 13.

[30] Stanlis, p. 33.

[31] Ibid., p. 34.

[32] Edmund Burke, quoted in Stanlis, p. 35.

[33] Hart, p. 259.

[34] Edmund Burke, quoted in Hart, p. 259.

[35] Stanlis, p. 45.

[36] Edmund Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France, New York, The Liberal Arts Press, 1955, pp. 109-110.

[37] Seamus F. Deane in Hampsher-Monk p316

[38] Stanlis, pp. 186-7.

[39] Edmund Burke, quoted in Stanlis, p. 177.

[40] Stanlis, p. 177.

[41] Deane, p. 317.

[42] Ibid., p. 310.

[43] Stanlis, pp. 149-50.

[44] Edmund Burke, quoted in O’Gorman, p. 93.

[45] Hart, p. 260.

[46] Kramnick, p. 30.

[47] Edmund Burke, quoted in O’Gorman, p. 67.

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.

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.

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.