Identités relationnelles — 2
12 décembre 2016
Ce que l'histoire apporte à l'anthropologie
Sidney W. Mintz,
Sweetness and Power.
The Place of Sugar in Modern History,
New York, Viking Penguin, 1985
"Sweetness and Power ultimately grows out of Mintz's initial encounter with sugar in Puerto Rico in 1948 where the focus of his attention is on the cultivation of sugar-cane and the variety of social and economic relations that constitute that local process. And understandably so, since from the sixteenth century onwards the Caribbean has been driven by the production of sugar. But Mintz, seeing as it were through the prism of this location, begins to discern the need to ask a different kind of question, if you like, an Atlantic one: what, beyond force and profit, sustains the relationship between Europe and the Caribbean? Mintz's answer turns on the seductions of the new commodity, sugar, and the transformations of demand the new taste for it precipitated. In a certain sense, sugar had been largely opaque to historians and anthropologists of the Caribbean. Despite its obvious ubiquity in the story of the colonial relation between Europe and the Caribbean, sugar functioned largely as the occasion for the story about the slave trade and plantation slavery. As an object itself — as the commodity-form realized by slave labour in an increasingly capitalist world-market — it was very nearly invisible. The originality of Sweetness and Power lies in fundamentally altering this in such a way as to make sugar visible as a hinge drawing the Caribbean and Europe together into a constitutive relationship."
David Scott, Modernity That Predated the Modern: Sidney Mintz's Caribbean, History Workshop Journal, No.58 (Autumn, 2004), pp.191–210.
Comment les micro-unités locales privilégiées par l'enquête de terrain sont-elles inscrites dans des processus de longue durée et articulées à d'autres localités?
L'ethnographie associée à l'histoire vise à restituer ces interrelations, et l'anthropologie vise à modéliser les dynamiques globales dans lesquelles jouent ces interrelations. L'ethnographie historique décrit comment le local se reproduit dans l'interrelation avec le global.
Les colonies sucrières des Caraïbes forment une région exemplaire de ces jeux d'échelles entre le local et le global, circonscrits dans le temps de l'histoire globale: de 1500 à 1900.
Sidney W. Mintz, The so-called world system. Local initiative and local response, Dialectical Anthropology, Vol.2, No.4 (November 1977), pp.253–270. Sp. 255:
Sugar-cane was brought to Santo Domingo in 1493, and was being grown there in 1494; a grinding mill was built no later than 1503; and the first sugar we know to have been produced there is documented for no later than 1505–1506. The rising price of sugar in Europe after 1510 was a stimulus to Spanish colonists in the Greater Antilles, especially as it became clear that the gold resources of the islands were scanty.
Un sens paradoxal iconoclaste est donné à l'ethnologie du chez-soi, ce que Mintz appelle coming home, quand il étudie, au retour de ses séjours ethnographiques aux Caraïbes, comment européens et nord-américains sont devenus consommateurs de sucre. Ce qui est trivial, c'est de raconter comment les européens ont contrôlé les Caraïbes, par les armes et les échanges économiques. Ce qui est moins évident, c'est de décrire l'interdépendance entre l'Europe et les Caraïbes: (xvi) what forces beyond the nakedly military and economic ones maintained this intimate interdependence.
(xvi) Histories of the products that colonies supply to metropolises. In the Caribbean case, such products have long been, and largely still are, tropical foods: spices (such as ginger, allspice*, nutmeg, and mace [fleur de muscade]); beverage bases (coffee and chocolate}; and, above all, sugar and rum. At one time, dyes (such as indigo and annatto [roucou, rouge] and fustic) were important; various starches [amidons], starch foods, and bases (such as cassava, from which tapioca is made, arrowroot, sago, and various species of Zamia) have also figured in the export trade; and a few industrial staples (like sisal) and essential oils (like vetiver) have mattered; bauxite, asphalt, and oil still do. Even some fruits, such as bananas, pineapples, and coconuts, have counted in the world market from time to time. But for the Caribbean region as a whole, the steady demand overall and for most epochs has been for sugar, and even if it is now threatened by yet other sweeteners, it seems likely to continue to hold its own.
[*Le quatre-épices est à l'origine une épice unique, le Pimenta dioica ou piment de la Jamaïque, nommé aussi all-spice ou tout-épice et appelé ainsi parce qu'au broyage il développe des senteurs de gingembre, de girofle, de muscade et de poivre. Par extension, le terme désigne également un mélange de ces quatre épices.]
(xxiv) Why Europe? Because these island plantations had been the invention of Europe, overseas experiments of Europe, many of them successful (as far as the Europeans were concerned); and the history of European societies had in certain ways paralleled that of the plantation. One could look around and see sugar-cane plantations and coffee, cacao, and tobacco haciendas, and so, too, one could imagine those Europeans who had thought it promising to create them, to invest in their creation, and to import vast numbers of people in chains from elsewhere to work them. These last would be, if not slaves, then men who sold their labor because they had nothing else to sell; who would probably produce things of which they were not the principal consumers; who would consume things they had not produced, and in the process earn profit for others elsewhere.
Sidney W. Mintz, The so-called world system. Local initiative and local response, Dialectical Anthropology, Vol.2, No.4 (November 1977), pp.253–270
Sidney W. Mintz, The localization of anthropological practice. From area studies to transnationalism, Critique of Anthropology, Vol.18, No.2 (1998): 117–133.
Jonathan Friedman, From roots to routes. Tropes for trippers, Anthropological Theory 2.1 (2002): 21–36.
Henrietta L. Moore, Global anxieties. Concept-metaphors and pre-theoretical commitments in anthropology, Anthropological Theory 4.1 (2004): 71–88.
Ghassan Hage, A not so multi-sited ethnography of a not so imagined community, Anthropological Theory 5.4 (2005): 463–475.
Anne-Christine Trémon, Que faire du couple local/global? Pour une anthropologie pleinement processuelle, Social Anthropology/Anthropologie Sociale 20.3 (2012): 250–266. (Noter les deux pages sur Max Gluckman.)
Laurent Berger, La place de l'ethnologie en histoire globale, Monde(s), n°3, mai 2013, pp.193–212.
L'œuvre séminale de Max Gluckman
Une ethnographie des interdépendances
Dans la Bibliothèque Tessitures:
Anthropologues 1930s–1980s > Gluckman
Yann Tholoniat, Benoît de l'Estoile, Max Gluckman (1940), Analysis of a social situation in modern Zululand, Genèses n°72.3 (2008), pp.119–155.
Des aires culturelles au transnationalisme
Sidney W. Mintz, The localization of anthropological practice. From area studies to transnationalism, Critique of Anthropology, Vol.18, No.2 (1998): 117–133.
Au tournant des années 2000 s'est développé, en particulier à l'EHESS, un débat crucial pour l'avenir de l'anthropologie sur l'avenir des études d'aires culturelles ou area studies, accusées d'essentialiser les groupes sociaux partageant une même culture. En opposition frontale aux anthropologues immergés dans une région, une langue et une histoire particulières par des enquêtes de longue durée sur un terrain strictement localisé, s'étaient développées depuis la fin des années 1980 l'ethnographie multi-sites et l'ethnologie globale, qui répondent au fait majeur de notre temps, les migrations massives et le développement exponentiel des diasporas. Sidney Mintz (1922–2015), qui enseigna l'anthropologie à Yale (1951–1974) puis à Johns Hopkins, pionnier de l'ethnographie multi-sites à partir de 1948 aux Caraïbes (Puerto Rico, Jamaïque, Haïti), formula progressivement la théorie de cette mutation jusqu'à cette conférence prononcée à Chicago en 1995.
L'analyse de Mintz, dont voici des extraits, est fondée sur un jeu d'échelles dans la localisation des populations étudiées et des rétrécissements successifs du global au local, visant à faire ressortir l'universalité des identités relationnelles et transnationales.
Migrations et affaiblissement de l'Etat-nation
The new anthropology is many things, among them the study of human groups in motion. That motion is thought to be more than international; it is transnational. When I ask students who used the term 'transnational' why they don't say 'international' instead, they tell me 'transnational' means people in motion, people going back and forth. A renewed anthropology aims to take account of this situation, of the seemingly weakened condition of the state [l'Etat-nation], and of the accompanying doubtful condition of our cherished categories, such as 'region', 'culture', 'ethnic group' and 'society'.
'It is now widely understood', Clifford explains, 'that the old localizing strategies — by bounded community, by organic culture, by region, by center and periphery — may obscure as much as they reveal' (James Clifford Clifford, 'Diasporas', Cultural Anthropology 9 (1994): 302-38). Citing and quoting a study of Mexicans whose lives link Californian and Mexican locales, Clifford writes: 'Separate places become effectively a single community "through the continuous circulation of people, money, goods and information.'
Cent millions de migrants au 19e siècle
Sir W. Arthur Lewis, who managed to make it out of the tiny Caribbean island of St Lucia to become a Nobel laureate in economics long before the word 'transnationalism' had been coined, tells us something about world migration in his wonderful little book on international trade (W. Arthur Lewis, The Evolution of the International Economic Order, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press,1978). In the course of the 19th century, around 100 million people left their homes to make journeys across oceans, primarily in search of gainful employment. Fifty million of them were Europeans, who went mostly to European colonies, or erstwhile colonies administered by people of European origin: Canada, Argentina, Uruguay, South Africa, New Zealand, Australia and the United States, among others.
The other 50 million or so were non-European, and were considered non-white by Europeans. They were known as 'coolies', 'Chinamen', 'Africans', blackbirds', 'kanakas', and by many other names. But they were non-European, and they were considered nonwhite. They went to a different set of former or persisting European colonies, and hardly at all to any genuinely sovereign or democratic countries. They came from other colonies, such as parts of Africa or India; or from ancient and politically weakened states, such as China. The lands which received them included islands in the Indian and Pacific Oceans, such as Mauritius and Fiji, as well as the Indonesian archipelago, Malaysia and Singapore; the Caribbean colonies, such as French Guadeloupe and Martinique, and British Jamaica and Trinidad, along with their neighboring mainlands, including British, Dutch and French Guiana; other parts of South America, and Africa, especially East and South. South Africa and Kenya were among the odd places to which both sorts went: 'temperate oases', where whites went to settle, then brought foreign nonwhites to work for them.
Esclaves puis travailleurs «engagés» [forcés] (bonded labor)
[Indentured labour «travail en servitude»]
In the case of the New World, the people who were brought here to ease the transition to free labor had, of course, been preceded by the ancestors of the slave laborers. Nearly all of those had been African. But a substantial movement of indentured and contracted Europeans had taken place coeval with that slavery, and in some places (such as Barbados, and the 13 American colonies in the 17th century), the migration of bound nonslaves had largely preceded it. Adding this chapter to the story by dropping back at least another century has the effect of narrowing the focus somewhat, since it refers in this instance not to the slavery of the Old World, but only to the slavery of the region extending from the United States to Brazil, and including the Caribbean islands. The use of enslaved Africans, primarily for agricultural labor, had been initiated in the Americas in Santo Domingo within 12 years of the Discovery, and did not end in the New World until 1888, in Brazil.
This, of course, reduces the frame even more. As we move backward a hundred years from the end of the 19th century to the end of the 18th, our New World focus shrinks from the Hemisphere to the region stretching from around the Jamestown Colony in what became the state of Virginia, to around the city of Bahia, now Salvador, founded in 1549 in the Portuguese colony of Brazil. But the core of this wider region was composed of the Caribbean islands which, though relatively tiny, received nearly one third of the more than 10 million enslaved Africans who are believed to have reached the New World alive.
Le paradigme des économies sucrières
Eric Williams once likened the boom-and-bust succession of sugar economies in the Caribbean islands to a relay race. The image is not entirely apt; but it makes the point that, even while this was a key economic area within an emergent world economy, different parts of it rose and fell at different points in time. For example, the Spaniards were sole masters at the very beginning, but they were soon eclipsed by northern Europe. They only came back into bold relief in the late 18th century, eventually capitalizing on the people's war that ended slavery and the plantation system in French St Domingue in 1804. From the mid-17th century onward, it had been Barbados and then Jamaica that had been most important; they had been supplanted to some degree by St Domingue, as were the French islands of Martinique and Guadeloupe. By the middle of the 19th century, /124/ slavery was either gone or going, and the inflow of nonwhite migrants to the Caribbean was coming mainly from elsewhere besides Africa. The Caribbean regional economy in its totality was being outpaced, particularly by parallel developments in Africa and the Indian Ocean, and by the rise of beet sugar economies in Europe itself.
Thereafter, the Caribbean Sea would become a North American lake, and no longer a key economic area. But the centuries between the Columbian Discovery and the Spanish-American War had been intensely contested by the European powers interested in the region, and the history of all of its component parts is intertangled throughout. The plantation system perfected there would become a model for other areas, and other crops and staples. The Caribbean had been Europe's first brush with the New World Other, and was the first part of the non-European world to be hugged so tightly to the European breast. Hence it is a historically distinctive region. Though it is absolutely correct to say that so is any other, each such region is distinctive because it is not just like any other.
Now I have reduced the scale of the canvas to a clutch of little islands, and the chronology to the period approximately 1650-1900 — which corresponds to that of the transformation of a few novel edibles and smokables into staples of proletarian habit. In doing so I have of course also reintroduced the apparently outworn idea of a region. This region is one to which people in large numbers have been coming from a great many different places and cultures for 400 years, and one which has played a particular role in the evolution of the modern world. My larger point in doing so, of course, is to suggest that perhaps what is now called 'transnationalism' — I use the term to stand for a lot of additional terminology — is not an entirely unprecedented phenomenon.
Réflexion sur les aires culturelles
[A l'issue de la seconde guerre mondiale,
les area studies sont une création de la Guerre Froide.]
(129) Then when peace came, the Cold War came with it. Culture areas — what had once been the Plains area or the Tropical Forest area, the domain of Otis T. Mason, Clark Wissler, or A.L. Kroeber — soon turned into Russian Studies and African Studies and Middle Eastern Studies. This was not exclusively owing to the Cold War, but it was much encouraged by it, particularly because of the bubbling fountains of money that soon became available for research. I recall a meeting at Yale when Dean William DeVane, a medievalist, sat helplessly by, while many millions were doled out among a half-dozen area programs on the PRC, Africa, the Soviet Union and so on. 'Ah', he sighed, 'if only the Middle Ages could rise up and become a communist threat!'
Area studies encouraged, willy nilly, a good deal of bad research — not so much insidious, I suspect, as pedestrian. I do not think that the Human Relations Area Files could ever have achieved its cryogenic distinction without so-called 'defense' money, for instance. The Laboratoire d'Anthropologie Sociale still has a large dead space given over to that odd thesaurus of Frazerian curiosa, as do many hapless research institutions in the United States. But not everything area studies led to was bad. Among those of us who ended up at Columbia around 1946, after the war, one small group was /130/ selected by Julian Steward to participate in his project on Puerto Rico.
I realized that there were various connections among the societies that comprised the region and among the peoples who inhabited it, some of which were historical in origin, others defined by contemporary economic, political and other bonds. I did not come to think of the region as naturally coherent, or as irreversibly integrated, even in the odd, seemingly non-cultural ways — there is no commonality of language, religion, sentimental affiliation or political ideology, let alone of sexual mores, relations between parents and children, cuisine, or much else — in which it can be thought of as sharing 'a culture'. But the longer I read about it and worked on it, the more I thought I could see of its commonalities, as well as of its internal differences.
La place de l'histoire
Area studies do not, of course, solve any teaching or research problems automatically, and they certainly don't eliminate mediocrity. But they can serve as a basis upon which to identify and study research problems that are culturally specific, and that deal with particular historical traditions. Learning how to root one's research problem in concrete information about places and people can lend self-confidence, despite our fears, and may expedite additional learning, rather than merely obstruct it. It is striking to hear students confess that they feel afraid to say anything, so critical have they been made by being taught at such length about the errors of their predecessors.
The new theories of transnationalism and globalization are not respectful enough of history, especially of the history of exploration, conquest and the global division of labor.