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STUART HALL
Bill Schwarz
Published online: 17 Aug 2006.
To cite this article: Bill Schwarz (2005) STUART HALL, Cultural Studies, 19:2, 176-202,
DOI: 10.1080/09502380500077730
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Bill Schwarz
STUART HALL
Stuart Hall
CHRIS ROJEK
Cambridge, Polity, 2003
230 pp., ISBN 0 7456 2481 2 pbk, 14.99
Cultural Studies Vol. 19, No. 2 March 2005, pp. 176 /202
ISSN 0950-2386 print/ISSN 1466-4348 online 2005 Taylor & Francis Group Ltd
http://www.tandf.co.uk/journals DOI: 10.1080/09502380500077730
S T UAR T H A L L
so on the occasion Mrs Thatcher chose as one of her discs How Much is that
Doggie in the Window?. And it can still create a modest frisson, as when one
guest (not Mrs Thatcher) asked to take with her a solar-powered vibrator. It
remains quietly compulsive.
Every so often the producers invite an academic. This is always tricky,
because the habits of mind of academics do not naturally conform to chatting
on air about life, music, one book and one luxury, in 20-something minutes.
Sue Lawley, a skilled professional, is not most at ease in these situations. A few
years back Stuart Hall was invited an academic, a black Jamaican, a socialist
in which, necessarily given the work he does, he was asked to discuss, amongst
other things, what Britain means. Even though this inevitably pitched things a
little higher than the usual conversation, Lawley was fine with this. But one
cannot help but feel she looked forward to the week which followed, when
as Stuart Hall (1970) himself put it many years ago the BBC world would
once again be more comfortably at one with itself, and there would be no
need for unsettling issues to intrude.
This interview features in Chris Rojeks recent critical study of Stuart Hall.
It appears in his conclusion, in the context of a discussion about commodified
cultures. Halls standpoint on some aspects of popular culture is often
censorious, writes Rojek.
In common with the New Left he abhors the idea of high culture, but is rather priggish in his dislike of commercialism and commodification in
popular culture. This was nicely expressed in an embarrassing moment
during Halls appearance as a castaway on the BBC Radio 4 programme
Desert Island Discs . . . Despite Halls oft-repeated, querulous observation
that he feels an outsider in British culture, his appearance on Desert Island
Discs perhaps proves that he has been more accepted and honoured by the
establishment than he would wish to recognize. Be that as it may, Hall seized the opportunity to discuss with great eloquence questions of his own
relationship to Britishness, the meaning of Cultural Studies and his aspirations for multicultural/multi-ethnic society. But at one telling moment his
eloquence deserts him and he comes close to being tongue-tied on air.
Rojek transcribed this moment. It reads (with minor corrections):
SL: Do you watch Who Wants to be a Millionaire?
SH: Well, um, I knew you would find the limit-point . . . the breakingpoint . . . I cant watch that.
SL: Why not? Its great!
SH: If you ask me, Do I watch soap-operas?, I do.
SL: But, I mean again, its exactly what you are talking about . . . Its
what . . . Its what turns people on, its what shows all kinds of
things about human nature.
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found a discernible measure of personal complaint? (If you want querulous, try
a chat with Halls Oxford contemporary, V. S. Naipaul.) Halls appearance on
Desert Island Discs, Rojek tells us, perhaps proves that he has been more
accepted and honoured by the establishment than he would wish to recognize.
Perhaps? Does this mean that it does? Or it does not? If it does, where on
earth is the evidence? Rojek insists that his is a book which deals principally
with Halls printed ideas and their influence (p. x). Where in his published
works or in his public lectures has this self-misrecognition been manifest?
There is no answer. Excusing himself with an observation which still leaves the
charge hanging in the air Be that as it may Rojek presses on. Hall, it
appears, seized the opportunity to discuss Britishness, and the other matters
noted above. What can this mean? He was invited on to the programme, its
format well-known. He was politely asked questions about his work, as the
genre demands, and he replied with courtesy and engagement. No-one seized
anything.
Rojeks purpose, though, is to set the scene for the moment when (it
seems) Stuart Hall is out-manoeuvred by Sue Lawley: the moment of
embarrassment, when his eloquence deserts him and when he comes close
to being tongue-tied on air. To make these claims depends on a very
particular reading, or over-reading, of a fragment of a text, which even on the
evidence of the transcript is unpersuasive. Listening to the recording produces a
different tone and register. One hears, in this moment, a genial laughter.
There is a parrying between Lawley and Hall, which Hall himself brings out
into the open: I knew you would find the limit-point. For Rojek, though, it is
necessary to present this admission as a collapse on Halls part, so that it can
testify to a more general flaw in his theorization of popular culture. The fact
that Rojek, as much as Sue Lawley, is happy to conflate personal taste with
theoretical interpretation appears to cause him no conceptual difficulty. Rojek
pushes on. Halls identification of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? he finds
portentous. (Why portentous?) He believes this critique misses the
reflexive character of both the agent and the audience, though there is
nothing in Halls reading, fastening as it does on the mythic or formal status of
the programme, which depends on an understanding of audience reflexivity
about which Hall himself has written important things, as Rojek concedes. No
matter. We arrive at the terminal point, with Hall now cornered, presented in
the guise of the Old Testament prophet, fuming. Punto!
This is dispiriting, ignorant, mischievous prose. I see nothing innocent
here. It purports to engage with Halls ideas. In truth, it repeatedly falls into ad
hominen attack or innuendo. No great textual skills are required to grasp that
this is writing which is systematically negative, and which concerns the person
as much as his ideas. From Stuart Halls declared choice not to watch a single
TV programme, we arrive at the image of him as antediluvian patriarch,
venting his rage at modern life. Why?
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There is much more in this vein. Rojek describes his book as an attempt
to critically interrogate his (Halls) ideas and evaluate his cultural and political
influence (p. x). On these grounds it must be judged. He points out that his is
the first full-length solo-authored book on Hall and his work (p. ix).1 He
believes such a study is necessary, in part, because earlier responses have
(he says) largely come from what he identifies as the Birmingham diaspora,
which he explains as those who worked with Hall in the Birmingham Centre
for Contemporary Cultural Studies (p. ix). Later in the book, this diaspora
transmutes into a mafia a term, he indicates, which is sometimes
negatively applied, though where the term originates (if not with Rojek) and
who employs it is not disclosed (p. 79, p. 72). For Rojek, those once
associated with Hall have not had it within them to be properly critical. They
indulge in an unhealthy degree of protectionism (sic) about (sic) Hall (p. ix).
Colin Sparks, no political or intellectual ally of Hall, is found to be cloying in
the respectful tenor of his remarks (p. 11). The tone of the papers contributed
to a volume published to mark Stuart Halls intellectual life (less than a quarter
of whose authors had any connection to Birmingham) is described as
relentlessly anodyne. Arguably, he suggests, the editors of the volume
Paul Gilroy, Lawrence Grossberg and Angela McRobbie (2000) were too
close to Hall, personally, professionally, as well as in terms of intellectual
genealogy, to evaluate his work with sufficient critical distance (p. 11). This
provides Rojek his cue. Not for him the figure of Saint Stuart (his construct);
he has determined to produce no hommage a` Hall (p. 11, p. x). On the
contrary, he set out to achieve and maintain the appropriate level of sangfroid (p. x). It has fallen to him to enter the lions den (p. x).
Given these remarks, it is as well for readers to know that I studied at the
Birmingham Cultural Studies Centre. Intermittently, I have worked with
Stuart Hall since, and I was an author of one of those essays that Rojek found
to be anodyne. Hall has been a profound intellectual influence on me. I cannot
imagine doing the work I do now without his presence. This proximity may
indeed underwrite the sorrow I feel when I read Rojek. When researching the
book with some Birmingham graduates, Rojek writes, I encountered a
depressingly defensive reaction that boiled down to the presupposition that if
you werent there . . . you cant know what it was like (p. x). What it was
like, however, cannot be the issue. Nor does the fact of having been in
Birmingham confer any conceptual privilege. How could it? The work is there
to be judged on its merits. Much of it is now dated. For Hall himself we need
to remember that this temporal emphasis on the Birmingham years also serves
to under-emphasize the subsequent quarter of a century of intellectual activity.
Even so, what Rojek promises a critical engagement with Stuart Halls
ideas and politics, from one who is outside his immediate intellectual influence
is not only proper but to be welcomed. It is, though, what he singularly
fails to do.
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The starkness invoked here can mean one thing only. Either the politics
represented by Hall will be thoroughly triumphant (deemed by other
intellectual traditions to be unlikely), or it will be thoroughly defeated (more
likely). This is no more than a common-or-garden ultra-leftism, based on the
conviction that politics can only be composed by either the one or the other.
Maybe Rojek believes this. If this is so, in a book of this nature it is incumbent
upon him to make his case. Hall has spent much of his life advocating a
contrary position. Simply to say at the end of the book that what Hall has been
arguing against happens to be right after all doesnt get anyone anywhere. It
offers no intellectual engagement.
Part of the problem is the strong identification of Halls politics with a
particular moment of Birmingham, and a particular moment of cultural
studies, as if his intellectual life and his public commitments have remained
unchanged for the past thirty or forty years. This is one of the difficulties of
centring the preoccupation with Birmingham, or what Rojek calls the
Birmingham Circle (p. ix). But the greater difficulty is his supposition that
subordinate or marginal intellectual formations can only be judged in terms of
wildly inappropriate criteria.
One of the oddest things about Rojeks interpretation of Hall, in this
regard, is his understanding of the New Left. The New Left emerged in Britain
in the latter half of the 1950s, went through a series of deep divisions in the
early 1960s and, by the end of the decade, had ceased to be an identifiable
political current. When Rojek states that there existed a curious atmosphere
of didacticism and remoteness in much of the New Left work in the 1970s, it
is impossible to know about whom he is writing, because by then there was no
New Left (p. 28). When he complains that the New Left produced nothing as
sophisticated as Castellss analysis of network society and the weightless
economy work produced in the 1990s we are in the realm of spirits and
mediums (p. 29). About the earlier period, when there was a New Left, Rojek
is ambivalent. Its activists, he notes, were not people who hailed from a long
line of peasants, mill-hands or factory workers (p. 28). It never became a
vanguard of political and cultural transformation (p. 24). It suffered from the
fact that England was never properly able to produce a radical intelligentsia
if we mean by the term a disciplined movement, attached to a systematic
programme of political, economic and cultural transformation, with strong
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roots in the organized labour movement (p. 26). The New Left, on the
contrary, suffered from the pitfalls of modishness. Yet, in a surprising move,
Rojek supposes that this modishness occurred precisely because the
New Lefts commitment to intellectual labour was politically engaged. The
New Left
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It is unsatisfactory (p. 7); wants to have his cake and eat it (p. 7); an
inconsistent thinker (p. 8); unquestionable imprecision (p. 11); vague,
unsatisfying views (p. 11); pragmatic (p. 13); fails to satisfactorily
resolve . . . (p. 15); not . . . convincing (p. 17); not providing satisfactory
answers (p. 18); the suspicion . . . of intellectual fashion (p. 19);
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overstates the case (p. 21); (failure) to go beyond the level of critique
(p. 31); not a novel argument (p. 34); not candid (p. 40); the argument is
not novel (p. 42); undeniable flavour of insularity (p. 45); The point is
overstated (p. 45).
If these could be compared to alternative conceptualizations, so that readers
could judge concretely the scale and form of these failings, then there may be
merit to them. Without that without critique they can only be negative.
Rojeks supposition that Hall is a traditional political thinker, when the tenor
of his own criticisms is so deeply orthodox, is a problem he gives no indication
of even noticing.
Rojek lays out his position early on. On the opening page of the
introduction he announces that Hall can hardly be classed as an original
theorist (p. 1). (This is where he informs the reader that the job of the
intellectual is to aggravate cliche (p. 1).) He lists the charges: The criticisms
of slippage, absence of methodology, modishness, radicalism, the limitations of
Englishness, embodiment and emplacement will be substantiated in the
following chapters (p. 46). This substantiation doesnt happen. What the
criticism of radicalism involves I dont know: is it that Hall is too radical (in
his elitist manner, prevailing upon Labour to abandon its neo-liberal
commitments), or that he is not radical enough (repudiating parties, vanguards
and violence)? The elaboration of embodiment and emplacement never occurs.
I will say something about the connected issues of slippage, methodology and
modishness, and then close with some remarks on Englishness.
Slippage is arguably the most serious criticism made of Halls work
(p. 7). According to Rojek himself, this is a direct function of Halls
commitments to anti-essentialism: It (anti-essentialism) accounts for the
unquestionable imprecision in his analysis of hegemony, articulation, race and
identity (p. 11). This sounds as if unquestionable imprecision is the
necessary consequence of anti-essentialism. If this were so there could be no
further argument to make, and there could no problem associated with Halls
slippage. It cannot both be the most serious criticism of Hall, in particular,
and an inevitable result of pursuing an anti-essentialism for then half the
cultural theorists on the planet would be open to exactly the same criticism. It
may be wiser, however, to let this pass.
Discounting this, slippage seems either to be a function of, or connected
to, the absence of methodology. Hall, Rojek claims, makes no contribution
to nuts and bolts methodology (p. 14). Nor, more generally, has cultural
studies subjected epistemology to the same critical interrogation that
sociology has done (p. 14). The fact that Hall himself never studied sociology
as an undergraduate has led to the situation or, arguably so that he has
been too cavalier about questions of methodology (p. 16). Rojek proclaims
that the subject of methodology is massively neglected in Halls writings; a
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demonstrate that philosophy and abstraction can only work fruitfully if the
categories on which they are founded have a determinate relation to the real,
to the concrete and to the historical. It mounts an epistemological defence of
the necessary connections between the historical-concrete and the concrete-inthought, abstractly revealing the limits of formal abstraction. As if, Hall
quotes from Marx, the tasks were the dialectical balancing of concepts and not
the grasping of real relations (Hall 1974, p. 141). Hall is endeavouring to
imagine a method which retains the concrete empirical reference as a
privileged and undissolved moment within a theoretical analysis (Hall 1974,
p. 147; emphasis added). If this anticipates a way of working in which concepts
counter indeterminacy, it also marks a commitment to conceptual categories
which are sufficiently mobile, complex and concrete that they can indeed grasp
the real. This produces theories of a very particular complexion (the concrete
analysis of concrete situations, Hall 1974, p. 147) which may not look like,
or work like, more formal, elaborated, conventional theory.
More particularly, they may not look like conventional or mainstream
sociological theory. A sociological perspective offers one, but not the only,
means to supply structure and determination to interpretative models. A
different sort of determination, however, can apply if one shifts from a
synchronic emphasis to one which is diachronic. Indeed, what is most striking
about Halls reflections on method in the essay is his centring of questions of
temporality. The categories of classical political economy worked to dehistoricize relations of capitalist production; Marx insisted on starting with
historical specification. In this reading, social relations necessarily exist in
specific durations in, in other words, historical time. They exist in
movement. Historical time lies at the very heart of Halls method (see
especially Hall 1974, pp. 143 5, 152 3): History . . . articulates itself as the
epistemological premise[,] the starting point, of theoretical labour (Hall 1974,
p. 157). We are dealing here neither with a disguised variant of positivism nor
with a rigorous a-historicism but with that most difficult of theoretical models,
especially to the modern spirit: a historical epistemology (Hall 1974, p. 152).
Hall on method may be wrong: but method is neither absent, nor
neglected, nor undertheorized. My own view is that Stuart Hall is more of
a historical thinker than is customarily appreciated. This is not to say he
produces histories in the image of professional historians. But his determination to understand social relations as constituted by their durations, and in
perpetual movement, does testify to the centrality in his work of a historical
method. He outlined some of the key intellectual components of this
dimension of his thinking in the later essay on The hinterland of science:
ideology and the sociology of knowledge (Hall 1978). Here he made it
clear that his commitment to what Levi-Strauss described as the forgotten
sociological tradition of Durkheim and Mauss not only brought back into the
field of vision the question of mentalities, but took him onto the same territory
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I do not believe that all concepts operate at the same level of abstraction
indeed, I think one of the principal things which separates me from the
fundamentalist Marxist revival is precisely that they believe that the
concepts which Marx advanced at the highest level of abstraction (i.e.
mode of production, capitalist epoch) can be transferred directly into the
analysis of concrete historical conjunctures. My own view is that concepts
like that of hegemony (the family or level of abstraction to which AP
[authoritarian populism] also belongs) are of necessity somewhat
descriptive, historically more specific, time-bound, concrete in their
reference because they attempt to conceptualize what Marx himself
said of the concrete: that it is the product of many determinations. So I
have to confess that it was not an error or oversight which determined the
level of concreteness at which AP operates. It was quite deliberately and
self-consciously not pitched at that level of pure theoretical-analytical
operation at which Jessop et al seem to assume all concepts must be
produced. The costs of operating at this level of abstraction are clear. But
to me in the wake of the academicizing of Marxism and the theoreticist
deluge of the 1970s so are the gains.
(Hall 1985, pp. 118 9)
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The basic thing about The Prince is that it is not a systematic treatment,
but a live work, in which political ideology and political science are
fused in the dramatic form of a myth. Before Machiavelli, political
science had taken the form either of the Utopia or of the scholarly
treatise. Machiavelli, combining the two, gave imaginative and artistic
form to his conception by embodying the doctrinal, rational element in
the person of a condottiere, who represents plastically and anthropomorphically the symbol of the collective will. In order to represent the
process whereby a given collective will, directed toward a given political
objective, is formed, Machiavelli did not have recourse to long-winded
arguments, or pedantic classifications of principles and criteria for a
method of action. Instead he represented this process in terms of the
qualities, characteristics, duties and requirements of a concrete individual.
Such a procedure stimulates the artistic imagination of those who have to
be convinced, and gives political passions a more concrete form.
(Gramsci 1971, p. 125)
These are arresting, if condensed, sentences. From them we can see that, for
Gramsci, the concrete represents not merely social reality, imagined at a
particular level of abstraction; nor only social relations in movement. For what
Gramsci designates as the domain of the political is also a live, dysfunctional
domain, composed by myths and passions as much as by rational doctrines.
From this perspective, the genius of Machiavelli lay in his capacity to craft a
formal philosophy able to grasp these dimensions of political reality. His was a
political philosophy that stimulates the artistic imagination and gives political
passions a more concrete form. It is neither formally systematized, nor made
up of pedantic classification. In this conception, politics is not only about
rational calculation, but about the making of what Gramsci called a concrete
phantasy (1971, p. 126, emphasis added). To think in these terms adds a
further layer of meaning to the idea of the concrete, for it alerts us to the
subjective identifications in which political objectives take shape, become
embodied, and generate human passion.2 Writing about the crisis within
British Conservatism in 1957, Hall was keen to unearth these interior
manifestations of political life, just as he was, a quarter of a century later,
when he presented his commentaries on the authoritarian-populist drive of the
Thatcherites. Patently, this isnt all that politics is. But it provides a critical
dimension, making the concrete more complex, more intangible in its
subterranean movements, and harder to reach analytically. To close down
debate, though, by dismissing all this as slippage can only serve to reinvent an
old functionalism.
Stuart Halls method, I am suggesting, cannot be divorced from his
insistence on thinking historically, both in his understanding of historical time
and in his privileging of the historically concrete. Inevitably, as Hall affirms,
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It may be, of course, that by the time Rojek came to write the book his
line on antinomianism no longer seemed to him persuasive. It had to be
dropped because it just couldnt work. If this is right, at least this would
explain the absence of any reference to antinomianism so powerful an
interpretation a short while before in the monograph, or any reference to
the article in which the original proposition was made. In terms even of his
own protocols, the abandonment of the antinomian thesis, though, leaves him
with nothing of substance to say about Halls supposed Englishness. This may
in turn explain why the charge of Englishness is left suspended in the book,
hanging around at the end of the introduction with nowhere to go.
There is in any case plenty of confusion in Rojeks presentation about the
consequences of this supposed antinomian influence, and more generally in
both the article and the book about the effects of Englishness itself. It is
never clear whether Hall is being criticized for writing mostly about English
subjects; for not heeding sufficiently the impact of globalization; or whether
there is meant to be something deeply English in his manner of thinking, with
deleterious effects. These variant readings pop up on different occasions. The
first of these is of no possible interest; the second represents a retrospective,
and partial, response to Halls earlier work, written at a time when its too
easy to be more knowing about globalization; and the third is so abstract,
arbitrary and subjective in its criteria that it can deliver nothing of significance.
Not only this. Rojek proceeds as if Hall had never himself considered the
question of English civilization. Yet, from early on he was understandably
preoccupied explicitly so by the issue, and has continued to be so since
(Hall 1958).
But what of the fact that this putative English intellectual is a black
Jamaican? What of the fact that he describes himself as a diasporic intellectual?
(Hall 1996, emphasis added).
Rojek is having nothing to do, he insists, with this latter identification. On
this his reasoning is luminous. To accept Hall as diasporic exaggerates (his)
marginality to pre-Marxist English traditions of cultural criticism (1998,
p. 58). In other words, to see him as diasporic would mean that he could not
also be designated antinomian a corollary that wouldnt do at all. Or at
least, it wouldnt do in 1998. Here we can witness what happens when a
concept proves incapable of movement, and when stasis rules. What is this,
methodologically, if not an exemplification of the balancing of concepts at the
expense of grasping . . . real relations?
On Halls Jamaican past, Rojek is less quick to judge. For this, though, we
need to return after the antinomian hiatus to his book. With all the
bombast of a pantomime magistrate, he reveals that:
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over the years, I have reached the conclusion that Halls background in
Jamaica must be confronted.
(p. 47)
Indeed. Rojek spends half a dozen pages, drawing from the old, influential
and hugely debated social analysis of M. G. Smith (1965), whose emphasis
fell on the lack of cohesion in Caribbean societies.4 Rojek gives this his own
particular spin, by placing his emphasis on the centrality of internal racial
hierarchies in the ordering of Jamaican society. He plausibly suggests that
Stuart Halls deep-seated interest in the generation of social difference may
have originated in his Jamaican formation (p. 55). He posits the likelihood of a
link between Halls later antipathy to the monetarist and nationalist rhetoric
deployed by Thatcher in the 1980s and his memories of Jamaicas first general
election in December 1944, though acceptance of this demands a higher
degree of latitude (pp. 56 7). Less plausibly still unquestionably, in
Rojeks mind the strictness of his parents prefigured (sic) (but not of
course determined) his later theorizations of authoritarian populism (p. 56).
And with no plausibility at all, Halls Jamaican background is perceived by
Rojek to account for his purported tendency to romanticize black street
crime; or at least Rojek goes on for his refusal to accept police and
populist accounts on a priori grounds (as if these were conceivably the same
things) (p. 55). And there discussion of Halls connections to the Caribbean
stops.5
For all the portentousness of the announcement Jamaica must be
confronted it is apparent that this is an interpretation that remains
enclosed, set apart from the rest of the book. The findings he does present are
not only external and mechanistic. They are also organized through an
exclusively British optic. Halls writings of the seventies and eighties on Britain
function as the starting-point, his Jamaican past serving only to provide
confirmation of a pre-given, British-centred, teleology. Why not, for example,
explore how Halls experiences of Birmingham and London inform his
readings of Jamaica? But Rojek cant allow himself to reflect upon the complex
movements back and forth between the Caribbean and Britain, for this would
give credence to the centrality of the diasporic experience which he has
already ruled out of order. As we can see, understanding Stuart Halls
intellectual world without grasping its continuing locations in a diasporic
experience proves for Rojek not least to be tricky.
Rojek presents Hall as a figure who enters intellectual life in the middle
1950s as a ready-made inspiration for the New Left, who thence moved
seamlessly to become the progenitor of what has subsequently come to be
known as British cultural studies. Not only does this ignore the Caribbean
elements in Halls intellectual life in the fifties; it ignores his continuing
involvement with Caribbean organizations in Britain through the 1960s and
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beyond; and it ignores too the complicated but important role he has played in
Caribbean intellectual life itself, in Jamaica and further afield. As none of this is
discussed, maybe Rojek believes it unimportant. My own view, to the
contrary, is that it is of great importance. But it is not easily put into
perspective.
The intellectual labour of decolonization in the Caribbean produced a rich
conceptual legacy, of significance not only for the Caribbean but more
generally. Theoretically, this is most evident in the case of Fanon. But the same
pertains or should do so, if it were better known for the Anglophone
West Indies. The experience of decolonization in the British Caribbean can
properly be understood to have been overdetermined. This is so on two
counts. First, in language, religion, literary culture, schooling and sport, the
formal institutions of West Indian culture were peculiarly proximate in
form to those of the metropolis. As we know, when West Indian migrants
arrived in Britain in the middle decades of the twentieth century, they were
coming to a civilization with which they were already intimate, for to an
unusual degree it was already (formally) theirs. Second, much of the
intellectual work of decolonization was conducted not in the Caribbean but
in the metropolis. Location, in this respect, matters. Those West Indian
thinkers in Britain in the 1940s and 1950s, attempting to imagine the coordinates of a sovereign Caribbean, were at the same time having to contend
with the actually-existing metropolitan British civilization, in its most
proximate, most immediate, lived manifestations. These circumstances
demanded a peculiarly far-reaching critique of the precepts of British
civilization, for in the Caribbean most of all it was apparent that the transfer
of political power independence would only obliquely address the
deeper cultural and subjective legacies of colonialism.
This impulse for decolonization was manifest in many different formations,
some highly codified intellectually, some not. It was present in conceptual
critique (theory), and it was present too in ska and calypso, in cricket and in
a myriad other popular forms of expression. Indeed, it was the purpose of
much of C. L. R. Jamess writings in the late fifties and early sixties, for
example, to show that this was so. His Beyond a Boundary endeavoured not only
to demonstrate this, but itself stands as a formidable decolonizing text,
working through with great intricacy his own inner formation as a colonized
and racially subordinate subject of the British system (James 1963). To
differing degrees, formally accredited intellectuals schooled in the institutions
of British colonialism increasingly perceived the need to divest themselves
of something of the cultural inheritance of empire. In so doing, they
necessarily found themselves confronting more directly their own, and their
respective nations, Creolization. This was necessarily a collective historical
transformation. Indeed, we can witness the protracted and uneven recomposition of Caribbean thought as it strove to incorporate within itself the
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vernacular forms of the West Indian nations in the process of their seeking
sovereignty. At every point, the formal legacies of colonialism vied with the
vernacular, blacker, more fluid cultures which constituted the traces of
slavery, of other diasporas, and of a long history of racial mixing. If popular life
in the Caribbean represented the stratum of a cultural order in which the
norms of the colonizers were least internalized, one can appreciate why at this
moment on the threshold of independence and after it assumed a new
valency. In such circumstances, thought could lose its purity, become more
profane, and new things happen.7
How Halls intellectual evolution connected to these movements in
thought is not easily reconstructed. My own sense is that certain emergent
emphases of Caribbean intellectual life created in this struggle for sovereignty
the developing critique of racial systems; the concern with the displacement
of political authority in other symbolic and cultural forms; the implacable
commitments to maximize and cherish the power of innovative vernacular
forms; the expansive conception of what comprised the civilization of the
British; and the consequent understanding that future emancipation required
cultural work on the widest front are not merely close to the heart of Stuart
Hall. He gave them voice in Britain, in a peculiarly diasporic idiom (Schwarz
2003). As Halls work has developed, the diasporic qualities of his thought
have become more pronounced, not least because he has made them both
increasingly explicit and increasingly central to his theorizations of the cultures
of late modernity. Yet, at the same time, they have represented a continuous
and a continuously defining element in his thinking.
In drawing from Smiths anthropology of Jamaican society, Rojek
emphasizes the fact that Halls social background was in the brown middle
class. He is able to make less of the fact that Hall himself believes he
subsequently came to be black in London (Hall 1991, 1998). Although Rojek
concedes that this act of becoming black might work for Britain, it cannot he
says work for Jamaica, and results in a muddled message (p. 55). Yet, by
arguing in this way, Hall is able grasp the mobility of ethnicity and, in this
instance, the mobility as well of a specifically diasporic identity. To imagine a
transformation in ethnic identity in these terms (from brown to black) clearly
requires of Hall that he employ a concept of race in which mental operations
the mind, the imagination, fantasy, culture itself prevail in the categorization
of racial difference. Necessarily, this distances him theoretically from a more
profoundly empiricist interpretation of race in which, for example, the
category of brown or black can only work as the pre-given function of
epidermal disposition (Tiens! Un ne`gre!). Yet, for all Rojeks enthusiasm for
Marx, Nietzsche, Baudrillard and the rest, this is how he chooses to proceed,
as if race is determined by observable epidermal characteristics. (Otherwise,
we must suppose, all is indeed, for Rojek, a muddle.) How else could he be
persuaded by the power of David Cannadines arguments about race and
S T UAR T H A L L
Notes
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200
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3
4
5
6
7
References
Bergson, H. (1999) An Introduction to Metaphysics, Hackett, Indianapolis.
Brathwaite, K. (1967 8) Jazz and the West Indian novel, Bim, nos. 44, 45 and
46, pp. 275 284, pp. 39 51, pp. 115 124.
Cannadine, D. (2001) Ornamentalism: How the British Saw Their Empire, Penguin,
London.
Chen, K.-S. (1996) Post-Marxism: between/beyond critical postmodernism and
cultural studies, in Stuart Hall. Critical Dialogues in Cultural Studies, eds
D. Morley & K.-S. Chen, Routledge, London.
Davis, H. (2004) Understanding Stuart Hall, Sage, London.
Erdman, D. (1954) Blake. Prophet Against Empire: a Poets Interpretation of the History
of His Own Times, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ.
Farred, G. (2003) Whats My Name? Black Vernacular Intellectuals, University of
Minnesota Press, Minneapolis.
Gilroy, P., Grossberg, L. & McRobbie, A. (eds) (2000) Without Guarantees. In
Honour of Stuart Hall, Verso, London.
Goveia, E. (1970) The social framework, Savacou, vol. 1, no. 2, pp. 7 15.
Gramsci, A. (1971) Selections from the Prison Notebooks, ed. & trans. Q. Hoare &
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Hall, S. (1957) The new conservatism and the old, Universities and Left Review,
vol. 1, no. 1, pp. 21 24.
Hall, S. (1958) The deep sleep of England, Universities and Left Review, vol. 3, pp.
86 87.
Hall, S. (1970) A world at one with itself, New Society, 18 June.
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Smith, M. (1965) The Plural Society in the British West Indies, University of California
Press, Berkeley, CA.
Thompson, E. (1993) Witness Against the Beast. William Blake and the Moral Law,
Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.
Walmsley, A. (1992) The Caribbean Artists Movement, 1966 72, New Beacon,
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