Abstract: This paper utilizes raciolinguistic genealogy (Flores, in International Journal of the Sociology of Language 2021:111–115, 2021) to explore an historical case study of Spanish Franciscan missionaries in Alta California during an early period of colonization spanning the seventeenth-nineteenth centuries. In the study, I apply a raciolinguistic lens to investigate the racialized and racist basis for a language ideology of contempt (Dorian, in: Small-Language Fates and Prospects (pp. 264–283). Brill). Imported from Europe, this ideology devalued both Indigenous languages and Peoples, acting as a filter for language policymaking at multiple levels of the Spanish Empire and the mission institution. Guided by this ideology, Franciscan missionaries strategically implemented both monolingual and multilingual pedagogies for forced assimilatory religious schooling, which was intended to contribute to a project of linguicide among local Indigenous Peoples in the region. This structural “killing of languages without the killing of speakers” (Bear Nicholas in Briarpatch 40:5–8, 2011: 4) would contribute to Spanish settler colonization in New Spain and Alta California, which sought to dominate Indigenous Peoples and extract their labor power through “elimination via absorption” (Wolfe, in: Traces of history: Elementary structures of race, Verso Books, 2016). The concept of genocidal multilingualism is offered to interpret the missionaries’ strategy to learn and expropriate the languages of local Indigenous communities for the purposes of linguicide and forced assimilation. Today, multilingualism is often affiliated with political support for linguistic and cultural diversity and challenges to hegemonic monolingualism (Kubota in Applied Linguistics 37:474–494, 2016). However, the current neoliberal political context in California and the U.S. may be similarly influenced by a raciolinguistic ideology of contempt that devalues minoritized languages and users, including Indigenous Peoples and their languages, reproducing the linguicidal language shift that characterizes the historical legacy of colonization in the United States.


Excerpt: The nation-state is often the container for conversations about how to remember and commemorate aspects of Australia’s history. In Australian memory studies, much of the research on settler colonialism, Indigenous–settler relations and colonial forgetting focuses on the national level. Cutting through this tendency, chapters in this collection focus on the local level, on places and landscapes where the potency of history and memory come together in lived relations that resonate across generations. While official national and state influences are still a critical concern, many of the essays turn to specific landscapes, biographical accounts or family histories to look at how memory plays out on a more intimate scale. The authors locate us in particular places: a museum, a beach, a tree, a sign, a memorial stone, a digital photograph, the ruin of a children’s home. In many of these cases, people grapple with the same challenge that faces the nation: how to remember what has been forgotten, especially violent and traumatic histories. Yet, the specificities of place and personal histories make it difficult to fall back on the generalising and mythologising strategies that underpin settler-national memories. In some places, national memory still looms large, particularly in state-funded institutions, where the work of curators consists of navigating channels for particular pieces of memory to speak beyond the well-worn mythos of white settlement that has so often served as the default in cultural institutions. This can mean taking leave of the usual houses of history – archives, books, universities – and rethinking where it is that histories are told and commemorative practices performed, and by whom.


Description: How an audacious environmental engineering plan fanned white settlers’ visions for South Africa, stoked mistrust in scientific experts, and gave rise to the Apartheid state. In 1918, South Africa’s climate seemed to be drying up. White farmers claimed that rainfall was dwindling, while nineteenth-century missionaries and explorers had found riverbeds, seashells, and other evidence of a verdant past deep in the Kalahari Desert. Government experts insisted, however, that the rains weren’t disappearing; the land, long susceptible to periodic drought, had been further degraded by settler farmers’ agricultural practices—an explanation that white South Africans rejected. So when the geologist Ernest Schwarz blamed the land itself, the farmers listened. Schwarz held that erosion and topography had created arid conditions, that rainfall was declining, and that agriculture was not to blame. As a solution, he proposed diverting two rivers to the Kalahari’s basins, creating a lush country where white South Africans could thrive. This plan, which became known as the Kalahari Thirstland Redemption Scheme, was rejected by most scientists. But it found support among white South Africans who worried that struggling farmers undermined an image of racial superiority. Green Lands for White Men explores how white agriculturalists in southern Africa grappled with a parched and changing terrain as they sought to consolidate control over a Black population. Meredith McKittrick’s timely history of the Redemption Scheme reveals the environment to have been central to South African understandings of race. While Schwarz’s plan was never implemented, it enjoyed sufficient support to prompt government research into its feasibility, and years of debate. McKittrick shows how white farmers rallied around a plan that represented their interests over those of the South African state and delves into the reasons behind this schism between expert opinion and public perception. This backlash against the predominant scientific view, McKittrick argues, displayed the depth of popular mistrust in an expanding scientific elite. A detailed look at the intersection of a settler society, climate change, white nationalism, and expert credibility, Green Lands for White Men examines the reverberations of a scheme that ultimately failed but influenced ideas about race and the environment in South Africa for decades to come.


Excerpt: The founding of Liberia by the American Colonization Society (ACS) in the early 19th century represents a pivotal moment in US foreign intervention, initiating a series of events whose consequences reverberated beyond its historical time frame. The ACS was founded in 1816 with the primary intention of repatriating free African Americans and emancipated slaves to a colony in West Africa. The society believed in the concept of colonization as a solution to racial tensions and the issue of slavery in the United States and aimed to recruit volunteers from among free African Americans and emancipated slaves in the United States. These individuals were offered the opportunity to emigrate to Liberia with the promise of land and the prospect of building a new life free from the racial oppression and economic hardship they often faced in the United States. While some individuals volunteered willingly, others were pressured or even coerced into emigrating. The motivations behind the ACS were multifaceted, driven by a blend of humanitarian, racial, and political factors. Some members genuinely believed that resettling freed African Americans in Africa would offer them opportunities unavailable in the United States due to racial discrimination and economic challenges. Others saw this resettlement as a means to remove freed slaves, whom they considered a threat to social order and stability. Additionally, some believed the ACS aimed to do good by spreading Christianity and “civilization” in Africa.




Abstract: The pastoral economies introduced during the colonial invasion have radically transformed Australian diets, cultures, and ecosystems. Stolen land was tenured to settlers and emancipated convicts to develop profitable and productive enterprises for the British Empire. Land rights and animal care are intrinsically linked to modern food systems, yet there is a gap in Australian literature regarding the legacy of colonial pastoralism and its connection to current food systems. This essay questions how introduced species evolved to command the Australian diet. Wallabies and kangaroos were legally relegated to national emblems, and thus inedible. Their conditions of being, whether edible, iconic, or wild, were dictated by the Commonwealth Government. The taboo nature of these native marsupials leaves them largely unconsumed, and therefore, unprotected. Modern conditions of edibility are less concerned with physical metabolic matters, instead driven by historic cultural attitudes and political and economic motives. Nourishment was commodified. My research uses Tasmanian legal archives in conjunction with cookbooks and popular iconography to trace the historical legacies of foodways since the invasion. Scholarship around waste, sociology, ecology, and food justice and sovereignty are incorporated to consider how modern agricultural practices perpetuate violence against Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and ecosystems. Modern agriculture affects every being on the planet, both human and more-than-human. My research goal is to encourage people to question their metabolic practices to ascertain how everyday acts of consumption implicate them within unjust systems. Though consumptive wallaby culling is legal, the industry remains privatized, and Indigenous Australians have little agency to influence how their native species are used, and who profits from their utility. By sharing these concerns with researchers from a broad range of disciplines, I hope to connect with individuals who can help to make future metabolic matters more inclusive, more ethical, and more sustainable.