Globalized Terror and the
Postcolonial Sublime: Questions for Subaltern Militants
The fantasmatic danger of
terrorism scattered around the world now justifies this militarization of
foreign policy and the willingness to intervene and engage even in “lots
of small, dirty fights in remote and dangerous places” in the process of
“draining the swamp” of civil society (to quote Defense Secretary Rumsfeld;
Mahajan 2002, 97; Shank 2003). In addition to the “shock and awe” war
against Iraq, endless and borderless war against anyone perceived or
declared as “terrorist,” that is, anti-American, seems overreaching and
out of proportion to the catastrophe of September 11 (Ullman and Wade
1996).
BY E. SAN JUAN, JR.
Posted by Bulatlat
A few months
before his death, Edward Said, arguably the founding “patriarch” of
postcolonial studies, reassessed his critique of “Orientalism” by
affirming the value of “humanistic critique to open up the fields of
struggle” so as to enable the speaking of “issues of injustice and
suffering” within the amply situated contexts of history and socioeconomic
reality. He invoked sentiments of generosity and hospitality so that the
interpreter’s mind can actively make a place for “a foreign other,” the
“active practice of worldly secural rational discourse.” He strongly
denounced the current
U.S.
government policy of celebrating “American or western exceptionalism” and
demonstrating contempt for other cultures, all in the service of “terror,
pre-emptive war, and unilateral regime change” (2003, xx).. In an earlier
interview, Said asserted that his main interest was in neocolonialism, not
postcolonialism (which, to him, was a “misnomer”), in “the structures of
dependency and impoverishment” in the global South due to the operations
of the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank (1998/99, 82).
Overall, a modernist humanism, not postcolonial hybridity, deconstruction,
or genealogy of speechless subalterns, was for Said the paradigmatic
framework of inquiry for a comparative analysis of cultures and societies
in an epoch of decolonization.
After over
two decades of intellectual specialization and investment, postcolonial
inquiry has now enjoyed sufficient legitimacy and prestige in the
Euro-American academy to make it serviceable for reinforcing the
Establishment consensus. Decolonization is over. The natives now run the
government. Long live the free market around the planet! Works by Homi
Bhabha, Gayatri Spivak, and others are institutionally consecrated
“touchstones,” to use the Arnoldian rubric, that, though somewhat vitiated
as products of a “comprador intelligentsia,” nevertheless serve to
authorize a validation of colonialism and its legacies as a useful if
ambivalent resource. Informed by theoretical protocols and procedures
hostile to nationalist movements, not to speak of antiimperialist
revolutionary struggles and other “metanarratives” inspired by Fanon, Mao,
Ho Chi Minh, Che Guevara and others, postcolonial studies today function
not as supplements to the critical theories of Derrida, Foucault or
Deleuze, but to the official apologetics of the “new world order” called
“globalization” ushered with the demise of the Soviet Union and the end of
the Cold War, that is to say, the end of history and the eternal triumph
of capitalism and its attendant ideology, neoliberal globalism. As Arif
Dirlik summed it up, postcolonial discourse has become an academic
orthodoxy in its “self-identification with hybridity, in-betweeness,
marginality, borderlands”—a fatal move from the “language of revolution
infused with the vocabulary of political economy to a culturalist language
of identity politics” (2000, 5).
What
happened to revolution and the decolonizing figure prefigured by Caliban
and personified by Rizal, Sandino,Nelson Mandela, and others? In his
master-work Culture and Imperialism, Said paid homage to the
revolutionary militants, Amilcar Cabral, Frantz Fanon, C.L.R. James, and
others, as the locus classicus of emancipatory “third world”
discourse who engaged the recovery of lost integrity in the context of
regaining the territorial habitat of memory—places instead of spaces--and
popular sovereignty. But today, nationalism and national liberation
struggles are anathema to postcolonialists. And with the neoconservative
counter-revolution after the defeat of U.S. aggression in IndoChina, a
“cultural turn” effectively replaced the revolutionary process in history
with an endless process of “abrogation and appropriation” of colonial
texts and practices in quest of an identity that is ultimately and forever
decentered, shifting, borderless, fluid, aleatory, ambivalent, and so on.
What encapsulates all these qualities is the term “transnational,”the
prefix “trans” functioning as the magic word that would bridge the immense
gap between the terrible misery of peoples in the underdeveloped South and
the affluent suburban megamalls of the North. One might ask: Would
transnationals and transculturals resolve questions of suffering and
injustice that confront us daily in Iraq, Palestine, Afghanistan,
Colombia, the Philippines, and of course in the “internal colonies” of
North America and Europe?
Postcolonial
singularities
In the
canonical handbook Key Concepts in Post-Colonial Studies by the
same Australian authors (Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen
Tiffin) of The Empire Writers Back, we do not find any entry for
“Liberation” but one for “Liminality. And, more telling, there is no
entry for “Revolution” either. Aside from the valorization of the liminal
as the in-between hybrid notion, “rhizome” is privileged by our
postcolonial experts as the concept (atributed to Deleuze and Guattari,
but defined in Foucauldian terminology) that best describes colonial
power: “it operates dynamically, laterally and intermittently.” Ashcroft,
Griffiths and Tiffin assert that “There is no ‘master-plan of imperialism,
and its advance is not necessarily secured through violence and
oppression”; and therefore we should focus on the way “cultural hegemony”
operates through “an invisible network of filiative connections,
psychological internalizations, and unconsciously complicit associations”
(1998, 207). Surely these generalizations will strike anyone as quite
dubious, departing radically from Gramsci’s use of “hegemony” as a
historically variable combination of force and consent.
One sign of
the terminal exhaustion of this anti-totalizing stance is the reduction of
the issue of globalization to “the nature and survival of social and
cultural identity,” thus evacuating the arena of political and
socioeconomic struggle which Said and his models (Fanon, C.L.R. James)
considered salient and inescapable. Disturbed by this trend, students and
teachers at
McMaster
University in Ontario, Canada, recently organized a conference on “the
politics of postcoloniality.” Anticipating an “Empire Resurrected,” they
posed the following questions in a futuristic or subjunctive mode
(reproduced from a widely circulated flyer): “What are the chances of
establishing direct colonialism again in the 21st century? Why
did the old empires give up their old colonies in favor of indirect
colonialism? What are the conditions that would make them revert back to
direct colonialism? What are the circumstances
(economical/political/cultural/social) that would facilitate the
resurrection of direct colonialism/empire? How can colonial schemes be
countered? What should be the new mode of resistance? What is the role of
civil disobedience in this case? Is terrorism/radical resistance the new
mode for countering the new empire? What are the viable modes or
resistance? How can postcolonial theory respond/react to such a
possibility? What would be its role?” These are fresh winds blowing from
the dusty ivory-towers and archives of academy, betokening grassroots
unrest that might stir us up from dogmatic slumber induced by the
seductive pleasures of postcolonial contingency and disjuncture.
We are at a
pivotal juncture in critical self-reflective inventory. Instead of
elaborating fully the historical circumstances that might explain this
shift, a transition I have sketched in my Beyond Postcolonial Theory,
what I would like to attempt here is to explore briefly the most
suggestive ways in which we can restore the critical edge in postcolonial
critique by engaging the problem of terrorism and its polar antithesis,
the “New American Century” and the project of globalization designed to
re-establish an imperial hegemony not dreamed of by either Cecil Rhodes or
the architects of pax Americana erected on the ruins of Hiroshima,
Berlin and Stalingrad. What I have in mind is the interrogation of the
discourse of imperial neoliberalism as the wily, duplicitous mimicry of
postcolonial agency. What is urgently needed is a new analytic approach to
twenty-first century imperial hegemony and a corollary strategy of
demystification that would advance the anti-globalization actions to take
into account crucial developments since the disaster of
September
11, 2001 and its aftermath, the ongoing devastation of Afghanistan and
Iraq. This is both a pedagogical and mobilizing task aimed at sectors of
the pettybourgeois intelligentsia and middle strata open to an evolving
neo-postcolonial critique.
Approaching
Imperial Neoliberalism
Imperial
neoliberalism, the rationale of actual political and economic
globalization, reveals itself most lucidly in the “Project for New
American Century,” the manifesto of advisers closest to President George
W. Bush. The designers of this new aggressive
U.S. foreign
policy premised on an unprecedent military buildup were participants in
the invasions of Panama and Grenada, counter-insurgency wars in Central
and
South America
(particularly
Colombia,
Peru), the Cold War showdown with the Soviet Union in
Afghanistan,
and the arming of Iraq to counter radical Islamists in
Iran
and elsewhere. Basically, the project centers on a doctrine of unilateral
pre-emptive war against any nation or power seeking to rival the
U.S.
rather than containment and multilateral internationalism of terrorist
groups. The goal is total war, endless war, premised on accelerated
militarization of society and “moral clarity.” What the last phrase means
may be grasped by quoting portions of the manifesto: “American foreign and
defense policy is adrift…As the 20th century draws to a close,
the United States stands as the world’s pre-eminent power….Does the United
States have the resolve to shape a new century favorable to American
principles and interests?” This domination of the planet is based on
”unquestioned U.S. military preeminence” beefed up with new generation of
nuclear weapons and sufficient combat forces deployed to a wider network
of foreward operating bases to fight and win multiple wars, including
forces for “constabulary duties” with American rather than UN leadership.
Are we facing here an aberrant act committed in a moment of
absent-mindedness?
In a
blueprint entitled “Rebuilding America’s Defenses: Strategy, Forces and
Resources for a New Century” released last September 2000, this
neconservative group outlined its grand plan for world hegemony: “The
United States is the world’s only superpower, combining preeminent
military power, global technological leadership, and the world’s largest
economy.
America’s
grand strategy should aim to preserve and extend this advantageous
position as far into the future as possible. Yet no moment in
international politics can be frozen in time; even a global pax Americana
will not preserve itself….The presence of American forces in critical
regions around the world is the visible expression of the extent of
America’s status as a superpower…” The report urges the control of the
Persian Gulf
region by the U.S., proceeding through the conquest of
Iraq,
followed by Syria and eventually Iran. For this plan to be “saleable” to
the public, a catastrophic and catalyzing event “like a new Pearl Harbor”
was needed; this was promptly supplied by September 11, 2001. While the
ostensible excuse for the invasion of Iraq included Hussein’s tyranny,
putative weapons of mass destruction, and terrorism, it was in effect the
desire of the US ruling elite for a permanent role and base in this
strategically important region of the world, rich in resources but also
geographically situated in a way that would provided springboards for
intervention into Europe, Russia, China and the Indian subcontinent.
In President
George W. Bush’s 2002 State of the Union address, the doctrine of
“preemptive war” as the lynchpin in the endless war against terrorism,
against rogue states that form the axis of evil (Iraq, Iran and North
Korea), was announced. The right to act preemptively, using nuclear
strikes and other “operational capabilities,” was no longer being
exercised to punish the perpetrators of the crime of September 11 by the
savage onslaught on Afghanistan where Al-Qaeda and Osama bin laden had
strongholds, but it was a measure necessary” to defend our liberty and to
defend our lives.” The fantasmatic danger of terrorism scattered around
the world now justifies this militarization of foreign policy and the
willingness to intervene and engage even in “lots of small, dirty fights
in remote and dangerous places” in the process of “draining the swamp” of
civil society (to quote Defense Secretary Rumsfeld; Mahajan 2002, 97;
Shank 2003). In addition to the “shock and awe” war against Iraq, endless
and borderless war against anyone perceived or declared as “terrorist,”
that is, anti-American, seems overreaching and out of proportion to the
catastrophe of September 11 (Ullman and Wade 1996). The aim of fighting
and winning multiple, simultaneous major theater wars seems a
postmodernist avant-garde invention. But the reality of events appear to
confirm the intent:
Afghanistan
was subjugated at the expense of some 20,000 lives, Iraq at more than
triple the number and still counting.
What strikes
most people as sinister is the plan of a secret army or
“super-intelligence support activity” labelled as the “Proactive
Pre-emptive Operations Group, or P2OG. It will combine the CIA and
military covert action, information warfare, and deception to provoke
terrorist attacks that would then require
U.S.“counterattack” against countries harboring the terrorists. But this
is humdrum routine for the “civilizing mission” since the conquistadors
landed in the “New World” and the European traders-missionaries began the
merchandising of the bodies of African slaves.
In
retrospect, one can discern an uncanny similarity with the events before
the war against
Iraq in
1991, which inaugurated the era of “total war.” The depressed economic
situation and the scandals of corporate criminality cannot be remedied by
further dismantling of the welfare state, so the public must be diverted.
Noam Chomsky’s analysis of that situation sounds prescient and
historically grounded in a well-defined pattern of political sequences
that condense half-a-century of postcolonial interventions:
Two classic
devices are to inspire fear of terrible enemies and worship of our grand
leaders, who rescue us just in the nick of time. The enemies may be
domestic (criminal Blacks, uppity women, subversives undermining the
tradition, etc.), but foreign demons have natural advantages.... As the
standard pretext [Communists] vanished, the domestic population has been
frightened—with some success—by images of Qaddafi’s hordes of
international terrorists, Sandinistas marching on Texas, Grenada
interdicting sea lanes and threatening the homeland itself, Hispanic narco-traffickers
directed by the arch-maniac Noriega, after he underwent the usual
conversion from favored friend to Attila the Hun after committing the one
unforgivable crime, the crime of disobedience…. The scenario requires Awe
as well as Fear...(1992, 408)
The
terrorizing sublime
Awe as well
as fear—this “structure of feeling,” which postcolonial critics have so
far ignored, frames the situation of the war against terrorism carried to
the imperial margins, this time in the Philippines. I would now like to
call the attention of the reader to the Philippines, a former colony of
the United States (now arguably a genuine U.S. neocolony) and the
continuing l’affaire Abu Sayyaf and its use as a pretext for the
invasion by over a thousand U.S. troops of this second front of the war
against terrorism, after Afghanistan.
Since the
seventies at the time of the Marcos dictatorship, the severely
impoverished Muslims in the southern
Philippines
called “Moros” (who were never actually subjugated by the Spaniards,
Americans or Japanese throughout their history) have mounted a fierce
struggle for autonomy and dignity, for some measure of self-determination.
While the Moro National Liberation Front has compromised with the
government, another more formidable group, the Moro Islamic Liberation
Front, has continued its struggle. But its fighters are now branded
“terrorists” and their legitimate cause criminalized. It is expected that
the MILF will be classified as a “foreign terrorist organization”—foreign,
of course, to Americans, but not to Filipinos. When President Arroyo
allowed the U.S. Special Forces to participate in the pursuit of the Abu
Sayyaf, a bandit-group that is really a creation of both the CIA and the
Philippine Armed Forces, did she not violate the Philippine Constitution?
Indifference to this question is a symptom of the larger problem of either
ignorance of the plight of the Moro people, or complicity with the ruling
class in the oppression and exploitation of at least 7.5 million citizens
who happen to subscribe to another faith.
Thousands, perhaps
over a hundred thousand now, have died since the flare-up of
Christian-Muslim hostilities in the sixties, climaxing in the years after
1972 with the battle of Jolo, Sulu. The city was actually burned by
government forces, producing 2,000 corpses and 60,000 refugees in one
night. A ceasefire was reached after the Tripoli Agreement of 1976, but
it was often honored in the breach. The split of the Moro Islamic
Liberation Front led Hashim Salamat from Misuari’s more secular Moro
National Liberation Front introduced a sectarian but also conciliatory
element in the scene, precipitating the formation of the Abu Sayyaf along
the lines of the government-sponsored and CIA-funded Bangsa Moro
Liberation Organization (BMLO) in 1976.
The Abu Sayyaf has
been represented in the U.S. mass media as an awesome and fearful force,
mysterious yet intelligible. It is now public knowledge that the Abu
Sayyaf, like the MILF, was set up by the Philippine government to split
the Moro struggle for self-determination and pressure the MNLF into
capitulation. But since 1995 the Abu Sayyaf has turned into a
Frankenstein’s monster devoted to hostage-taking for ransom and
terrorizing civilian communities. In the midst of U.S. intervention last
year, an International Peace Commission went to Basilan on March 23-27,
2002, and produced what I think is the most comprehensive and detailed
report on conditions in the region. The conclusion of their report,
entitled Basilan: The Next Afghanistan?, is unequivocal: the Abu
Sayyaf is a symptom of the disastrous failure of the state in ensuring not
only peace and security but honest and effficient government—both
provincial governance and military-police agencies—in a milieu where the
proverbial forces of civil society (business, church, media) have been
complicit. Enmeshed in corruption that involves local officials, military
officers, and central government, the region where the Abu Sayyaf thrives
has witnessed the reign of absolute terror over civilians. Nowhere in the
entire Philippines is the violation of human rights and the brutalization
of civilian suspects so flagrant and ubiquitous as in Basilan where this
group operates. In this context, the deployment of U.S. troops in
Mindanao, compliments of the Arroyo administration, has only worsened the
situation, demonized and mystified the Abu Sayyaf as an Al Qaeda
accomplice, and promoted hostility among various ethnic groups.
Engaging the
neocolonial return
Given this context,
let us examine how metropolitan wisdom has employed “postcolonial”
resources to represent this whole conjuncture to the academic public. One
example is Charles O. Frake’s article “Abu Sayyaf: Displays of Violence
and the Proliferation of Contested Identities among Philippine Muslims” in
a 1998 issue of American Anthropologist. While Frake is quite
erudite in referencing the history of the Muslims from the Spanish times
to the present, he never examines seriously, except in a tokenizing
gestural mode, the political and economic context of land dispossession
and economic marginalization of the Muslim majority. Instead, typical of
postcolonial discourse, he focuses on the Abu Sayyaf as an attempt to
solve “the logical gap in the identity matrix of Philippine Muslim
insurgency.” Since the Moro movement has been fragmented by ethnic
antagonisms among Tausugs, Maguindanaos, Maranaos, Yakans, and so on, the
Abu Sayyaf, according to Frake, is “militantly Islamicist.” And because
its leadership draws from the displaced and unaffiliated youth, as well as
the traditional outlaw areas, the group represents “a new layer in the
strata of kinds of identity laid down in the long history of conflict in
the Muslim Philippines” (1998, 48). In short, the Abu Sayyaf (according to
Frake’s postmodernist optic) is a symptom of the problem of “identity
proliferation,” since the fault-lines of identity construction are often
revealed in explosions of political violence. Empire, class and nation
have all been expunged from the functionalist, cooptative frame of
analysis.
Frake is an example
of a knowledge-producer intent on unwitting mystification. The result of
applying Geertz’ “thick description,” that is, the focus on how
participants interpret everyday happenings, instead of clarifying the
nexus of causality and accountability, muddles it. Frake wants to answer
the question: “How can such nice people [meaning the anonymous members of
the Abu Sayyaf], at times, do such horrible things?” But his premise—that
the central motivation of individuals in society is to be recognized as
somebody, to establish an identity—is completely detached from historical
specificities, even from the basic determinants of any cultural complex or
location. Despite the empirical citations and putative data, Frake’s
attempt to deploy postmodern ethonography on the Abu Sayyaf phenomenon
results only in a simplistic reduction: that in situations of struggle,
people fail to unite because they continually interpret what’s going on
around them, thus multiplying “contested identities.” I am afraid such
“thick descriptions” are really opaque ruses obscuring instead of
illuminating the plight of the Moro people. Vincent Crapanzano’s critique
of Geertz may be quoted here: the method of “thick description” “offers no
understanding of the native from the native’s point of view,...no
specifiable evidence for his attributions of intention, his assertion of
subjectivity, his declarations of experience” (quoted in San Juan 2002,
234).
Recalling Said’s
critique of Orientalist scholarship cited earlier, I cannot imagine any
intellectual who, endeavoring to grasp the roots of a long-enduring,
complex “Moro problem,” will preemptively assert or claim a detached or
disinterested stance. A few postmodernist scholars openly announce their
point-of-view, their subject-positions—if only to wash their hands, of
course, of any complicity with US colonialism or imperialism. Professions
of neutrality have been replaced with gestures of liberal guilt manifest
in philanthropic compassion. Unfortunately, these gestures only prolong
the orientalizing supremacy of Western knowledge-production and its
hegemonic influence. Of course it is now commonplace to note that all
disciplinary research performed in state institutions, all pedagogical
agencies (in Karl Mannheim’s phrase, the “everyday constituent assembly of
the mind”), are sites of ideological class struggle and none can be
hermetically insulated from the pressures of material local and global
interests. There is no vacuum or neutral space in the planetary conflict
of classes and groups for hegemony.
Perseverance in
commitment
In my recent work
(San Juan 2002; 2004), I called attention to recent developments in
Cultural Studies as a disciplinary practice in North America and Europe
that have subverted the early promise of the field as a radical
transformative force. In every attempt to do any inquiry into cultural
practices and discourses, one is always carrying out a political and
ethical project, whether one is conscious of it or not. There are many
reasons for this, the main one being the inescapable political-economic
constitution of any discursive field of inquiry, as Pierre Bourdieu has
convincingly demonstrated. And in the famous theoretical couplet that
Foucault has popularized, knowledge/power, the production of knowledge is
always already implicated in the ongoing struggles across class, nation,
gender, locality, ethnicity, and so on, which envelopes and surrounds the
intellectual, the would-be knower, learner, investigator, scholar, and so
on.
This is the moment
when I would like to close with some reflections, and questions, on why
problems of culture and knowledge are of decisive political importance for
the postcolonial critic. Although we always conceive of ourselves as
citizen-subjects with rights, it is also the case that we are all caught
up in a network of obligations whose entirety is not within our conscious
grasp. What is our relation to Others—the excluded, marginalized, and
prostituted who affirm our existence and identity--in our society? In a
sense we (Filipinos, Americans) are responsible for the plight of the
Moros—yes, including the existence of the Abu Sayyaf--insofar as we claim
to live in a community of singular persons who alternatively occupy the
positions of speakers and listeners, I’s and you’s, and who have
obligations to one another, and reciprocal accountabilities. We should
also keep in mind the new historical milieu characterized by what Alain
Badiou calls “the disjunctive synthesis of two nihilisms,” capitalist
nihilism and the anonymous fascist nihilism manifested in the 9/11 attack
(Badiou 2003, 160). This ethical challenge sums up, to my mind, the
riposte that postcolonial agency must pose to neoliberal imperialism
(instanced by Frake’s discourse, among others) if it is to sustain its
tradition of critique, that uncompromising questioning of absolutisms and
sacralizing mystifications that Edward Said initiated at the beginning of
his exemplary intellectual adventure.
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