Description: This book examines the formation of colonial social identities inside the institutions for the insane in Australia and New Zealand. It looks at insanity in the context of migration to the colonies by focusing on two urban, public hospitals for the insane in the colonies of Victoria, Australia, and Auckland, New Zealand, between 1873 and 1910. During this period, there was a significant amount of migration from Britain and other parts of the world to both destinations, as part of a widespread Anglo-settler ‘explosion’. This was also the period in which social institutional networks were developed across the Australasian colonies. These social institutions included health, medical, and welfare institutions, all of which were modelled on British imperial institutional spaces and with imperial sensibilities. This volume engages with two important scholarly projects: the examination of gendered and ‘raced’ bodies in the imperial world of the nineteenth century on the one hand, and on the other, a consideration of the imperial discourses of insanity and the formation of colonial institutional knowledge and practice. Of particular interest to students and historians of colonialism, imperialism and medicine at undergraduate and postgraduate level, the book examines the creation of an institutional language of gender and race in two nineteenth-century colonial institutional sites. It will also appeal to the many historians of insanity and its institutions, given that these sites were part of an imperial network of solutions to the problem of ‘madness’ which followed Europeans to new places of settlement.






Abstract: In 2014, the Zapatistas (EZLN) celebrated the twentieth anniversary of their 1 January uprising in Chiapas against the Mexican state and the imposition of the North American Free Trade Agreement. The uprising took place in the aftermath of an upswing in hemispheric indigenous organizing around the quincentennial anniversary of the conquest of the Americas, and the 1992 constitutional recognition of Mexico as a ‘pluricultural’ nation. From the beginning, the Zapatistas rejected this recognition as purely symbolic, and instead demanded collective rights and resources. They also refused to see their demands as local, linking historic issues of dispossession and racism to contemporary global capitalism, while opening a space for transnational solidarity with other social and revolutionary movements. For over two decades, the Zapatistas have built a project of autonomy with the formation of autonomous municipalities, which they later consolidated into a system of territorial governance. Alongside these changes have been a global rise and interest in theories and practices of decolonization, and a questioning of the politics of national and transnational solidarity. Can Zapatista autonomy be understood as a practice of decolonization? This essay draws on longitudinal community work and ethnographic research conducted since 1994, and examines the Zapatistas’ construction of an insurgent indigenous identity, attempts to regulate the boundaries of what it means to be ‘indigenous’, and emerging new geographies of belonging in order to open a conversation about what their modes and strategies of political organizing may offer, particularly to struggles in settler colonial states.



Abstract: This paper is concerned with what I define as a cultural politics of ‘being from’ in the American settler colony. I use Tom Dey’s Western/‘cop-buddy’ hybrid Shanghai Noon (2000), and most specifically what is presented in the film as actor Jackie Chan’s failed and comedic partaking in the white and homosocial tradition of Indian play. I use the film as a textual anchor for the critical analysis of the types of contracting subjectivities that are implicitly privileged within the foundational delineations separating settlers, Natives, and arrivants in what President Obama described as a nation of immigrants that is carried on the back of the non-immigrant status of Native Americans. I explain that in his conversion from Chinese national to Asian American – a transition that is prefaced by his disqualification from the settler’s exclusive struggle over nativeness, followed by his peculiar transition into an (Asian) American cowboy – Chan’s character becomes representative of this dialectical (and, in his case, always already incomplete) movement from genealogy to autology, or from pre-modern forms of marriage, ethnic affiliations, and social constraints, to a settler-liberal ideal of intimacy, reasoned consent, and self-sovereignty. In other words, once Chan’s character fulfils this trajectory of self-discovery in the refashioning of place and self, his new-found voice and sexuality bespeak his idiosyncratic conversion into an Asian American. I argue that his conversion illuminates some of the complex modalities of raced and gendered intimacy in settler articulations of the privileged, contracting subjectivity of liberal colonialism. What such representation of an idealized, autological migrant subject allows us to suggest, is that non-Native people of colour, as they re-enact themselves settler colonial modes of Native dispossession and/or co-optation, often remain peculiarly moored to the hegemonic structure of feeling of American settlerism in ways that often put upon them assimilationist demands that are parallel to those imposed upon Indigenous bodies as always incomplete white liberal subjects in the making.


Excerpt: Resistance as a political strategy proves unsatisfying, but often seems to be the only trope available to contemporary political theory. Theorists find “resistance” in movements from Occupy to protests against racialized police brutality, and often imply that all political engagement must, at some deep level, be about resisting. But the individual and collective aptitudes for politics are more capacious than that. And so others have begun to examine modes of political behavior which operate along other lines. Paying attention to affect has been one method; focusing on quotidian life, another; so has been interrogating the distinction between the human and the nonhuman; and a fourth could be called investigating practices of intensification. Each of these approaches denies the dualism between resistance and power, finding other channels in which politics takes place.

Audra Simpson, in her analysis of American Indian relations to the settler state, adds another philosophical concept to this list of alternatives to resistance: refusal. Refusal, in her rendition, operates very differently from resistance. As a weapon of the weak, resistance can reinscribe weakness as an identifying formulation of identity. Theorists from Friedrich Nietzsche to William Connolly to Wendy Brown have noted the replication of superiority and inferiority in such a dynamic. Refusal, on the other hand, interrupts the smooth operation of power, denying presumed authority and remaking ignored narratives. Historically, it is empirical; strategically, it is oppositional; psychically, it is enjoyable (106). Mohawk Interruptus: Political Life Across the Borders of Settler States, makes an extended argument for this political approach, both as a way of understanding Native relations with the U.S. and Canadian governments, and as a model for further forms of political action.

Put simply, refusal does not take authority as a given. Where resistance looks for lacuna and interruptions in the constancy of power, refusal denies its very legitimacy. This might emerge from emphasizing alternative forms of legitimacy, for example the legal structures of the Mohawk people, or it may draw on practices which predate and thus do not depend on state formations. Where the modern nation-state insists on its own totalizing reality, those who refuse deny its authority and its domination. Where the state claims a monopoly on violence, those who refuse deny its universality and capacity. Where the state claims to determine what laws, treaties, and norms should be followed and which should be ignored, those who refuse turn to history, international law, and documentation not merely to resist, but to insist on alternative rationalities and legitimacies.

This is not a safe approach, of course. Where resistance incurs compulsion and persuasion, refusal can be met with outrage and incomprehension. How dare a small group reject the wisdom and success of settler colonialism? Such refusal throws into doubt the entire system of North American rectitude, majoritarian representational democracy, and constitutional justice. It implies, even states outright, that a political system founded upon the systematic delegitmation and elimination of a resident population with ethically and legally recognized rights to their land never can be a just one. The procedures of refusal, Simpson shows, “requires a legal response to contain those who refuse, a move that then incites settler anxiety about the containability of Indian bodies and practices” (128).

Capitalist settler states prefer resistance, which can be negotiated or recognized. Thus the historical attempt to refigure “the Native American” as just another racial or “cultural” minority, one whose grievances have more to do with an exclusion from mainstream American and Canadian life than anything else. Of course Indians can be equal, liberal individuals in a democratic country, the state suggests; once racism and the social ills of poverty and addiction are solved, Indians will become just like everyone else. Note, Simpson points out, what is elided in such a move: the history of colonial appropriation of land, the destruction of native languages and collective practices, and the legal status of Indian peoples as sovereign nations. Positioning Native peoples as liberal individuals has been the logic of genocide for hundreds of years. The only proper response to this is a refusal of such a logic.

What does such refusal look like in practice? At its most basic level, it insists upon the historical truth of Indian…