Biopolitics: everyone's an entrepreneur now.
In my post on Economic Citizenship and Canada's First Nations, I referred to the idea of a "history of the present." What does this mean?
This is a phrase that postmodern accounting researchers have borrowed from Michel Foucault, the influential French social theorist. Foucault was interested in history, but not for its own sake. The point of studying history, for Foucault, was to understand today. He wanted to figure out how we got into our present situation. What made it possible that the things we take for granted can be taken for granted? How did we arrive at this set of social practices and this set of beliefs about the way the world should be?
Foucault's focus was not on "great people," the standard sort of history that tells our story in terms of kings and presidents and popes. Instead, he looked at social technologies and administrative practices, like prisons. He examined changes over time in the way we classify behaviours, such as mental illness and sexuality.
This approach to history allows us to recognize, for instance, how it was that Europeans came to dominate Canada and marginalize (if that's not too soft a word) the First Nations. It didn't happen just because of Generals like Wolfe and Montcalm. It didn't happen just because of Prime Ministers like Macdonald and Mackenzie King. It happened because of mundane administrative practices like surveying and accounting. It happened because of the cow, for heaven's sake: the Indians chase buffalo all over the Prairies, so give them cows for free and they will stay put to look after the cows, leaving all the rest of the land "unused." Brilliant. Banal. Mundane.
Writing a history of the present involves letting go of assumptions about progress in history. Foucault's methods do not assume that things develop smoothly. Instead, he argues, things change in unpredictable and unintended ways. They are not the result of a rational plan.
Because of this, the historian should look for inflection points, moments when things took a turn, for better or worse. For example, the history of Canada's pension system was greatly affected by two major events. One was World War I, which required the imposition of income tax to fund the war effort. This, along with the return of veterans after the war, created all manner of changes in employers-employee relations, and in how government was funded and how it acted in society.
The other event was the election of a minority government under Lester Pearson in the 1960s. This created a different political climate, as the governing Liberal party was required to cooperate with the NDP. The results included universal healthcare and the Canada Pension Plan.
Looking at these inflection points helps show how we got here. It sheds light on particular decisions that were made at particular times. It shows, most importantly, that things could be different today if we had made different decisions.
I find this empowering, because it suggests that we could make different decisions today. Change is possible. I also find this sobering, because it suggests that important institutions we now take for granted, like education and healthcare, could be undone if we don't pay attention.
Photo behind the title is of the museum at the Giant's Causeway, on the coast of Northern Ireland, taken in 2013. The architecture seems to imply an inevitable, unstoppable march of modernity.
Image of Île d'Orléans is from Google Maps. They got it from government satellites so I figure I can use it here.
Photo of Pont des Arts, Paris, was taken in 2012. A history of romance written in padlocks.
If we are going to get anywhere with understanding the world, we should start with what I mean by "understanding." I am frequently chastised by my empiricist colleagues for not proving things. They want to know about causes and effects. They want big data!
I trade in small data. My questions about the world are not "What causes this?" but "How was this possible?" If you want to know about causes, you need to show that in all cases, A is a result of B. Research can't often do this. People think that this is what research does all the time, but it ain't so. In most cases, researchers can only make statistical inferences. If they are lucky, they can at best say that they are 95% of the time, when A happens, B also happens. Even then, they are not necessarily sure that B causes A. Correlation and causality are two different things.
If you are not concerned about causes, then what are you concerned with? What you are concerned with is assumptions. Especially the assumption that the way things are today is natural, normal, or inevitable. To poke a hole in this assumption, you only need counterexamples. And for this, you need small data.
By small, I mean only that you need to look closely at a small number of cases. Sometimes even a single case will do. But you need to look closely. You need to look at the details, the messiness and particularity of a case. For instance, one of my papers, written with my PhD supervisor, Dean Neu, examined the accounting practices in the Department of Indian Affairs in Canada in the late 1800s. We picked this time period because it was the beginning of some horrific government policies aimed at assimilating Canada's aboriginal peoples into the general population. "Assimilation" is one word. "Genocide" is another. Take your pick.
Our goal was to demonstrate that Canada's relationship with our First Nations over the course of the past 150 years was not the fairy tale we often tell ourselves. Canadians used to watch John Wayne movies, filled with images of Indians being massacred left, right and centre, and smugly say to ourselves that at least we didn't treat our Indians like that. We had a Disney image in our head about the cooperation between white fur traders and the noble savages who guided them through the wilderness.
To debunk this Disney version of events, Dean and I wanted to look at the historical record a little more closely. We looked at the National Archives in Ottawa and at the Glenbow Museum archives in Calgary. We found the accounting records of the Department of Indian Affairs. The story these records told, particularly about what the Department very routinely did in a few First Nations bands around Calgary, was very different from the "official" story we are told in school.
I'll tell you more about what we found in another posting, over in the Practices section of the website, but for now, suffice to say that we found evidence of deliberate, prolonged, bureaucratic efforts to eradicate the culture of the First Nations. These efforts to eliminate the Indians and make them all like "us" settlers were official government policy. The archives showed this without question. Now, were we able to prove that in 95% of cases, the federal government acted like this? No. But that wasn't the point. All we needed to do, to cast doubt on the "official" Disney-like story of our past was to find a counterexample. And we did. By examining the Department's activities in even one of these bands, say the Sarcee First Nation near Calgary, and showing evidence of a policy of cultural extermination, we could poke a hole in the official story.
So this is what we understand by the word "understanding." We simply mean that we question what we are told. We ask if things are necessarily so. We ask how it became possible that we ended up where we are. For this, detailed qualitative research of particular cases is quite useful. It's not that you couldn't do a large scale statistical study of accounting in the Department of Indian Affairs. The archival records are pretty comprehensive, after all. It's just that a large scale study wouldn't be particularly useful for answering the questions we wanted to ask.
For more on matching how truth is related to the kinds of questions we ask, read Richard Rorty.* He is awesome at explaining how the questions we ask demand different approaches to seeking the truth.
* Some key books by Richard Rorty:
- Consequences of pragmatism: Essays, 1972-1980. U of Minnesota Press, 1982.
- Contingency, irony, and solidarity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989.
- Objectivity, relativism, and truth: philosophical papers. Vol. 1. Cambridge University Press, 1991.
- Philosophy and social hope. Penguin UK, 1999. [written for a wider audience]
Photograph: A lingerie store in Amsterdam, taken in 2012.