On Intersections of Land, Law, and Literature, from Primitive Territories to the Post-National Future

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Integrity and Fluidity amid Greco-Nationalist-Europeanist Tensions (February 1, 2015)

I continue to follow closely the developments in Greece, as the new Syriza government led by Alexis Tsipras positions itself relative to the European Union. Clearly, the European Union’s current disposition is at stake, as this most serious electoral threat to European financial stability unfolds.

It was fascinating for me to watch the BBC Hardtalk reporter aggressively question Pierre Muscovici, the European Union Commissioner for Economic and Financial Affairs, as he, with diplomatic sangfroid, states that the results of a democratic election in Greece grounded in a desire to renegotiate debts can be respected, even as he avers that the current Greek government must act in “respect of the rules and commitments” made previously in the name of the Greek state.  The BBC interviewer quite rightly disrupts Moscovici’s effort to make what seems to be a fantastical view that there can be no “loss” for anyone while acting both according to the new Syriza government’s campaign promises of writing off some portion of Greek debt in renegotiations and according to those previous “rules and commitments,” about which you can read in the article version of this interview excerpt.

The crisis created by Syriza campaigning about writing off some (or even all) debt is proving to be a very interesting field for pressures placed on notions of political identity. In the Hardtalk interview, Moscovici uses language that is especially interesting in terms of political geography. In stating that “we always defend the integrity of the Eurozone,” Moscovici speaks of the European Union as if it were a single territorial unit, though he is clearly talking about it in much more amorphous terms as a set of centralized policy-making bodies, the rules according to which they operate, and the decisions that have produced constraints within which they operate. The fact that non-EU entities are involved in any discussion of Greek debt (the International Monetary Fund, for example) means that the concept of EU “integrity” is really about a list of discrete states who agree to abide by agreements in the global sphere of current capitalism. Intriguingly, Tsipras, who campaigned on Greek voters’ anxiety that their national integrity had been compromised by participation in the European Union, are drawing competing lines in this still live change of government.

The nationalist rhetoric that fueled the Syriza election makes it unlikely that coolness and a deliberative, collaborative spirit will be the order of the day: Tsipras, after all, campaigned on the view that a Syriza-led government would mean that “national humiliation will be over,” and that electing Syriza “might be the last chance for Greece”: Such nationalist sentiment would be hard to walk back entirely when negotiating with Greece’s wary European Union negotiators speaking on behalf of very powerful creditors.

In her CNBC article, Catherine Boyle asks the fascinating question, “Will Syriza or Its Creditors Blink First?”  As I continue to watch this situation unfold, I am most interested in seeing how each of these sides imagines the very entities they represent, since the current state of national needs versus a virtually alien, federalized entity will not seem to allow much compromise at all. It will be interesting to see the integrity of each formulation mutate, rendered fluid by the necessities of economic union in a Europe that remains divided by the inexorable logic of national difference.

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Nationalism in the Eurozone: the Syriza Surprise and the Promise of Euro-National Tensions (January 31, 2015)

Reading about the latest events in Greece has been fascinating, indeed. Besides the fact that the election of what largely appears to be a leftist government (though clearly not an extremist one, considering that their platform featured tax-relief for property owners and they, of course, were also more than willing to form a coalition with a right-wing group) goes somewhat against the grain of rightward turns in a number of recent elections, the rise of new prime minister Alexis Tsipras in a Syriza-led government seems to me to be the most striking example of the intensification of nationalist politics within the European Union. [For a fine summary of the Syriza government’s key aims, see this BBC article ;  for excellent coverage of the election, including the coalition, see this Guardian reporting.] As I have written about elsewhere, there has been increasing resistance among various European national communities to the great power, if not even to the very concept of, the European Union . The rise of Tsirpas seems to ratchet up these tensions more than just a notch—for at the heart of Syriza’s victory seems to be not just frustration with the austerity measures imposed by the European Union and its economic partners in exchange for Greece’s 2009 bailout [on which see this excellent Wikipedia article section], but a resounding statement that Greek national interests must take precedence over the larger economic agreement that is European Union. It is hard to imagine how the European Union would be able to survive if multiple states had such nationalist electoral referendums. How could stable economic policies be maintained if each election would mean that previously negotiated terms would need to be redrawn? If the European Union was designed, as I suspect it was, in part to achieve a large, populous, and diverse enough economy to compete with the United States, then it is clear that it continues to have one element potentially undermining all efforts at the sort of economic policy cohesion needed to compete on the capitalist stage—nationalism. As much as Texans or Vermonters may dabble with the idea of ending the United States union, and as much as that union was in fact suspended from 1861 to 1865, the United States is not currently wracked by actually viable nationalist separatist movements (such as in the United Kingdom or Spain, about which I have written here and here)  , nor is it a union that is in reality merely a concept bringing together a multitude of nations into a cooperative whole. It will be fascinating to see how the Syriza government leads and what the negotiations with Europe will be like—for this will of necessity bring the fundamental tensions between nationalism and European Union onto center-stage.

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Sovereignty, Energy, and the Rosebud Sioux: Land Claims and Pipeline Politics (December 24, 2014)

Returning from my deadline-imposed blogging break, I wanted to return to a subject that has been attracting much of my attention (and reading) lately—the complex play of sovereignties and jurisdictions created by the almost bewildering array of Native American “nations” within United States territory. The latest incident to leap out to me from current events is, as the India Country Media Today Network reports here,  the Rosebud Sioux Tribe (AKA Sicangu Lakota Oyate) identifying the United States House of Representatives’ vote of November 14, 2015 on the Keystone Pipeline an “act of war.” President Scott’s full statement can be found on the Bold Nebraska site.

Although the Keystone XL bill ultimately died—well, at least temporarily—in the Senate’s November 19 vote, and although US President Obama may well veto it even if it passes, the official Rosebud Sioux reaction is very striking in its challenging of assumptions about territorial rights. The President of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe[1]  did not use ambiguous words in identifying the political space from which he declared the US House’s vote for unilaterally developing the Keystone Pipeline across “our lands”: “we are a sovereign nation, and we are not being treated as such. We will close our reservation borders to Keystone XL. Authorizing Keystone XL is an act of war against our people.” This is unambiguously the language of a sovereign power holding territory with exclusive rights, and—no matter whether this flies in the face of what, from a US federal perspective, is the United States’s simultaneously de facto and de jure hold over the reservation lands in South Dakota claimed by the Sicangu Oyate),  it is striking how intensely this rhetorical statement calls into question standard notions of authority.

As an integral component of a transnational economic enterprise involving co-operation between Canadian and American interests in the movement of fossil fuels for sale on the international market, the Keystone XL Pipeline http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keystone_Pipeline is generating a massive amount of controversy. Reports regarding concerns about the injurious environmental impact of this project are numerous; here are some sites that collect these vital questions: the US Department of State’s environmental impact report, the National Wildlife Federation’s environmental impact assessment,  and the Friends of the Earth assessment.  As readers of this blog will already intuit, I am more focused on the issues of territorial rights opened up by this transnational project that involves the crossing of various kinds of jurisdictions—US federal, state, county, city, and reservation, Canadian federal and provincial, etc.—across various types of geography. Debates about this project will surely generate more posts and thoughts about how notions of territory adjust to economic demands. Insofar as areas become critical either for resource extraction—or, as in the Keystone XL Pipeline case, simply as areas for profitably siting a pipeline that needs to continuously spread across much of center of North America—they often generate fierce competition to lay claim to space.

In speaking on the Keystone XL Pipeline project, Rosebud Sioux President Scott refers to the 1851 Fort Laramie Treaty—  which specifically refers to the parties involved as “nations”— and the 1868 Fort Laramie Treaty, which seems on a quick reading to register a more aggressive and organized territorialism in referring to “parties” rather than “nations.” President Scott does not do the sort of hair-splitting that is required to separate the notion of a nation-state with full sovereignty—including, say, air-space rights and the ability to close borders—with the potentially ambiguous notion of “nation” that has been perennially appealed to (as far as we can translate it, of course) by peoples claiming a perennial integrity that is more often than not attached to some sort of land-claim.

Among statements made to Nicole Hensley of the New York Daily News, President Scott says “When it comes to treaties, they forget about us…People forget we’re a sovereign nation” and “Everybody else…they’re just guests here.” These are not just powerful words, but a clear challenge to the clearly dominant assumption that US Indian lands are inherently secondary to US federal jurisdiction, with full sovereignty only an illusion maintained when economic or military interests (or indeed others) do not intervene. As I have been reading a lot these days about the legal history of Indian lands, as well as reading works that try to reorient the typically Euro-American perspective in US historiography, I will be paying especially close attention to the resolute Rosebud Sioux revolt against the Keystone XL Pipeline—and other economic, ecological, and geographical crises that will invariably be illuminated as this struggle continues.

[1] I use “Tribe” here since this appears to be the way the Rosebud Sioux refer to themselves in English, at least as far as I can gather from the ICTMN reporting; I am fully aware of the great controversy that some see in the use of the term “tribe,” with many following anthropologists’ critique that this can connote a kind of primitivism vis-à-vis standard political units such as nation-states; on this subject in an African context, see this helpful pedagogical guide put out by the SPLC,  [I am grateful to Rob Barrett for this link, as well as for some enlightening discussion about the stakes of identifying tribality)

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From Scotland to Cataluña: Specters of Continuing Ethnonational Unraveling (November 8, 2014)

National borders seem acutely uneasy these days, at least in and around Europe. Following the very intense September 18, 2014 Independence Vote that nearly ended 307-year old union of the Scottish and English states (about which I have written quite a bit here), will on November 9 be an independence vote on the status of Catalonian desires to separate from Spain (for an excellent analysis of the current situation of the Catalonian independence moment, support for which has ballooned due to a very popular Spanish government, see Nick Rider’s BBC essay; see also the BBC’s excellent profile on Catalonia [more properly, Cataluña).

Whereas the Scottish Independence vote was an actual vote with the highest stakes for any state (actual separation), the November 9 vote has essentially been reduced to an opinion poll. As Rider reports, Artur Mas, the President of the Generalitat of Catalonia (Generalidad de Cataluña), had in 2012 moved for a referendum vote on independence for Catalonia and was met with resistance from Spanish Prime Minister Rajoy, whose government argued any such referendum was unconstitutional according to Spain’s 1978 Constitution, which preserved much regional autonomy but (Rajoy’s government held) prevented any one region from voting for separation (see the constitution in official English translation here, and see also this excellent Wikipedia article). Mas, galvanized both by independent movements and by the Rajoy government’s unpopularity, moved for a non-binding “consultation” on November 9, 2014.

While the November 9 “consultation” clearly has no constitutional weight, it is striking to see an independence movement within Western Europe that, like Scotland, is predicated upon a region’s self-perception as ethnically and historically separate from a central government. As I have written of elsewhere in terms of the vote held to move Crimea (like Catalonia a semi-autonomous region) out of the Ukranian state and into the Russian state (and in the context of related separatism in Eastern Ukraine),  as well as in the context of the extraordinary political chaos unleashed by ISIS’s violent efforts to carve out a new Islamic state (indeed, a caliphate) in the Middle East, state borders seem to be acutely unstable these days. Catalonian and Scottish efforts to tie ethnonationalist separation to democratic processes is fascinating—but I wonder if notions of democracy itself will have to change radically if separatist movements start to become the norm rather than the exception.

As you can see in my earlier blog post on economic injustice and a redistribution of the meaning of democracy, I have been thinking a lot today about how currently unstable the very concept of democracy seems: I was here spurred by Rick Lymon and Alison Smale’s analysis of remarks by Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban that indicate his desire to steer Hungary towards the “illiberal” democracies modeled after Russia, China, and Turkey, rather than the “liberal” democracies of the West that brought the 2008 financial crisis and thus seem ill-prepared for the economic future. The question may not be whether Scottish or Catalonian efforts are actually democratic, but rather what democracy will mean in an increasingly socially and economically divided West. In writing earlier of the odd fit within Spain of such a counter-democratic principle as inherited royal sovereignty in a modern nation-state, I mused that rule by a privileged elite is perhaps symbolically honest in a capitalist West of increasing—and increasingly entrenched, as Thomas Piketty argues in his analysis in Capital of the exponentially increasing privilege of inherited money—economic inequality. Whatever the outcome of the Catalonian “consultation,” and however the ongoing issue of Scottish independence unfolds, it seems that the ethnonationalist unraveling going on in so  much of Europe may increasingly be cited as evidence, à la Orban, that the Western neoliberal state model is self-destructing.

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Economic Injustice and the Redistribution of What Counts as Democracy: Orban’s Hungary (November 8, 2014)

Reading Rick Lyman and Alison Smale’s reporting on Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orban steering Hungary away from Western, European influence, and instead towards Vladimir Putin’s Russia, I have been fascinated by how unstable the concept of democracy has become. Orban’s arguments, which cite the financial crisis of 2008 as an indictment of “liberal democracy” and which openly look to the “illiberal democracy” of a Russia or Singapore as a better model for future development, seem to me to hint at a great fissure opening up in the world.  Arguing that the 2008 financial crisis was as epochal of a moment as the end of the Cold War, Orban seems to be striking at the America and Western Europe’s long-running—and lucrative—stranglehold on the ideological concept of democracy.

Given the massive scale of income inequality in a country like the United States (on which, see these recent analyses), it is hard not to see why Orban’s calculations about the self-defeating nature of “liberal democracy”: citing the coming “race to invent a state that is most capable of making a nation successful,” Orban clearly believes that “illiberal” models such as Russia’s or Turkey’s will thrive as the contradictions of “liberal” states become unmanageable.

That the United States continues to present itself as a fount of “democracy,” even as ballooning income inequality is matched by some fairly questionable modes of managing voter representation, suggests that Barkan’s Hungary may not be the only state that begins to be disillusioned by Western confidence in free-market capitalism. The notion of direct democracy in the United States becomes questionable when one looks at a number of factors, such as the disproportionate value of representation in the US Senate: as I have written of here before in the context of the counter-democratic UK entity known as the House of Lords, a citizen of the state of Wyoming, with an estimated population of 576,626, has exactly the same Senatorial representation as a citizen of California, with an estimated population of 38,332,521. But, more nefariously, who is allowed to vote in the United States seems to defy any attempt at direct representation, and seems very much a factor in the ongoing reproduction of social inequality. A disparate array of state laws limiting the rights of individuals with criminal records to vote after having served out their sentences leads to significant disenfranchisement, particularly for African Americans and other groups disproportionately represented in the criminal system: as the Sentencing Project reports, some 5.85 million citizens are currently being prevented from voting in US elections due to prior felony convictions, with a whopping 2.2 million of these being African Americans (by the way, that’s about ten times the entire population of Wyoming). And such counter-democratic procedures show no signs of abating, as seems to be clear from the rash of Voter ID laws that have developed over the past years, which many analysts attribute to efforts to limit the number of votes cast by ethnic minorities and students (see this seemingly non-partisan list of recent law from the National Conference of State Legislatures).  Wherever one falls in the debate about whether Voter ID laws are simply reasonable precautions or nefarious efforts to manipulate election results, it is hard not to imagine that figures like Orban or Putin will be able to paint their states as no less “democratic” than a United States in which state legislatures actively work to limit the number of citizens voting in their elections.

What most intrigues me about this situation in the context of this blog is the geography of the debate, which is in some respects strikingly reminiscent of Cold War divides, and yet in some respects seems to mark a new ideological terrain. Much as in the case of conflicts in Ukraine, about which I have written much in this blog,  the status of Hungary is depicted very much in Cold-War geographical terms as an Eastern or Central European entity being pulled in opposite directions, in a struggle between a Russian East and an American-European West. However, Orban’s references not just to China, but to Turkey and to Singapore indicate a much more complex divide than the outdated binary of capitalism-communism—and all of these states can be marked as state success stories that do not base themselves in neoliberal doctrines. With increasing questions about the fairness both of the economic system in the United States (see this NPR chart on patterns of income inequality among average households, as well as this PBS comparative analysis of US income distribution on a global scale, and also Estelle Someillier and Mark Price’s EPI analysis of US income inequality) and the ways in which citizens’ votes are linked to governmental representation, it is hard not to think that there will be many more prime ministers using what appears to be both social and economic injustice in the most prominent capitalist state as an impetus to look to other areas for the future of what will count as democratic management of territories and populations.

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The Power of Place and Population: the House of Lords and the Modern State (November 2, 2014)

While Liberal Democrats in the United Kingdom see it as merely political posturing, (minority) Labour Party leader Ed Miliband’s call to disband the House of Lords and replace it with a senate whose membership would be tied to regional representation definitely raised my eyebrows this morning.  First and foremost, it amazes me that a modern democracy could currently contain a body in which the preponderance of its membership is either due to inheritance (the limit of such inherited life peers is currently set at 92) or due to the arbitrary selection by either the monarch or the House of Lords Appointment Commission; finally, there are also 26 Lords Spiritual who are there due to positions within the Church of England (see this helpful Wikipedia article on the chamber’s make-up). While the actual power of the House of Lords was severely restricted by the Parliamentary Acts of 1911 and 1949, it remains a functional part of a bicameral legislature, and thus clearly has tremendous symbolic power along with its limited legislative might. It has always been striking to me that an institution that bears within it modes of class elitism that stem back to the medieval era could continue to affect the workings of a modern state—but, then again, I as an American am continuously stupefied at the persistence of the British, or indeed any monarchy, into today’s age. If Miliband’s plans are indeed serious, then the May elections would seem to have truly massive stakes—a significant degree of modernization.

What particularly interests me in terms of this blog is the manner in which, as Danny Hakim’s analysis observes, Miliband envisions a legislative body analogous to the United States Senate as the replacement for the House of Lords. Clearly, Miliband wants to respond to the deep sense of geographic injustice throughout the United Kingdom that was a significant part of the debate about Scottish Independence: many feel that the London-centered Southeastern region of England has a massively disproportionate amount of power in the modern United Kingdom. The United Kingdom’s House of Commons, like the United States House of Representatives, links power both with region and with population (see this Wikipedia article for current constituencies, which include population figures, as well as this general article), and so it bears within it numerical biases based on concentrated areas of population. One of the key complaints about those seeking Scottish Independence (a subject about which I have written here quite a bit) was that, however much Scottish interests, conceived as a regional voice, tended towards progressive policies, the neoliberal tendencies throughout the rest of the England-dominated parliament steered all in an opposite direction—thereby creating a sense of a regional voice being rendered politically impotent.

The United States Senate is fascinating to consider in this story for a couple of reasons. Firstly, the United States Senate only became a body whose membership was directly elected in 1913, with the Seventeenth Amendment replacing the former appointment of members by state legislatures. Thus, if democracy is best measured by direct election, then the United States marks one stage of the United States becoming more democratic (6 years and two amendments before women were able to vote, by the way).

More critically for me, the United States Senate exists as a key compromise enabling United States dominance, according to which territory overrides population: no matter what the population or physical size of a state, each United States state gets two Senators. While many Americans are often frustrated by the fact that lightly populated states have a disproportionate influence in the Senate (the 2013 US Census Bureau population estimate for Wyoming, for example, is 562,658, and yet it has the same legislative representation in the Senate as California, with its population of 38,332,521; see this), this uneven arrangement is absolutely essential to United States history: territories were only brought into the United States with the understanding that their sparse populations would be compensated for by equal relationship within the Senate. To put it crudely, geography and population are balanced in the United States, with the idea that every vote is numerically equal being essentially alien to the system.

I will be very keen to follow the development of this debate about the House of Lords. I very much hope that it will attract the kind of intense attention that came with the debate about Scottish Independence. In some ways, I think it touches at a very fundamental question about modern states. Western states often bandy about rather vague notions of democratic exceptionalism to other regions of the planet, claiming that freedom and democracy are unquestionably central to Western states—even as such counter-democratic traditions as inherited peerships in the United Kingdom or such representative disparities born of historical pragmatism that constitute the United States Senate exist (and this is not even to mention the profound inequities about who is eligible for voting in the United States). The American media often pays strangely disproportionate attention to the royal family in the United Kingdom; I hope very much that some of that curiosity causes us to follow this story about the House of Lords and its rather fundamental debate about balancing population and region in a modern state.

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Of African and Arthurian Kings: Photographs and Temporal Politics October 29, 2014

I have been very intrigued, these past couple of days, by this Monique Todd article on the photographic work of Alfred Weidinger, who has assembled an extensive set of photographs of kings in Africa. This is a fascinating project, and Weidinger has clearly taken great care both to visit a wide sampling of the many areas in which such—dare I say?– royal subjects can be found, and he has also quite carefully prepared for criticisms that he is exoticizing or exploiting his subjects by insisting that they manage the conditions of their own photographic framing. Besides offering glimpses into a quite varied number of styles of presenting the sovereign self, this project offers an opportunity to reflect on how complex the cultural and political landscape can be when it comes to royalty: Weidinger’s portrait series points to an almost dizzying number of monarchies, sometimes tied to areas or to ethnicities, which are to varying degrees integrated into accepted state structures. To put it simply, this photo series highlights how varied are the ways in which political rule can be ritually figured in various parts of Africa.

Right from the moment I began reading the article and quickly moved through the slideshow, I immediately felt ambivalence about my interest in the subject—for a number of reasons. Firstly, as my qualifying points above probably already indicate, I have been conditioned by frequent reading of postcolonial criticism and cultural geography to be wary of Western efforts to transform African others into subjects either of aesthetics or of knowledge. As I said, Weidinger’s methodology of insisting that the king determine how he (and the gender appears to be exclusive in this portrait series) will be framed, insulating the photographer from any charges of staging the photographs—that is, of making the presentation of the king his, rather than the king’s story. Of course, I could easily see many critiquing this as mere window-dressing, arguing that the very project of capturing these images, of linking them in a series, is part and parcel of a larger Western project of controlling colonized others through structures of knowledge—classifying and cataloguing them, with the advanced technologies of digital archiving and photography clearly in tension with the sometimes intensely earthy, low-technology settings in which these kings are depicted.

Another source of my deep unease with my own fascination with this story has involved both temporal politics and the circumstances of my own teaching. It has been clear to me that one reason this article seemed so timely to me was because I have been doing a lot of thinking about kings, sub-kings, and petty kings—indeed, a proliferation of kings that is so extensive that it seems to empty the word of anything resembling practical rule, leaving only the ritual elements highlighted in Weidinger’s photographs. This subject has been directly in my mind due to my reading for the Arthurian Romance course I am teaching. In Malory, there is a bewildering number of kings. Sometimes these kings are associated with clearly recognizable territories (say, King Uriens of North Wales) and sometimes with either obscure or fanciful areas (say, King Leodegrance of Camelarde or King Nentres of Garlot), and sometimes they are dissociated with land entirely (as in the case of the ever-fascinating King with the Hundred Knights). It has always seemed to me that this wide array of kings most likely reflects the complicated politics of feudalism or indeed of any unstable political system based on sub-rulers beholden to their greaters: Lot may be the king in Lothian and Orkney, but he is subject—at least after those civil wars—to the greater King Arthur. Kingship is relative—though its gradations are only open to nobles who have achieved some degree of mastery over a territory.

Even as a nagging critical voice telling me that it was dangerous to compare the simultaneously ancient and fantastical world of Arthurian literature to actual African politics, I was fascinated initially by the seeming comparison to the politics behind the worlds into which Weidinger gives us a photographic glimpse: as Todd relates, there is a complicated array of relationships between various kings, many of whom are associated with ethnic groups or particular areas, and whose prestige and energy can be mobilized by savvy rulers aware of the complicated attachments to ritual notions of kingship. The critical voice haunting me here comes from work such as that of the anthropologist Johannes Fabian (see Time and the Other) or of the medievalist Kathleen Davis (see Periodization and Sovereignty) who have analyzed a temporal politics in which non-Western sites can be marked as somehow ancient or backward—as if to go to these places is to go back in time. Clearly this I one of the risks any viewer of Weidinger’s photographs must take—that being caught up in the various settings for royal portraits may appear throwback, backward—as if the premodern world is a place, rather than a time.

Of course, as I have written of here on this blog, the West is hardly insulated from kingship and its seemingly essential premodernity: as modern as many Europeans like to think of themselves, for example, a strikingly large number of EU polities still have monarchs, with all the attendant ritual that seems to this blogger fundamentally primitive. The desire, if not indeed the need for kingship seems to be a kind of shadow always haunting human culture. As I have written about here before, there is quite clearly something deeply unseemly in a Westerner seeking to carve out kingship in an African space. I wonder if our own discomfort with the cultural and historical insensitivity of the would-be North Sudanese princess-maker is deeply akin to the feelings of discomfort we might feel in dwelling on the fascinating photographs collected by Weidinger—and whether this guilt is itself not itself a sign of the seeming inescapability of imperialist history. Thinking about how I am thinking about these photographs: this series seems to force us to consider our own frame, so indeed it seems already to have done some work towards avoiding pure objectification of these royal individuals.


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