Thursday, May 5, 2016

The First Black President and the Self-Destruction of A Great American Political Party

In the day to day news cycle it's easy to lose sight of the big picture. As much as we talk about race in the era of the first Black president, we're often talking about the trees while failing to see the forest. Historians are likely to put race at the center of the story of Obama's presidency in a way that we haven't. Though we invoke race constantly in the current political environment, the broader contours of change and significance are obscured by our inability to think beyond the week's headlines. Historians will take a longer view, and a different story will emerge:

In response to the election of the nation's first Black president, one of America's two great political parties nearly destroyed itself. 

Right now, in the rush and confusion of events, it is hard to sort out what caused what, and what is truly important as opposed to what is merely interesting. What might seem like coincidence to us will, with the passage of time, begin to look like a clear causal chain of events:

After eight years of the nation's first Black administration, the opposing party nominated the first explicitly racist candidate in modern American history. 

We might like to think of this as a coincidence, but the early evidence indicates that Trump's racism is a decisive factor in his popularity.* This is a big, big story. Indeed, it's so big and so explosive and so incriminating of millions of Americans that we're not even willing to be honest about it right now. But it's the story our grandkids are likely to know.

Now, historians are not fond of single-cause explanations. Big changes come about through literally thousands of variables that are all but impossible to untangle. History is complex. But as we try to make sense of the past and as we create the stories we tell each other about our national history, we do pick out a few factors that seem more decisive than others. Historians will have plenty of space for the Iraq War, the financial crisis, and broader trends in media and culture. But race is going to be at the center of this story in ways we haven't really begun to fathom.

Think about how this story will go.

The election of the nation's first Black president was accompanied by a widespread sense of hope and possibility. There was much talk about the arrival of a post-racial moment. Millions of Whites appeared to feel that they were exorcising racial guilt in the act of voting for a Black president. Amid the heady days of hope and change, others watched and wondered if there would be a backlash, and what form it might take.

The backlash arrived along two tracks.

First, the enormously popular right-wing subculture of talk radio, bolstered by the internet and Fox News, began to coalesce around a conspiratorial and racist narrative about Obama. The impression of Americans caught in this echo chamber was that President Obama was a foreign, dangerous, radical figure. "Let's face it, Obama's black," Rush Limbaugh memorably commiserated with his audience. Because of his Blackness, Obama had "a chip on his shoulder" and was intent on destroying the foundations of the country. Dinesh D'Souza's popular documentary, 2016: Obama's America, aptly expressed this sensibility. The film's tone of evidence-free accusation captured in stark form the growing force of a racist subculture so given to conspiracy that it was unable to reason about the world that actually existed. Though Obama was a technocratic liberal positioned comfortably in the American political tradition, in the right-wing echo chamber he had become known as the destroyer of White, Christian America.
Tea Party protest often mixed economic concerns with racial panic.
The birther movement distilled and supercharged all this paranoia. Conspiracies about Obama's background took in a range of people--from partisans who didn't really believe it, to ordinary people who simply didn't know any better. But at its core, the movement was driven forward by the racist notion that the nation's first Black president was fundamentally un-American. It's difficult to remember now, but the movement was embraced by a majority of Republicans, and few Republican politicians were willing to condemn it. Faced with an upsurge of racism from their base, the most powerful Republican politicians categorically refused to tell their voters the truth about the nation's first Black president.

At the center of the birther movement stood its most famous provocateur: Donald Trump. When President Obama finally released his long-form birth certificate in the summer of 2011, it was in direct response to the continued provocations and accusations of Donald Trump. After Obama released the birth certificate, Trump held a press conference to claim victory. "I feel I've accomplished something very very important," he declared. Through the birther movement, Trump transitioned from a cultural celebrity to a political figure. As a result of Trump's newfound stature, Mitt Romney sought and received his endorsement in 2012.

When Donald Trump leveraged his birther-infused political stature into a run for the Republican nomination last year, most observers thought it was a joke. But they had failed to grapple with the extent to which racism had consumed whole swaths of the right-wing. And political scientists didn't realize how hollowed-out the party power structure was. Racists like Rush Limbaugh had been praised by party leaders for decades. Leading Republicans greeted the absurd birther movement with the equivalent of an indulging pat on the head rather than the swift and sure condemnation it deserved. And so Trump took over a party that had unwittingly prepared itself for him.
By 2015, fantastical beliefs and racial resentment were routine among Republicans.

At the same time, the backlash to the nation's first Black president had proceeded along a less visible but perhaps more consequential line. The elections of 2008 and 2012 were historic not only because of who they elected, but because of who had voted. For the first time, Black voter participation matched, and then exceeded, White voter participation. As a result, a Republican discourse about voter fraud that had been growing since the close 2000 election suddenly exploded in a new onslaught of anti-democratic (small d) sentiment. Faced with unprecedented participation from Democratic constituencies, leading Republican intellectuals and politicians invented new concerns about voter fraud and spread lies about its existence. Republican-led state governments all over the country began to pass new laws designed to make it harder for Democrats to vote.

In 2013 this racist backlash reached the Supreme Court, where the conservative majority struck down a major part of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, the crowning legislative achievement of the civil rights movement. In the years after that decision, states passed even more restrictive laws. It could not be emphasized enough that the new discourse about voter fraud was an invention designed to put a thin veneer of justification on the GOP's partisan vote-suppression. During these years, a sprinkling of Republican politicians kept going off message and admitting publicly the purpose of the new laws. But the vast majority of the party's leaders continued to lie with a straight face in support of their turn to institutional racism. The most overlooked story of the Obama years was the Republican Party's attempt to make the nation's electoral system a little more like Jim Crow and a little less like democracy.

By the spring of 2016, the Republican Party's nomination of an explicitly racist man had stirred much controversy, but the Party's quieter turn to institutional racism met with almost no internal resistance. Eight years after the election of the nation's first Black president, one of the nation's great political parties had been captured by the very worst parts of the American political tradition. In just eight years, a great American Party with a long and proud tradition of accomplishment had come to the doorstep of self-destruction.

*There will continue to be much debate about the nature of Trump's appeal to his voters. The more comprehensive perspective that the passage of time allows will solve much of this, but for now I'll just point out that the evidence is strong that racism is at the core of Trump's appeal. He is running as a White nationalist. His explicitly racist statements, refusal to disavow the Klan, and his retweeting of White supremacists have not been sidebars to his campaign. On the contrary, this racism has functioned as a decisive signal of group affinity. In a way no other political action could, Trump's racist rhetoric and actions established a cement-like bond to his voters, assuring them that he is on their side. This is not conjecture. The data are pretty clear. And lest we think this is all about economics in the end, it turns out that Trump's core voters are wealthier than most Americans.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

The Coming Rehabilitation of Donald Trump

Donald Trump is the Republican nominee for President.

Cue the even-handed media coverage, the trappings of party power, and the coalescing of most of the Republican Party around its nominee. Cue the rehabilitation of Donald Trump. 
The major responsibility of decent people now is to not become accustomed to this. It is shocking. It is disgraceful. It will still be shocking and disgraceful after most of the Republican Party endorses him and votes for him in November. When a Republican figure you respect endorses Trump, it doesn't mean Trump is more respectable than you thought. It means that ordinary Republican leaders are not the decent people you thought they were.

Trump is not going to win the presidency, because the same qualities that made him so appealing to some Republicans will cause most Americans to reject him.

Trump is a misogynistic brute.

Trump is a racist.

Trump is a religious bigot.

Trump is a liar.

Trump is a fool.

He won because of these qualities. The GOP couldn't stop Trump because the other candidates wanted to reach the same bigoted and ignorant voters Trump is reaching. The Party has gotten the nominee it deserves.

The Democrats are a flawed but functioning party. And because they're a party that has room for women, for Muslims, for black and brown people, the Democrats will save the country. It is disgraceful and shocking and demeaning to all of us that this contest even has to take place.

This is not just an interesting campaign season. This is a "Grandpa did you speak out when--" moment. So, here I am, for the record. 

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

A Settler Colonial Global History

I'm still working through my comprehensive exams semester. My settler colonialism list has grabbed my imagination and has probably done the most to reorient my thinking. It has exposed my ignorance. My current reflections are below. Consider it provisional and uncertain. My ignorance of all history outside the United States is likely to shine through.
Arthur Boyd, "Persecuted Lovers" (1957). Australia.
On September 13, 2007, the United Nations approved the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples with overwhelming support from member states. There were just four dissenting votes: the United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. Not coincidentally, these four countries shared common histories of genocidal policies against indigenous populations. In each case, European settlers built new homelands for themselves on conquered land and eventually achieved dominant status over the rightful owners of the land. The United States, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand are extremely successful settler colonial projects. Yet, as their dissenting votes at the UN reluctantly revealed, settler colonialism is not buried in the past. In the present day, indigenous peoples in these countries continue to make sovereignty claims that challenge the supposedly settled status of these sovereign nation-states. Such claims, like the UN vote, are powerful reminders that settler colonialism is, to borrow the words of Australian historian Patrick Wolfe, a “structure” rather than an “event.”[1] Rather than conceiving of settler colonialism—like colonialism more broadly—as a discrete historical stage through which a state may pass, we must consider how settler colonialism is embedded in the foundational logic of many modern states. For such states, settler colonialism is their present as well as their past. If we think in these terms we may be able to imagine alternative futures.

Historians have written about settler colonies for decades. The existence of large-scale settlement in some colonies and its absence in others is a basic distinction historians could not fail to notice. And yet the full significance and coherence of these settler projects—on a global scale and across time—has not been appreciated. Only in recent years have historians begun to build a specific theoretical framework for a field of settler colonial studies distinct from other forms of colonialism. Key figures in this project are the Australian historians Patrick Wolfe and Lorenzo Veracini.[2] In the past decade, some prominent historians have adopted their framework, including the American historian Margaret Jacobs for her Bancroft-Prize-winning book White Mother to a Dark Race, and the Pullitzer-Prize-winning historian Caroline Elkins. Numerous edited collections have appeared, and the field now has its own journal.[3]  Settler colonial studies’ most prominent impact has been felt in indigenous studies around the world. Nancy Shoemaker recently complained that it has rapidly become “dogma” in her field of Native American studies. When she failed to use a settler colonial framework at a conference one of her colleagues was “astonished.”[4] It would appear that settler colonial studies has enjoyed a rapid ascent and is earning wide influence. Yet there are few areas of the historical academy more isolated than indigenous studies. Settler colonial studies has barely made a ripple in many areas of historical inquiry to which it might meaningfully contribute. Among American historians in particular, narratives of implicit exceptionalism continue to be influential. Even more, preoccupations with the United States’ history of White supremacy and African Americans’ quest for inclusion have actually drawn attention away from the conquest that made the American state possible and have hidden the specifically settler colonial form that characterized American White supremacy.

I argue that settler colonial studies can help us reimagine not only the history of indigenous peoples, but American, African, and global histories across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. What follows is an attempt to sketch out what that history might look like from a settler colonial framework. I begin by defining the key features of settler colonialism in contrast to other forms of colonialism. After outlining these characteristics, I offer very brief examples of how such a framework reorients our understanding of national and global histories.

Defining Settler Colonialism
The defining purpose of settler colonialism is the acquisition of land. Settler is not a synonym for farmer or pioneer. It suggests invasion, war, theft, and conquest. In contrast to colonies founded on resource extraction, geopolitical rivalry, or military usefulness, settler colonies emerge when an outsider population invades the land and attempts to construct a permanent homeland, often modeled on the metropole (imperial center) they left behind. This basic difference has far-reaching implications. In extraction-based colonies, the defining problem is a labor problem: how does the colonizer coerce the indigenous population into extracting resources for the metropole? In contrast, in settler colonies the defining problem is a land problem: how does the settler population gain access to, and control over, land formerly held by indigenous people? And just as importantly, how does it achieve ideological legitimacy for this theft? These questions imply dramatically different treatment toward indigenous populations. Extractive colonies rule; settler colonies exclude.

At a glance, this might appear far too simple. How can we bring, say, nineteenth century U.S. Indian policy and twentieth century apartheid South Africa within the same analytical frame? Did not the former involve a mixture of murderous conquest and assimilation with the ultimate goal of dissolving Native American identity into the settler project? And did not the latter obsessively work to define difference precisely so that no such assimilation would take place? But if we look to the land question while taking account of demographic balance and disease environments, the question becomes clearer. In both places, the settler government appropriated the overwhelming majority of arable land. The United States had its Indian reservations and South Africa had its native reserves. In the United States, the large settler population and comparatively small indigenous population made genocide—through both war and assimilation—a viable strategy. In South Africa, where the settler population remained a minority throughout, assimilation would have worked against the settler project. Minority settler regimes controlled the land by creating difference, while majority settler regimes controlled the land by assimilating difference. In both cases, the point of the settler project was seizure of the land itself.

Once in possession of the land, settler states were endlessly inventive and diverse in the ways they solved other problems—especially labor problems—specific to unique demographic contexts. While American and Australian settlers imported much of their labor (slaves and convicts), settler colonies in Africa tended to rely more heavily on indigenous labor. This reliance can obscure the core functions of power in such settler colonies. It might appear that settler colonies in Africa ruled indigenous populations with the same purposes as other colonial formations on the continent. But this was not so. The metropolitan administration of an extractive colony could imagine economic development and native “uplift” leading to some sort new political arrangement in a distant future. Profits and prestige to the metropole—not the creation of a specific sort of society on the ground—were the focus of extractive colonies. Settler projects, in contrast, envisioned the creation of homelands with carefully ordered societies that left no room—spatially or ideologically—for the native.

It is important to point out that this exclusionary settler vision was contested, with settlers on the ground often taking a harder line than metropolitan authorities. Most settler projects began as colonies of an imperial metropole whose interests were often at cross-purposes with settlers. The consequence was that governance of settler colonies was often not in the hands of those most invested in the creation of a new homeland. The complex contest for power and governance between settlers, the metropole, and the indigenous population is thus an important characteristic of settler colonialism.[6] Attempts by settler populations to achieve de facto or de jure independence emerge as key turning points in a global settler colonial narrative. Settlers often chafed against metropolitan policies that treated settler and native alike as subjects. Their attempts to throw off metropolitan authority were often simultaneously efforts to gain greater freedom of maneuver to subjugate and exclude indigenous peoples.

To be sure, there was always slippage between the exclusionary settler colonial imagination and the lived reality of intermixture and mutual influence. All settler colonies utilized indigenous labor, and some were fully dependent on such labor for the duration of their existence. Yet the ideological underpinnings of the settler colonial project were nonetheless fundamentally exclusionary. This can be seen most clearly in settler regimes that did not achieve demographic dominance. While White South Africans depended on Black African labor, they constructed elaborate myths of the South African past to assert that Europeans had settled the land first. In effect, they denied Black Africans’ indigeneity. This allowed the settler regime to deploy African labor as migrant labor rather than indigenous labor. The oppressive system of reserves, passes, and migrant labor was all too real, but it was more than just material. African laborers’ physical movement made concrete their imagined status as a migrant rather than indigenous population.

Though indigeneity was not always so carefully denied, settler colonial regimes around the world embraced common myths centering on pristine and empty wilderness and improvement of the land. In the settler colonial imagination, settlers were the first real possessors of the land. Even if indigenous peoples occupied the land—or rather, in the settler imagination, wandered it—they had failed to make good use of it. Settlers did not see themselves as invaders. Instead, they saw themselves as pioneers, farmers, bearers of civilization. Such was the power of the land in the settler colonial imagination that some even saw themselves as conservationists![7] The land could be at once forbidding, a howling and dangerous wilderness, and, especially in the receding afterglow of failed settler projects like those in Kenya and Rhodesia, a fount of nostalgia and romance.

Such selective memories aside, the reality of settler colonialism is anything but romantic. Patrick Wolfe and others have argued that the logic of the settler colonial state is inherently eliminationist.[8] Because settlers want the land, indigenous people become not just superfluous but, as people possessing alternative claim to the same land, deeply threatening. This is not to say that all settler colonial projects inevitably resulted in genocide. It is to suggest, rather, that the voracious hunger for land inherent in a settler colonial project produces a propensity for genocide. It is highly significant (though ironic) that the Rwandan genocide occurred in a context in which the Hutu saw themselves as indigenous and cast the Tutsi as settlers.[9] In settler colonial contexts, participants readily perceive the contest for power as zero-sum.

This contest rarely features a simple binary between powerful settlers and oppressed natives. Indigenous groups ultimately defeated many twentieth century settler projects. In others, such as the United States, it took the better part of two centuries for settlers to establish a decisive ascendancy. Indigenous military and economic power decisively shaped these histories. Moreover, other outside groups occupying spaces between the poles of settler and native complicated settler colonial projects. Lorenzo Veracini has theorized a model in which settler colonial states tend to have a “triangular relationship” between settlers, indigenous, and “exogenous others.”[10] Jews in French Algeria, Indians in South Africa, and Black Americans in the United States are examples of these exogenous groups. In many cases, such groups roughly correspond to Mahmood Mamdani’s notion of “subject races” in African colonies.[11] Veracini argues that while settler states often exclude these groups in various ways, they may also selectively include them over time, allowing them to become, in effect, “probationary settlers.”[12] Precisely because they are imagined as having no prior claim to land, such groups can potentially be incorporated into the settler colonial polity.

Sketching a Settler Colonial History
Some historians have made a sharp distinction between twentieth-century settler colonial projects in Africa, Korea, and Palestine as compared to nineteenth-century settler colonial forms in the Americas and the Pacific.[13] They emphasize that twentieth-century settler colonies usually featured much larger indigenous populations and stronger metropolitan authorities, both of which worked against decisive settler domination. Ultimately, almost all the twentieth-century settler states failed. These are important distinctions to make. As with any historical framework, there is a danger of glossing over difference, flattening distinctions, and losing our eye for specificity in the rush to find commonality, continuity, and the new insights that a novel framing of an old story can bring. But it is well to remember that danger lurks on the other side of the spectrum as well. National or local histories full of texture and nuance often miss global connections and transnational realities in their determination to locate the specific.[14] And studies limited to a single century may miss important antecedents and consequences.

There are compelling reasons to understand settler colonialism as a cohesive phenomenon across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries even as we acknowledge difference in local contexts. Twentieth-century settler populations did not see themselves as alone. They forged solidarities with other contemporary settler colonies and looked to earlier successful settler states for ideological inspiration and practical advice.[15] Nineteenth and twentieth-century settler states should be studied together because the links they established were as tangible as the people traveling between them. The challenges they faced in securing self-government were often similar, their ideological justifications embraced related myths, and their land policies had a remarkable degree of overlap.

A global history of the last two centuries told from this perspective would render as text what is often—inexcusably—only subtext. We live in a world underwritten by the conquest of indigenous peoples. It is difficult to imagine the rise of global capitalism apart from the killing of indigenous people around the world and the seizure of their land. All over the world, large European-descended populations on indigenous land are at the epicenter of capital creation and are sites of the most voracious (and unsustainable) consumer markets. The rise of the last three empires—Great Britain, the Soviet Union, and the United States—is inexplicable apart from their settler-fueled expansion across multiple continents.

In a world where capital is hyper-mobile and able to adapt faster than any individual or community can hope to match, land—immovable, constant—can appear downright old-fashioned. But a settler colonial framework would put land back in the center of the historical narrative, showing how settler colonial states, from the failed ones to our current lone global superpower, made the accumulation of land for settlers the organizing principle of the state. A settler colonial framework would remind historians that it is not enough to make breezy references to racism or White supremacy, especially if we treat such forces as constants across time. We must recognize White supremacy in its specifically settler colonial forms. Race, as Patrick Wolfe has argued, “is colonialism speaking.”[16] By attending to the logic of the settler colonial state in disparate contexts, we can begin to make sense of racial regimes that appear to have little in common with each other at first glance. Why is one population subject to a “one-drop” rule while another’s identity is diluted through assimilation? Such varying regimes work in different contexts to protect the privileges of the settler population.

A settler colonial history would frame settler colonies’ independence struggles as key turning points. One way to think about change across time in settler colonies and states is to examine when and under what conditions (if ever) the settler population gained the de facto ability to impose its will on the indigenous population. The metropole often had a different set of priorities than the settler population. This became obvious in North America in the 1770s, in Kenya in the 1950s, and in Algeria and Rhodesia in the 1960s. Those settler colonies that achieved de jure or de facto independence at a relatively early date (the United States, Australia, Canada) gained more freedom of maneuver to solve their “native problem” on their own terms, usually with more brutality and comprehensiveness than the metropole would have tolerated. Settler populations that made their moves for de facto control at a much later date (Rhodesia and Algeria in the 1960s) found that they had acted too late. Changing international norms of human rights and self-determination meant that even success would earn them pariah status.

A settler colonial history would also emphasize the similar global practices used to deny indigenous land rights and preserve the best lands for settler populations. Often settler regimes pursued the subjugation of indigenous groups through contrasting yet complementary policies. In Rhodesia, the Land Apportionment Act of 1930 evicted Black Africans to clear space for yet-to-arrive White settlers. Yet the 1951 Native Land Husbandry Act declared the settler government’s intent to create “yeoman farmers” out of individual Black Africans.[17] As individuals, Africans could eke out an existence on marginal land; such cases of ostensible inclusion worked to dilute group claims to land. This phenomenon of eviction followed by individual allotment was also exemplified by the Dawes Act in the United States. Similarly, in French Algeria new laws in the 1860s and 1870s converted huge tracts of land from communal to individual control, enabling settlers to leverage their economic advantage to buy up prime lands. In other cases, failure to appear to at a French-convened hearing at a specific time could result in indigenous forfeiture of supposedly “unclaimed” land.[18] Meanwhile in Australia, a series of Selection Acts, much like the Homestead Act in the United States, increased settlement on indigenous land and spurred further violence.[19] When we take a global view of these practices, a picture emerges of settler populations on multiple continents in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries moving decisively to create the physical, legal, and ideological conditions necessary for controlling indigenous land.

A settler colonial framework would take care to explain how the policies of settler states changed after control of the land became relatively secure. Rather than seeing assimilationist policies as a disavowal of earlier violence or as of a piece with the so-called civilizing mission of colonialism, a settler colonial history better explains the fundamental continuities in settler states. As Margaret Jacobs has argued, practices such as indigenous child removal and education in Australia and the United States should not be seen as more benign practices representing a break from earlier and more brutal forms of colonization. Instead, so-called native uplift in settler states had as a deliberate goal the erasure of indigenous group identity, and with it, any claim to the land.[20]

A settler colonial framework also provides a useful antidote to exceptionalist thinking. Exploring and explaining difference is part of the historian’s stock in trade. But notions of exceptionalism tend not so much to explain difference as assume it. Instead of the hard work of clarifying historical processes, exceptionalism often offers ahistorical moral claims of the innate goodness or villainy of a people or nation. There are two great exceptionalisms in contemporary historiography. The United States is the exceptional nation, and Africa is the exceptional continent. In the popular imagination, the former is the place where liberty was born in the modern world; the latter the place where chaos reigns and primordial conflicts erupt with confounding regularity. The pull of these tropes, though reduced, still lingers in the historical profession. A settler colonial framework has the potential to mitigate both exceptionalisms. As Mahmood Mamdani has provocatively argued, “America appears less as exceptional and more as a pioneer in the history and technology of settler colonialism. All the defining institutions of settler colonialism were produced as technologies of native control in North America.”[21] More work is needed to explore how well such a claim can hold up to scrutiny, but it is abundantly clear that a settler colonial framework does offer new possibilities for American history.

A settler colonial narrative of American history reframes the American Revolution as a settler attempt to secure the power to solve the “native problem” on the settlers’ own terms. Though historians are well-aware of American settlers’ frustration with the 1763 British Proclamation Line, it is still often treated as peripheral to the “real” issues animating the rebellion. A settler colonial history highlights this quest for indigenous land as a central concern of the conflict. In such a history, the near-constant processes of Indian removal and warfare in the nineteenth century are read not as hypocrisies in the American experiment but as an organic expression of the logic of the settler colonial state. Nor should removal be read simply as a symptom of White supremacy or as precondition for the expansion of racial slavery. Instead, the voracious drive for land is better understood as a cross-sectional project uniting most pro- and anti-slavery White Americans. The Civil War era Republican Party emerges, then, not only as an anti-slavery party, but as a distinctly settler colonial one whose vision of White yeoman farmers implied continued indigenous dispossession. The policies pursued by the Lincoln and Grant administrations, from the Homestead Act to aggressive wars of conquest in the West, bore out those implications.[22]

An obvious question is where African Americans and other minority groups in the United States fit in to this picture. Veracini’s notion of probationary settlers is helpful here. From an indigenous and settler colonial perspective, the African American struggle for inclusion from emancipation to the present is the struggle to cast off this probationary status and be recognized as full settlers. The North’s inability to imagine serious land reform after the Civil War reflected the priorities of settler colonial state. African Americans were outsiders valued for their labor on settler land. Redistributing land to the formerly enslaved would upset these relations. To the present day, the bundle of individual rights and privileges the settler colonial state promises remains intimately tied to land. The American Dream—that vaguely defined and overworked phrase—is if nothing else a dream about individual property. The promise of individual rights and property ownership offers hope to African Americans. For the indigenous, the same promise has a sharp edge, raising the specter of lost sovereignty and group identity.

In Africa, a settler colonial history helps us to better see that taking seriously the legacies of colonialism and settler colonialism is not special pleading to absolve African countries of responsibility for their contemporary difficulties. In fact, these legacies are quite concrete in the political categories and governing strategies pursued by supposedly post-colonial states.[23] If extractive colonialism had pernicious effects, settler colonialism had all the more so. Indeed, the effects of settler colonial ventures live on even where they were defeated. In Kenya, veterans of the Mau Mau struggle continue to demand land redistribution—land that was originally taken from the Kikuyu to benefit White settlers. In Zimbabwe, White settler control of huge portions of arable land continued after independence. Chaotic and violent land reform at the turn of the century removed most White control but solved few problems. South Africa continues to be splintered by a grossly unequal distribution of land and resources. In Africa and around the world, to tell the history of settler colonialism is to narrate a significant story of our own time.

A settler colonial framework reorients our comparative lens to see that the problems of post-independence Africa involve not so much questions of race as of indigeneity. These are not exceptional African problems, but global problems in a world shaped by settler colonialism. From a settler colonial perspective, the point of reference for Zimbabweans and Kenyans is not African Americans but Native Americans. In successful settler colonial states such as Australia and the United States, indigenous people face extreme poverty, cultural alienation, and loss of sovereignty. Post-settler colonial African states offer powerful counterexamples of more hopeful possibilities. The history of the modern world is a history of settler invasion and indigenous dispossession. Indigenous peoples resisted everywhere; only in Africa did they achieve widespread success.  
Imagining Alternative Futures
In conclusion, I return to my own country. Historians are not immune from the trap of subtly ahistorical thinking. Caught up in telling the story of the American nation, it becomes very easy for us to assume that the status of the United States is settled, that when it comes to the construction of the American nation-state, we’ve reached the end of history. Such a posture (usually unconscious) disallows the possibility of a future devolution of the American settler colonial project. As Audra Simpson has written in her exceptional book, Mohawk Interruptus: Political Life Across the Borders of Settler States, indigenous people are still here. They have resisted, and do resist, the assimilationist sovereignty claims of settler nation-states. They claim their own sovereignty, their own nationhood. In short, perhaps the most striking claim is the most obvious: we do not know what the map of North America will look like a century from now.

[1] Patrick Wolfe, Settler Colonialism and the Transformation of Anthropology (New York: Cassell, 1999), 2.
[2] See Lorenzo Veracini, Settler Colonialism: A Theoretical Overview (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010) and Veracini, The Settler Colonial Present (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015); Patrick Wolfe, Traces of History: Elementary Structures of Race (New York: Verso, 2016).
[3] See the journal Settler Colonial Studies. Some recent edited collections include Caroline Elkins and Susan Pederson, Settler Colonialism in the Twentieth Century: Projects, Practices, Legacies (New York: Routledge, 2005); Annie E. Coombes, Rethinking Settler Colonialism: History and Memory in Australia, Canada, Aoteario New Zealand, and South Africa (New York: Manchester University Press, 2006); Fiona Bateman and Lionel Pilkington, Studies in Settler Colonialism: Politics, Identity and Culture (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011).
[4] Nancy Shoemaker, “A Typology of Colonialism,” Perspectives on History, October 2015.
[5] Mahmood Mamdani recently made this argument. See “Settler Colonialism: Then and Now,” Critical Inquiry 41 (2015): 596-614.
[6] Elkins and Pederson theorize a quadrangle made up of the imperial metropole, the local colonial administration, the settler population, and the indigenous population.
[7] David McDermott Hughes. Whiteness in Zimbabwe: Race, Landscape, and the Problem of Belong (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2010).
[8] Patrick Wolfe, “Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native,” Journal of Genocide Research 8 (2006): 387-409.
[9] Mahmood Mamdani, When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism, and the Genocide in Rwanda (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001).
[10] Veracini, Settler Colonialism, 16-52.
[11] Mahmood Mamdani, Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996).
[12] Veracini, Settler Colonialism, 16-52.
[13] Elkins and Pederson insist on this distinction.
[14] In Luise White’s excellent new book on UDI Rhodesia, she writes that she has deliberately avoided a settler colonial framework because she believed it was inadequate to the specificity of her questions. Just a few pages later, however, she emphasizes that White Rhodesians possessed a “national imaginary” of themselves as “pioneers.” Rather than being unique, this reflects a typical settler colonial imagination. White’s insistence on specificity causes her to obscure this broader context. Luise White, Unpopular Sovereignty: Rhodesian Independence and African Decolonization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 28.
[15] See for example, Zine Magubane, “The American Construction of the Poor White Problem in South Africa,” South Atlantic Quarterly 107 (2008): 691-713; Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynolds, Drawing the Global Colour Line: White Men's Countries and the International Challenge of Racial Equality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Dane Kennedy, Islands of White: Settler Society and Culture in Kenya and Southern Rhodesia, 1890-1939 (Durham: Duke University Press, 1987; Mamdani, “Settler Colonialism: Then and Now.”
[16] Wolfe, Traces of History, 5
[17] White, Unpopular Sovereignty.
[18] Sung-Eun Choi, Decolonization and the French of Algeria: Bringing the Settler Colony Home (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 18-20.
[19] Jacobs, White Mother to a Dark Race: Settler Colonialism, Maternalism, and the Removal of Indigenous Children in the American West and Australia, 1880-1940 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2009), 20.
[20] Jacobs, White Mother, xxx.
[21] Mamdani, “Settler Colonialism: Then and Now,” 608.
[22] Some other examples of what it could look like to teach American history with a settler colonial framework are found in Miktal Brotnov Eckstrom and Margaret Jacobs, “Teaching American History as Settler Colonialism” in Why You Can’t Teach United States History without American Indians, edited by Sleeper-Smith et al (Chapel Hill: Univerity of North Carolina Press, 2015), 259-272.
[23] Mamdani, Citizen and Subject.

Monday, March 14, 2016

Historians Should Try to Talk to People Who Aren't Historians

People tell me I need to stop using such academic language in my writing. I need to write in a way that people will understand. Sounds like a good idea! My wife tells me this. So does my sister. Pretty sure my mother-in-law has made this suggestion too. And they're right! And believe it or not, I'm trying! I'd like to think the difference between what I'm getting in and what I'm putting out is significant. For example, here are a couple sentences from a book I just sat down to read:
I argue that the settler colonial situation establishes a system of relationships comprising three different agencies: the settler coloniser, the indigenous colonised, and a variety of differently categorised exogenous alterities. In this context, indigenous and subaltern exogenous Others appeal to the European sovereign to articulate grievances emanating from settler abuse, the metropolitan agency interposes its sovereignty between settler and indigenous or subaltern exogenous communities (establishing “protectorates” of Aborigines, for example), and settlers insist on their autonomous capacity to control indigenous policy.
Great! Glad we got that cleared up. And here's the main point from another book today:
Bringing a postcolonial perspective to urbanizing colonial environments, this book explores the racialized politics of these two settler-colonial landscapes at the spatial, imaginative, social, and legal levels and in a comparative context. More importantly, it examines the racialized transformations of these developing cities and proposes that these urbanizing colonial precincts can be viewed as formative sites on the Pacific Rim, where bodies and spaces were rapidly transformed and mutually imbricated in sometimes violent ways, reflecting the making of plural settler-colonial modernities. 
Great! So good to know about that mutual imbrication. So you see, I'm trying. And I will get better at it, I hope.

Sunday, March 13, 2016

Could an Anti-Racist Win the Republican Nomination?

In recent years I've stopped publicly critiquing the Republican Party's racism. I stopped for several reasons. Most important, I've come to believe that White supremacy in the United States is not primarily a partisan problem. It takes two to tango. And our politics are a reflection of deeper power-relations and social structures. Pointing out the racist foundations of the modern GOP is like shooting fish in a barrel. I think many scholars are bored of it at this point, and they have increasingly turned their attention to the racism of the Democratic Party. Historians have uncovered the contradictions and failures of postwar American liberalism and have shown how liberalism has helped to construct and maintain colorblindness and White supremacy. For example:

Naomi Murakawa. The First Civil Right: How Liberals Built Prison America

Leah Gordon. From Power to Prejudice: The Rise of Racial Individualism in Midcentury America

Reuel Schiller.  Forging Rivals: Race, Class, Law, and the Collapse of Postwar Liberalism

Daniel Martinez HoSang.  Racial Propositions: Ballot Initiatives and the Making of Postwar California

Daryl Michael Scott. Contempt and Pity: Social Policy and the Image of the Damaged Black Psyche, 1880-1996

Yet it would be naive to suggest that racism is an equal problem in all political parties at all times. Even though no major American political party has ever been willing to stand unequivocally against White supremacy, at various times one or the other party tends to be the lesser of two evils. The Democratic Party circa 1864, for example, was a worthless and execrable institution, while the Republican Party, despite its inability to imagine real equality, at least wanted to end slavery. 

Even if scholars are a bit bored of the fact that the contemporary Republican Party is racist in a way that the Democratic Party is not, the reaction to Donald Trump's rise is a reminder that what is common to knowledge to us is not necessarily well-known to the public. So perhaps we do need to speak up. First, let's just establish the point that the GOP has a severe problem with racism:
There are dozens of data points we might offer as evidence, but I think this is one of the best. It's a simple statement, easy to understand, and because you have to  deny reality in order to agree with it, it's an effective proxy for measuring racial ignorance and racism. Notice, again, that this is a bipartisan problem. Nearly a third of Democrats agree with the statement. But you can see that Republicans have a much more severe problem. Nearly two-thirds embrace a view of American society that is intellectually and morally unsupportable.

You can see this by many other measures too. For example, even attitudes toward interracial marriage have a partisan gap. I'll just note one more. The racial resentment scale that many political scientists use shows how white resentment has become less bipartisan in recent decades and has become increasingly concentrated in the Republican Party.
My intention is not to beat up on the Republican Party. These partisan differences have ebbed and flowed over time. But we do need to grapple with where the problem predominantly exists right now.

I raise this point because I'm concerned that though most Republicans desperately want to stop Trump, they don't appear to have a plan to build their party anew on a less racist foundation. Even now, amid all the denunciations of Trump, the other candidates continue to play to the racism of the base. To understand this, we need to pay attention to what they're not saying.

A few weeks ago, when Marco Rubio finally decided to attack Donald Trump, he got down in the gutter with him, making jokes and personal attacks. He justified this on the grounds that policy attacks didn't seem to stick, and it was the only way to get the media to pay attention. He didn't want to do it, but it was the only option he had, right?

In fact, there has been another attack available to Rubio, Cruz, and Kasich all along, and they could make it without descending to Trump's level or engaging in crude insults or name-calling. This particular attack would also have the virtue of being true. Most important, if made forcefully and unequivocally, this attack would have dominated the news and made headlines for Rubio's campaign. It would go something like this:
"Donald Trump is using racism and bigotry to win votes. It doesn't matter to me whether Donald Trump is a racist in his heart, or is merely playing one on TV. His words are a disgrace to our party and our country, and it is an embarrassment to share a stage with him. I denounce his racism and will campaign against him if he were to be the Republican nominee." 
This would have been the appropriate response from the beginning of Trump's campaign. Remember, he was the most famous provocateur of the birther movement. Then he launched his campaign by calling Mexicans rapists. The other candidates should have pursued this line of attack at the first Republican debate. The point is, if the GOP was as innocent as its leaders claim, this would not have been a hard attack to make! There wouldn't be any downside. But the other candidates can't make this attack because, in the end, they need Trump's voters! And they know that most Republicans, including a substantial number of their own supporters, believe Whites are the primary victims of racism. They know that speaking bluntly against racism will not be received positively by most Republican voters.

The problem is deeper than Trump. And though the Democrats are not as egregious, they have their own problems. The front-runner has expressed her utmost confidence in Rahm Emmanual. She and Bernie have to be pressured and cajoled to support basic justice for people of color. Because so many people of color are in the Democratic coalition, there is a moderating effect. Even though Democrats don't dare to run on an explicit platform of tearing down White supremacy, they do have to be somewhat attentive to minority concerns. In the nearly all-White GOP, the moderating effect is almost non-existent. What Trump shows is that it may be possible to win the Republican nomination while running as a racist. Is it possible to win the Republican nomination while running unequivocally as an anti-racist? None of the other candidates have dared to test that proposition.