I need help with Geography And Social Justice

Justice: An Epistolary Essay Joshua Barkan* and Laura Pulidoy

*Department of Geography, University of Georgia yDepartment of Ethnic Studies and Geography, University of Oregon

This exchange of letters considers the relationship between geography and different formulations of justice. On one hand, social movements have made visible the particular geographies of racialized, gendered, and class- based injustice. For this reason, the discipline of geography can be useful for social justice activists making jus- tice claims. On the other hand, the public and private institutions to which justice claims are addressed often treat justice as a stable “thing” that can be achieved through protocols and procedures. Moreover, these institu- tionalized approaches to justice often limit justice claims, at times even enabling the unjust actions that initi- ated struggles for justice in the first place. Inasmuch as geographic knowledge is incorporated into this disciplining of justice, it, too, potentially limits social struggles. By considering this tension, we highlight the tremendous need for justice and the poverty of our institutionalized responses to that need. Key Words: corpo- rate social responsibility, disciplinarity, environmental justice, justice, social movements.

这些文字交换考量地理和不同的正义公式之间的关係。一方面, 社会运动已将种族化、性别化与以阶级 为基础的不正义之特定地理变得可见。为此, 地理学科对于主张正义的社会正义行动者而言是有助益 的。另一方面, 应对正义主张的公共及私人制度, 经常将正义视为稳定之“物”, 且能透过章程和程序获 得。再者, 这些争取正义的制度化方法, 经常限缩正义的主张, 有时甚至引发最初导致正义斗争的不正义 举动。如同地理知识被纳入此般正义的规训之中一般, 它同时也可能限缩了社会斗争。我们透过考量此 一紧张关係, 强调极度的正义需求, 以及我们以制度化的方式回应该需求之不足。 关键词： 企业社会责 任, 学科制度, 环境正义, 正义, 社会运动。

Este intercambio de cartas considera la relaci�on entre la geograf�ıa y las diferentes formulaciones de la justicia. Por una parte, los movimientos sociales han hecho visibles las geograf�ıas particulares de la injusticia racializada, sesgada por g�enero y basada en clase. Por tal raz�on, la disciplina de la geograf�ıa puede ser de utilidad a activistas de la justicia social que claman por justicia. Por la otra parte, las instituciones p�ublicas y privadas a las cuales se presentan estos reclamos a menudo tratan la justicia como una “cosa” estable que puede lograrse a trav�es de pro- tocolos y procedimientos. M�as a�un, estos enfoques institucionalizados de la justicia a menudo limitan los recla- mos por la misma, a veces incluso permitiendo acciones injustas que en primer t�ermino generaron las luchas por justicia. En la medida en que el conocimiento geogr�afico es incorporado en este disciplinar de la justicia, �el mismo, tambi�en, limita potencialmente las luchas sociales. Considerando esta tensi�on, destacamos la tremenda necesidad de justicia y la pobreza de nuestras respuestas institucionalizadas a esa necesidad. Palabras clave: responsabilidad social empresarial, disciplinaridad, justicia ambiental, justicia, movimientos sociales.

D ear Josh, So Mona has given us the daunting task of dis- cussing justice. I agreed to it thinking, “Sounds

like fun.” But as I peel back the layers of “justice,” I real- ize I have far more questions and uncertainties than answers—unlike some of our colleagues—who seem to have much greater command of their fields. One thing I realized was that, unlike you, I don’t engage with justice on a theoretical level. Indeed, I initially felt like a fraud speaking on the topic. But I realized quickly that justice has been central to all of my work. Though I may not know what justice is, I have a clear sense of what it is not, or “injustice.” Actually, if I think about it, the study of injustice has been the goal of my work. My research has pivoted on two questions: (1) How do

working-class communities of color mobilize against injustice? (2) How is injustice created in the social, environmental, and economic landscape?

I would like to share how I became interested in (in)justice and what I bring to this dialogue. By the time I was seven I had become deeply interested in racial and economic injustice. On the one hand, I knew viscerally that Mexicans were considered to be racially inferior . . . but there was no public discussion of this, at least that I was aware of. There was, how- ever, public discussion of the African American experience. I remember the feelings of outrage I expe- rienced upon learning about slavery. In hindsight, the black struggle gave me a conduit to channel my own unarticulated feelings of pain and anger that would

Annals of the American Association of Geographers, 107(1) 2017, pp. 33–40 � 2017 by American Association of Geographers Initial submission, November 2015; revised submission, June 2016; final acceptance, June 2016

Published by Taylor & Francis, LLC.

eventually find expression through the Chicana/o movement and my scholarship. This is so common that M�arquez (2013) developed the term “foundational blackness” to describe this phenomenon (see also Johnson 2008). Those emotions still motivate me today.

I have a hard time ignoring injustice, although I have gotten better at it over the years. I have to con- sciously work at it or else it would consume me. So, instead, I develop these big research projects that focus on how people mobilize to overcome injustice (Pulido 1996, 2006; Pulido, Barraclough, and Cheng 2012). This allows me to not only answer burning intellectual questions, but it also provides a way for me to channel my energies and emotions.

Geography has been the discipline that has allowed me to pursue such an agenda. Although clearly not everyone in geography shares my obsessions, no one has sought to stand in my way. I recall at the Univer- sity of Wisconsin that one of the female professors interested in social justice was derisively called a “girl scout” (see Rosenfeld 2014). Perhaps because of such hostility, many women geographers actively supported my study of (in)justice.

Despite my close engagement with geography, my PhD is actually in urban planning (in the 1980s the joke was that urban planning was the best geography department at the University of California–Los Angeles). It was there that my chair, Margaret FitzSim- mons, allowed me to foreground justice in my disserta- tion, and I am forever indebted to her for that. I quickly sensed, though, that the larger discipline of urban planning was not so open. Planners were spend- ing precious time debating whether justice should be privileged in their work. I had no time for such non- sense and quickly decided that geography would be one of my disciplinary homes, along with ethnic studies.

Looking back, I see how my early research agenda emerged from my childhood experiences. I am deeply moved by the pain of injustice and its transition into anger—those raw human emotions speak to me in powerful ways. Consequently, I was in awe of the power and ability of people who dared to change the world—people who lacked formal schooling, legal sta- tus, and the privilege of whiteness. Harriet Tubman was my first model of an activist who had the courage to resist, to stand up and say, “Ya basta!” or, “We will not take it anymore!” I just had to figure out how she and others like her did that.

For me, political consciousness is key to understand- ing struggles for justice. It is through the process of

political consciousness that people move from incho- ate states of anger to directed, purposeful action that they hope will result in a different, more just, social formation. Though social movements cannot afford to lose that anger, as it provides emotional fuel, move- ments need to be balanced with more strategic and directed thought and action.

Sometimes activists succeed at producing concrete change; sometimes they fail. Sometimes it looks as if they failed, but they really did not (especially if we consider the many consequences of political activism). Often movements succeed and then their achieve- ments are lost. I have studied and worked with acti- vists and movements over the years and, as inevitably happens, I also became disillusioned and burned out. I began to see how the organizing process is like making sausage. I saw the compromises, the betrayals, the exhaustion, the moral quandaries. Social and environ- mental justice activists, are, after all, simply human. It was this exhaustion and frustration with activism that led me to think more about the state and power and to question whether environmental injustice was even possible.

Dear Laura, There is so much to say in response to your com-

ments, although I do not know how to even broach the topic of your feeling like a fraud in discussing jus- tice. If you are fraudulent, what could it possibly mean for the rest of us?

As the “junior” member here, it is probably not worth reflecting on how I got to questions of justice. Suffice it to say, that I, too, come to the discipline from outside, with a PhD in American studies from the University of Minnesota. At the time American studies was going through something of a transition, from an older interdisciplinary field that combined lit- erature and history to understand the distinctiveness of the United States—or in its more self-aggrandizing moments “American civilization”—to a more critical study of the ways U.S. national identity has been con- structed and reimagined in the context of various colo- nial, imperial, and expansionary projects, including contemporary aspects of neoliberal globalization. Although I identified with the latter, one of the conti- nuities between the two approaches to American stud- ies was the focus on cultural objects—literature, of course, but also film, music, advertising, TV, architec- ture, and popular culture more broadly—as a way of examining either “the greatness of American civi- lization” in the old model or the exclusions and

34 Barkan and Pulido

contradictions of U.S. political and economic imperi- alism in more recent formulations.

When I crossed the Washington Avenue Bridge to the brutalist social sciences building on the West Bank, what captivated me about geography was the ability of geographers to talk about the social forces structuring the spatial organization of the world. It seemed to me that if I wanted to understand the role of culture or cultural objects in our politics and eco- nomics, I should probably know something about the political and economic structures shaping the world in the first place. By the 1990s, geography had already gone through its own disciplinary transformation, with questions of social justice moving to the fore (cf. Har- vey 1973). It was those corners of the discipline— namely, critical, radical, and feminist geography—that most attracted me.

Laura, you mentioned that your interest in justice was connected to an image of working-class people of color that were formally denied social status organizing for social change. I never thought of it in this way before, but I wonder if my approach, which differs markedly from your own, might be linked to coming to political consciousness under different circumstan- ces. Certainly when I started my graduate work, a dominant approach in American studies—building off scholars like E. P. Thompson (1966, 1967, 1971) and Herbert Gutman (1973)—was to study cultural objects for signs of working-class resistance. Yet, when I looked at the landscape, I saw real limits to effective resistance. There were, of course, successes (Seattle and the antiglobalization movement come to mind), but I do not think it an overstatement to say that the early 2000s, dominated by the Global War on Terror- ism, were pretty grim on the justice front.

Thus my interest in justice comes from similar con- cerns but goes in an opposite direction. I do not nor- mally think of my work as studying political consciousness, but there are worse ways you could characterize it. The difference is that I study powerful institutions, like law, the state, and corporations. This mostly precludes romantic images of my subjects. It is hard to think of corporate executives and their heroic struggle for justice! Although questions of justice per- colate below much of what I write, the terms I deal with—law, property, sovereignty, personhood, domi- cile, responsibility, and right—are proximate ones, central to studying corporate power but with very dif- ferent connotations.

Given this starting point, my questions about justice pick up down the line from the struggles for justice

that you chronicle. In my work justice appears as a problem concerning the ways in which broad social struggles are rewritten, often by state and legal institu- tions, as “things” with protocols and procedures designed to respond to—and often limit—social claims. What is so vexing is the tendency for these institutionalized approaches to not only miss their mark but also to enable, rather than constrain, the unjust actions that initiated the struggles in the first place. In this regard, my approach to justice bears a resemblance to Friess and Jazeel’s (this issue) discussion of landscape as something that frames and obscures other types of sociospatial relations. In terms of justice, examples abound across a number of fields of contesta- tion including environmental justice, transitional jus- tice, economic justice, and climate justice, among others. Let me clarify my point with an example from my own research on corporate social responsibility.

We all know that there have been a wide variety of social movements addressing corporate power in its various dimensions. Some focus on specific issues, such as labor conditions in corporate facilities, environmen- tal harms produced by companies, or the privatization and commodification of things essential for life such as water, seeds, or medicine. Other movements—Occupy comes to mind—address corporate power in more gen- eral terms, focusing on issues such as corporate person- hood or, in the United States, the post–Citizens United flows of corporate money into electoral campaigns. Although I am interested in the specifics of these struggles, my research has considered the various his- torical moments when legal scholars have responded to these concerns with debates over the nature of cor- porations and the responsibilities that corporations have to their shareholders, managers, and workers, as well as society and the environment at large. Looking at the issue historically, we can see a number of moments where, at the urging of social movements, lawyers and state administrators have reconsidered notions of both the corporation and corporate respon- sibility. For instance, in the United States in the 1930s, leading law professors and New Deal adminis- trators engaged in a robust debate about corporate responsibility in response to the Great Depression (Berle 1931, 1932; Berle and Means 1932; Dodd 1932). Social movements for corporate social responsi- bility also coalesced in the United States in the 1970s around attempts to produce “shareholder democracy” by installing “public interest directors” on corporate boards.1 Likewise, on the international stage, the 1970s saw a push from third-world states associated

Justice: An Epistolary Essay 35

with the New International Economic Order for inter- national codes of conduct that would police corporate behavior and stop corporate malfeasance (see Bair 2007; Sagafi-Nejad 2008).

Of course, if we look at the institutionalized forms that corporate social responsibility has assumed in response to these debates, a number of problems stand out. Clearly, institutionalized models of responsibility have failed to stem abuses. More troubling is the way that responsibility has become a marketing tool, carving out new niches of ethical consumers. Respon- sibility thus might not end injustice, but it can shore up the image of your company or international institution.

This problem is not unique to struggles over corpo- rate power, and I think we could find similar dynamics in other conflicts over justice. What interests me is the way the attempt to resolve justice ends up framing and limiting the types of claims that can be made. I guess the question I would like to understand is how and why claims for justice often get translated into forms that unwittingly reinvest the very powers they seek to subvert. What, as scholars, can we do about it?

Dear Josh, Yes! Yes! You are totally right about the need to

understand how and why justice claims get subverted. Although I start from the question of injustice from the perspective of the most vulnerable or activists, if I follow the trail I ultimately get to the questions that you ask. You are also right about something else—it is not a very empowering or exciting place to be. Grim indeed. Having said that, I would like to share with you some of my struggles to understand justice in terms of environmental justice (EJ). Schlosberg (2007), in Defining Environmental Justice, identified three forms of justice: distributive, recognition, and participation. I think this is a good start, but it is incomplete. It is ironic that the vast majority of EJ scholarship centers on distribution, also known as environmental equity, or the (un)equal distribution of environmental bur- dens and benefits. But environmental equity has never been the goal for EJ activists. Once activists under- stand the nature of the problem, their goal becomes reducing the contamination of the planet, their own empowerment, and possibly political transformation. I have never seen an EJ group interested in simply shift- ing the location of the pollution—they would see this as a gross injustice to other communities and to nature. So this is my first observation: There is a deep discon- nect between how researchers and policymakers often

conceptualize EJ and how activists do (Lievanos 2012; Harrison 2014). This might be one clue to understand- ing how ideas of justice get translated so poorly.

Participation and recognition are certainly impor- tant to EJ. Often, activists are created upon learning that they are vulnerable to pollution because of their poverty or race. Being lied to by the state or corpo- rate polluters is also a great way to radicalize people. But would we really have justice if environmental goods and bads were distributed equitably? What if there was meaningful participation and recognition? Would that get us justice? Personally, I just cannot imagine any kind of meaningful “justice” without addressing both social inequality as well as our fun- damental relationship to nature. Yes, we might have some isolated victories, but it is inconceivable to me that subordinated groups could consistently be treated fairly given existing chasms in power. Think- ing this through reminds me a bit about Mansfield and Doyle’s (this issue) discussion of moving beyond dualisms. In both cases we are trying to get to some- thing fundamentally different, but our language and concepts are not what they need to be. This brings me to my second point: EJ has the potential to explode our very ways of being in the world, yet we try so hard to contain it. I understand why bureau- crats would want to contain it these days given the hostility toward environmental regulation, especially when compounded by social inequality (see Lievanos 2012; London et al. 2013)—but why are scholars also invested in such a project? What’s up with that? Should it not be our job to challenge that?

Of course, the desire to contain is understandable and in keeping with conventional forms of knowledge production. Containing allows us to focus on some- thing. But to illustrate just how far off we are from any sense of EJ, let us look more closely at environmental equity. Figure 1 shows the distribution of cumulative pollution burden and race in California. This is one articulation of EJ.

Accordingly, how might we begin working toward environmental justice? What demands and actions might one take—and would this constitute justice? Sometimes activists want violators closed down; other times, they simply want laws to be followed. Let us focus on enforcement, as this is the least controversial demand. Josh, you would be appalled at the inability of regulatory agencies to simply enforce the law (Pulido, Kohl, and Cotton 2016). Or maybe not, given that you study corporations. Neoliberalism has pro- duced an atmosphere in which enforcement is rapidly

36 Barkan and Pulido

becoming a thing of the past. Increasingly, enforcing environmental regulations is seen as unnecessary gov- ernment intervention. One study found that in 2014 there were 64,000 violations that the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) knew about, “but fewer than 1/2 of one percent triggered a criminal inves- tigation” (Kates 2014).

And what about the environmental problems for which we have no laws? One could go on and on until the very notion of justice becomes completely elusive. What is environmental justice? Is it even possible to know? Maybe it is meant to be a moving target and continuously evolving as our world changes. This is

my third and final point: Perhaps its “unknowability” is also its virtue: Its potential vastness will always keep us wondering and struggling—and I do not think that’s a bad thing. Though I understand the efforts of researchers and policymakers to try to contain this vast topic, I think that it is something that I will actively work against. Certainly the scientific method has produced important contributions in the environ- mental arena (Los Angeles Collaborative for Environ- mental Health and Justice 2010), but if we listen closely to subaltern activists, we have to occasionally bust open those disciplinary structures—because so much more is needed. And in the end, it is really the

Figure 1. Pollution burden, vulnerability, and people of color, 2010. Source: Greeninfo Network (2015). (Color figure available online.)

Justice: An Epistolary Essay 37

needs, concerns, and energy of activists who move us toward this elusive thing called “justice.”

Laura, OK! So we’ve got environmental pollution, margin-

alized populations, and corporate and state malfea- sance. Is it wrong that I have enjoyed this exchange? I appreciate the way you bring the discussion back to poor people and people of color organizing for change. Particularly because I am interested in large structures of power, people sometimes fall out of my narratives. For that reason, I find your ethical commitment to the geographies of marginalized people critical.

It is also something that geography, as a discipline, val- ues. You can see it in our periodic debates about theory and method—like Agnew’s (2014) recent concerns about an overemphasis on genealogy and conceptual history. As someone who does genealogical work, I try and read that criticism generously, as an injunction to not get lost in what Jameson (1972) once called, glossing Nietzsche, “the prison-house of language.” Or, as Roberts (2014) put it, as a reminder to make sure that our concepts do what we want them to do, which, for those of us concerned with social justice, means changing the world in emanci- patory ways. Your own use of geography communicates this as well. Bringing different types of data together in a single cartographic representation crystallizes recognition of injustice—even for people not interested in environ- mental issues or the problems facing communities of color. All of this suggests a great role for geographic knowledge in the pursuit of justice.

The genealogist in me, however, is worried that it might be more complicated.

In our earlier exchange, I mentioned my interest in the moment when justice is limited by powerful institutions. The best way for me to think of it is how institutions disci- pline justice. You responded by asking me to what extent this is deliberate, which is an important political ques- tion. Certainly, your statistics about the lack of enforce- ment suggest gross levels of willful ignorance, which may or may not be deliberate. What concerns me about “deliberateness,” however, is that it can console us by identifying specific “bad actors” as the problem. More dif- ficult to deal with is the possibility that those of us sub- stantially committed to achieving justice—and here I am thinking about both academic geographers and EPA workers—might already be oriented toward disciplining justice simply by the way we think about the problem and address it in our research.

To come back to the crux of this forum, it is for this reason that I think that justice compels not an

intradisciplinary or interdisciplinary approach but an antidisciplinary one, which critically reflects on the way disciplines form in relation to their objects. I have writ- ten about antidisciplinarity elsewhere (Barkan 2013), but I take the concept from Mowitt (1992). In its most basic formulation, Mowitt uses the term to characterize a type of critical practice that must necessarily go beyond debates within disciplines to consider the ways in which academic disciplines and their objects of study are tightly intertwined with the general structures of disciplinary power in society. By discipline Mowitt is referring to that modern form of power that constitutes us as subjects through techniques of surveillance, normalization, exam- ination, segmentation, and so on. Although the concept is most often connected to Foucault’s work on the prison (Foucault 1995), Mowitt emphasized those moments where Foucault turns his eye toward the university and the modes of knowledge central to academic disciplines. Writing in the wake of the 1968 student revolts in France, the university was central to Foucault’s under- standing of disciplinary power, as academic disciplines come into being in their modern form and constitute their objects of analysis through the same practices of dis- ciplinary power—examination, spatial and temporal ordering, and so on—at play in the prison. In this sense, disciplinary power requires the techniques of examina- tion and ordering formulated in modern academic disci- plines. Mowitt, however, also emphasized that the relationship goes the other way as well, with the aca- demic disciplines requiring relatively stable and well-dis- ciplined subjects (or, as Foucault put it, “docile bodies”) from whom the disciplines can generate objective knowl- edge about human agency and action.2

All of this indicates some abstract relations between academic disciplines and modern power relations and I am sure that many of us working in the university today need not go back to Foucault to understand the ways in which knowledge is disciplined. Mowitt’s account is particularly incisive, however, in exposing the ways in which power shapes how disciplinary com- munities emerge in relation to the things we study. Extending Girard’s anthropological studies of commu- nity formation and violence to the modern university, Mowitt chronicled the importance of disciplinary objects in establishing academic disciplines. Initially, the object mediates interactions within a disciplinary community, as members of a discipline (what Mowitt called “disciples”) share an interest in understanding some aspect of the world. Eventually, Mowitt argued, antagonisms between disciples overtake the object of study. Disciples restore order by regulating these

38 Barkan and Pulido

conflicts and, in particular, following Girard, by desig- nating a scapegoat whose forcible expulsion from disci- plinary reflection prevents further conflicts. Disciplinary identity is generated by the limit estab- lished through this process, where certain elements of the social world appear to us as things appropriate for disciplinary reflection and other things appear beyond our purview (as objects belonging to other disciplines or simply prohibited from thought more generally).

Again, I recognize that describing the issue in this way makes it seem removed from what scholars do. If we put aside the discomfort that comes from consider- ing our own practices through an anthropological lens, however, I would wager that many of us would recog- nize similar dynamics in our own institutions. We might not think about them in terms of violence, dis- cipline, and community formation, but who has not seen the way limits—produced in innumerable departmental squabbles, decisions over funding and support, hiring initiatives, peer reviews, and commit- tee work—shape, at fundamental levels, the questions we ask and how we go about answering them? It is for this reason that antidisciplinarity, as a critique of disci- plinary reason, cannot just bring multiple disciplines or methods together without also attending to the role of disciplinary power in shaping both what we study and the scope of our disciplinary debates. Without doing so, we threaten to misrecognize our objects or, as Mowitt (1992) put it more strongly, “Disciplines cannot know what they claim to know, and what sub- stitutes for this lack of knowledge is a bureaucratically articulated policing of fidelity” (40).

I worry that justice suffers from this policing of fidelity. You ask about the problems for which we have no laws. But I am concerned that, inasmuch as law’s ability to respond to justice claims is conditioned by its ability to recognize injustice, it demands that both injustices and potential remedies are articulated in relatively familiar (policed and disciplined) forms. Antidisciplinarity can- not tell us what justice is, but it can expose these entan- glements and potentially open space for new struggles to develop. Furthermore, it warns us against a kind of easy pluralism, insisting that we grapple with the intersections of power and knowledge not only as they shape the lives of our research subjects but also as they shape our own practices and understanding.

Notes 1. It was these movements that Friedman (1970) was

responding to with his infamous injunction that “the

social responsibility of business is to increase its profits.”

2. Mowitt’s argument thus links Foucault’s work on dis- cipline (Foucault 1995) with his earlier archeology of the human sciences (Foucault 1994). As The Order of Things made clear, the event that is the conduit for and marks the complete saturation of society by disciplinary power is the emergence of a new object of analysis for the human sciences: human agency itself. For this reason, Foucault ended that text with a discussion of “man and his doubles” and noted that “the threshold of our modernity is sit- uated not by the attempt to apply objective methods to the study of man, but rather by the constitution of an empirico-trancendental doublet which was called man” (Foucault 1994, 319). In other words, “man” is formed by and an effect of new practices of disciplinary reflection.

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JOSHUA BARKAN is an Associate Professor in the Geogra- phy Department at the University of Georgia, Athens, GA 30602. E-mail: [email protected]. He studies the relations between law, capitalism, and sovereignty, particularly as it relates to corporations and corporate power. His first book, Cor- porate Sovereignty: Law and Government under Capitalism, was published in 2013 by the University of Minnesota Press.

LAURA PULIDO is Professor of Ethnic Studies and Geography at the University of Oregon, Eugene, OR 97403. E-mail: [email protected]. Her research interests include race, political activism, and environmental justice.

40 Barkan and Pulido

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