The Politics of Popular Culture: Negotiating Power, Identity, and Place 9780773596856

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T H E P O L I T I C S O F P O P U L A R C U LT U R E

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The Politics of Popular Culture Negotiating Power, Identity, and Place

EDITED BY

Tim Nieguth

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston • London • Ithaca

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© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2015 isbn 978-0-7735-4470-3 (cloth) isbn 978-0-7735-4471-0 (paper) isbn 978-0-7735-9685-6 (epdf) isbn 978-0-7735-9686-3 (epub) Legal deposit second quarter 2015 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free. This book has been published with the help of a grant from Laurentian University. McGill-Queen’s University Press acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication The politics of popular culture : negotiating power, identity, and place / edited by Tim Nieguth Includes bibliographical references and index. Issued in print and electronic formats. isbn 978-0-7735-4470-3 (bound). – isbn 978-0-7735-471-0 (pbk.). – isbn 978-0-7735-9685-6 (epdf). – isbn 978-0-7735-9686-3 (epub) 1. Popular culture – Political aspects – Canada. I. Nieguth, Tim, author, editor fc95.p59 2015

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c2014-905790-3 c2014-905791-1

This book was typeset by True to Type in 10.5/13 Sabon

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Contents

Acknowledgments

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1 Popular Culture and the Study of Politics 3 tim nieguth and shauna wilton PART O NE

N EG OT I AT I NG O R D E R A ND AU T H O RI T Y

2 A Very Useful Engine: The Politics of Thomas and Friends 19 shauna wilton 3 “Something Called the Politics of Lonely”: The Politics of The Weakerthans and John K. Samson jonah butovsky and timothy fowler

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4 Gender Identity in Deep Space: Representations of Political Leadership in Battlestar Galactica 51 tracey raney 5 Métis Political Identity and the Symbolism of Louis Riel kelly l. saunders PART T WO

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NE GOT IAT I NG T H E NAT I O N - STATE

6 Imagining the Nation with The Royal Canadian Air Farce 85 danielle j. deveau 7 Leaving Nothing on the Tarmac: Cultural Exchanges and Post-European Cosmopolitics jérôme melançon

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8 Playgrounds of the Global Village? mmos and the Contemporary Globalization Debate tim nieguth PART T H R E E

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NE GOT IAT I NG C O L L E C T I V E I D E NT I T Y

9 Politics, Identity, and the Economy in Quebec Cinema: Film Narratives and the Movie Industry 131 christian poirier 10 The Portrayal of English and French Political Culture in Canadian Film 147 gina s. comeau 11 The Contribution of La Nuit sur l’Étang to the Construction of a Franco-Ontarian Identity 163 aurélie lacassagne PA RT FO UR

C O NC LUS ION

12 Culture and Politics Revisited: The Political Science of Popular Culture tim nieguth Contributors Index

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Acknowledgments

This book began as a panel on the politics of popular culture at the 2009 annual conference of the Canadian Political Science Association in Ottawa. The journey from conference panel to edited collection has been a memorable one – occasionally challenging, frequently enjoyable, and always riveting. It has been a forceful reminder that enterprises such as this require the goodwill and support of a great many people in order to succeed. I have incurred many debts in editing this volume, and am delighted at the opportunity to acknowledge them. First, I would like to thank the contributors to this volume. Their insights into the tangled relationship between popular culture and politics have made this journey well worth the while; their patience, passion, and professionalism have made it possible. Thanks are also due to Jacqueline Mason at McGill-Queen’s University Press, who shepherded the volume from proposal stage to production. Jacqueline’s enthusiasm and unflagging support were critical to the success of this project. I am likewise extremely grateful to the press’s two anonymous reviewers; their constructive and thought-provoking comments have greatly improved the manuscript. I wish to acknowledge the generous financial support the project received from my home institution in the form of a Laurentian University Research Fund. Last, but most definitely not least, I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my partner Tracey, my parents Dirk and Elke, and the other members of my family – both in Germany and in Canada. Your love, encouragement, and sense of perspective kept me going on this journey, and they fuelled my determination to see it through to the end. This is for you.

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Introduction

T H E P O L I T I C S O F P O P U L A R C U LT U R E

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Introduction

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1 Popular Culture and the Study of Politics TIM NIEGUTH AND SHAUNA WILTON

In September 2005, Jyllands-Posten, Denmark’s biggest newspaper, published a series of cartoons depicting the prophet Mohammed. Muslim organizations in the Scandinavian country considered the cartoons offensive and staged several public protests to raise awareness of the issue. The publication of those cartoons sparked a heated controversy about free speech and respect for different religious and cultural traditions, both in Denmark and abroad; the cartoons provided a rallying point for massive anti-Western demonstrations in many predominantly Muslim countries (for example, see Modood et al. 2006). Roughly four years later, a fundamentalist Muslim man linked to militant Islamist groups broke into the Aarhus home of Kurt Westergaard, who had drawn the most controversial of the cartoons, with the intention of killing the Danish cartoonist (Copenhagen Post 2010). The 2010 Winter Olympics, held in Vancouver, offered rich opportunities for the display of patriotism and the reinforcement of Canadian national identity – from the opening ceremony and the individual competitions to the media’s keen interest in medal rankings which, as always, pitted nation-state against nation-state. The games opened with the Prime Minister urging Canadians to “drop their normally quiet nationalist nature during the Winter Olympics to loudly and proudly cheer on Canada’s Olympic athletes” (ctv News 2010). Canada’s gold medal in men’s hockey, won against the United States in a final match decided in overtime, served as a particularly important focal point for the expression of national pride north of the 49th parallel. According to Prime Minister Stephen Harper, the Olympics greatly enhanced Canada’s international standing. One day after the closing ceremonies, Mr Harper remarked: “Mark my words, some day

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historians will look back at Canada’s growing strength in the 21st century and they will say it all began right here, on the West Coast, with the best Winter Olympic Games the world has ever seen” (quoted in cbc 2010). Separated by several years and thousands of miles, both of these events nonetheless have one thing in common: they illustrate the intimate link between politics and popular culture. More specifically, both of them point to the perceived influence of popular culture on individual behaviour. They also underline the importance of states and governments in the production and consumption of popular culture. Finally, both events highlight the crucial role popular culture can play in the construction of collective identities, or its ability to reflect (and invite reflection on) social cleavages. This, combined with the common invocations of the “popular” when we are teaching politics, suggests that popular culture is a fitting subject for inquiry from political scientists. The intimate link between politics and popular culture is reflected in the way that many political scientists approach teaching their courses. Many of us, it seems, refer to television, film, and music both to help us connect with our students and to help our students connect with the course material. We show clips from satirical news shows in class and use political cartoons to liven up lectures and textbooks. At the same time, research on the politics of popular culture has been relegated to the margins within the discipline of political science. The genesis of this book offers some indication of this: the roots of the volume can be traced to a panel the editor co-organized at the 2009 annual conference of the Canadian Political Science Associations. The feedback from the audience was extremely positive – they were engaged with the subject matter, had been considering similar themes and questions themselves, and were willing to see the connections between the “popular” subject matter and questions of power, authority, and identity that are so central to political science. Yet, the editor and other panelists frequently heard comments from colleagues that indicated a sense that our work was fun and entertaining, but not really part of the hard-core centre of the discipline. It was, in other words, not serious. C U LT U RE A ND P O L I T I C A L S C I E N CE

The fact that popular culture has been marginalized within political science may seem somewhat curious; after all, research on culture has a long and eminent tradition within political science. Early studies of

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the relationship between culture and politics within the discipline of political science often sought to describe putative “national characters.” In the decades following the Second World War, dissatisfaction with these studies led to the development of a theoretical approach that profoundly shaped the way political scientists view culture today. Pioneered by Gabriel Almond and Sidney Verba, this approach revolved around the concept of “political culture” – the sum total of values, beliefs, and attitudes towards the political system in a given population. In Almond and Verba’s words, the “political culture of a nation is the particular distribution of patterns of orientation toward political objects among the members of the nation” (1989, 13). In this sense, political culture refers to the cumulative whole of citizens’ politically relevant opinions, beliefs, and attitudes. Almond and Verba preferred political culture to other labels or concepts because it emphasized the political aspects of the phenomena they were interested in studying, while simultaneously allowing them to draw on the contributions of cognate disciplines such as anthropology in analyzing culture, conflict, and socialization. They held that political culture is closely related to the political system but does not coincide with it. Similarly, they perceived political culture as related to, but analytically distinct from, the general culture of a society. It is therefore not surprising that Almond and Verba – as well as other researchers who followed in their footsteps – showed little interest in the study of the broader relationship between politics and the general culture of a society. While researchers in this theoretical tradition have produced detailed and insightful studies of a vast range of subjects (including political alienation, the underpinnings of democracy, or the rise of new social movements), teasing out the political implications of popular culture has rarely been part of their agenda. Almond and Verba’s framework is perhaps the most widely employed approach to the study of political orientations within the discipline, but other approaches have exercised considerable influence as well. This is particularly the case with the fragment thesis in the tradition of Louis Hartz, and the formative events approach following the work of Seymour Martin Lipset. While research in the Almond/ Verba tradition is largely quantitative in nature, focused on the analysis of survey data, and relatively inattentive to historical considerations, scholars who apply the fragment thesis or formative events approach to the study of political culture place greater emphasis on qualitative data and historical interpretation.

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Pioneered by Louis Hartz (1955; 1964), the fragment thesis traces political differences between European settler societies to their settlement histories. European immigration to the “New World” occurred in waves and deposited fragments of Europe on the shores of the American continent. Fragment theory holds that the first settler groups did not represent a cross-section of the European countries from which they came, but were instead drawn from very specific social groups. Settlers brought their cultural baggage with them, transplanting the political values, beliefs, and attitudes they had acquired in Europe to their new homes. The values, beliefs and attitudes that prevailed in specific settler groups provided the foundation for future developments in the political cultures of their settlement. Essentially, immigrant groups that arrived at a later point in time were absorbed into the settler societies’ established political cultures. Bell memorably suggested that fragment theory conceives the culture of founding immigrant groups as a kind of genetic code for European settler societies: while this code does not necessarily dictate the future development of a country’s political culture, it sets the parameters within which that development unfolds (Bell 1992, 19). The formative events approach to the study of North American political cultures is closely associated with the work of American sociologist Seymour Martin Lipset (1970; 1990). Lipset looked towards key events in political history in order to explain differences between the political cultures of different countries. He concluded that societies are marked by major events at critical periods of their development, which make it more likely that societies will develop along certain lines. For example, one key event in the political development of North American countries is the American Revolution. Lipset argues that, as a result of the American Revolution, Canada and the United States display basic cultural differences. In his view, the United States has been profoundly shaped by its revolutionary origins, while Canada has been deeply influenced by its counter-revolutionary roots and the later arrival of loyalists displaced from the new republic to the south. In a nutshell, while the United States is the country of the revolution, Canada is the country of the counter-revolution. Where American ideology is based on the values of libertarianism, individualism, populism, and anti-statism, Canadian political culture is characterized by an adherence to Toryism, collectivism, elitism, and state intervention. While the political culture framework, the fragment thesis, and the formative events approach differ in important ways, they share a com-

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mon understanding of culture as a manifestation of political orientations, attitudes, and beliefs. This understanding dominates within political science and characterizes much of the work on culture that originates within the discipline. However, there is a body of literature within political science that is predicated on a rather different view of culture: here, culture is understood as a boundary marker between different social groups and as a focal point of individual and collective identity. Protagonists of this approach are broadly interested in questions related to cultural diversity and ethnic relations. For instance, much recent writing in political science has grappled with finding ways to manage cultural diversity and redress ethnic inequality in ways that are mindful of the fundamental precepts of a liberal democratic society. Scholars such as Will Kymlicka, Charles Taylor, and James Tully have discussed the normative desirability of a politics of recognition, the implications of nationalism and ethnicity for state legitimacy, their significance for the delineation of social groups and the distribution of rights, claims for the accommodation of communal groups in the political process, the compatibility of nationalism and liberalism, as well as the consequences of the idea of self-determination. The work of Will Kymlicka is often credited with kick-starting a sustained debate about questions of cultural identity and diversity within liberalism. Up until the 1980s, liberal political philosophy had paid little attention to these questions. In fact, many liberal philosophers considered (and continue to consider) culture to be a purely private matter best left to individual choice and market forces. They have insisted that culture has no place in the public sphere. In contrast, Kymlicka suggests that cultures are worthy of respect and protection from a liberal standpoint, because they provide the foundation of, and necessary context for, individual choice. Consequently, he argues for the entrenchment of group rights in the public sphere – be it in the form of self-government rights, polyethnic rights, or special representation rights. Which of these categories of rights may be applicable or required in specific situations depends in large measure on the character of the groups they are designed to accommodate. W H Y P O P UL A R C U LT U R E M AT T E R S

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PO L I TI CA L LY

Clearly, culture – either in the sense of public attitudes or collective identity – is of central importance in understanding the nature of po-

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litical processes in early twenty-first century societies. However, the pre-occupation of political scientists with these two meanings of culture has led the discipline to disregard other aspects of culture. In particular, none of the approaches mentioned above pay much attention to the nexus between popular culture and politics. This is surprising, not only because popular culture matters politically (more on that in a moment), but also because it matters in ways that should be of interest to scholars interested in political culture or cultural diversity. Arguably, our understanding of national identity and cultural diversity can be furthered by paying greater attention to their intersections with popular culture. For example, what kind of national identity is projected by a country’s movie output? What cultural traditions are invoked by its popular music? How does a country’s literature portray ethnic minorities? All of these questions are relevant to understanding the construction of national identity, the nature of ethnic relations, and the presence or absence of mechanisms for the accommodation of cultural diversity in a given context. In this respect, political science stands to benefit from engaging with the insights provided by other fields of inquiry – including cultural studies, labour studies, women’s studies, queer studies, critical race studies, and media studies – into the complex relationship between politics and popular culture. Labour studies scholars, for instance, have provided rich analyses of the connection between culture and processes of class formation, the reproduction of and resistance to class relations, and capitalist patterns of production, distribution, and consumption. Many of these analyses have followed in the footsteps of E.P. Thompson’s (1963) seminal study on class consciousness in the English working class, drawing on a neo-Gramscian framework that emphasizes the role of culture in both sustaining and challenging the hegemony of dominant classes within capitalist societies. As Gruneau points out, “[t]he Gramscian argument emphasized that dominant social relations and alliances in capitalist liberal democracies were inherently unstable and contradictory. Popular cultural forms and practices were part of the process whereby dominant groups were forced to renegotiate continually the terms upon which consent for their rule could be sustained” (1988, 21). Thus, Palmer’s classic study of industrial capitalism underlined the importance of (among other factors) voluntary associations, folk customs, and traditions in the emergence of class consciousness and solidarity in the working class of Hamilton, Ontario (Palmer 1968).

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Cultural studies similarly looks to the linkages between culture and the nature of social power relations embedded in everyday life. For example, the connection between popular culture and class relations loomed large on the early research agenda of the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies (cccs) at the University of Birmingham, one of the most influential centres in the institutional genesis of cultural studies. Stuart Hall and other scholars associated with the cccs subsequently expanded the Centre’s analytical focus to include the mass media, gender relations, and the politics of race (Hall 1977; University of Birmingham 1978; Gilroy 1987). More generally, scholars in cultural studies and related fields have examined the relationship between popular culture and power relations involving race/ racialization, class, gender, sexuality, and other forms of social identity (Fiske 2010; Grossberg, Nelson and Treichler 1992; Hall 1980, 1992; Jameson 1991; Johnson 1986–87). They have traced these power relations across an extraordinary breadth of social activities, ranging from the mass media, organized sports, and the heritage industries, to video games, the politics of fashion, and interior design (see, inter alia, Van Zoonen 1994; Burstyn 1999; McKay 1994; Dyer-Witheford and de Peuter 2009; Palmer 2004; Parr 1999). The way these scholars have approached the study of culture – understood as “the practices and processes of making meanings with and from the ‘texts’ we encounter in our everyday lives” (Storey 2003, 3) – directs our attention to on-going struggles for power within society. As such, understanding popular culture matters greatly to understanding politics. This volume is intended to support and illustrate this position; in other words, it aims to show why we (and our contributors) believe that political scientists need to attend to popular culture, and what we can gain from doing so. One reason for attending to popular culture is the fact that there is an important relationship between the construction and maintenance of collective identities, and the manifestation and articulation of these identities within popular culture. Popular culture provides an outlet for imagining groups and disseminating the myths surrounding who belongs and who is an “Other.” As many chapters in this volume suggest (e.g., Lacassagne, Poirier, Comeau, Saunders), group identities are partly expressed through, and reflected in, popular culture. In fact, popular culture itself helps to delineate the various groups and understand the interaction between multiple group boundaries.

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To illustrate this point: an April 2000 tv-commercial for Molson Canadian mobilized Canadian nationalism by tapping into a widespread sense of unease with the United States. Starring the character of Joe, a supposedly ordinary Canadian, the commercial highlighted some of the differences between Canada and the US, culminating in a highly emotional affirmation of Canadian national identity: “I can proudly sew my country’s flag on my backpack. I believe in peacekeeping, not policing; diversity, not assimilation; and that the beaver is a truly proud and noble animal. A tuque is a hat, a chesterfield is a couch, and it is pronounced zed; not zee – zed! Canada is the second largest land mass! The first nation of hockey! And the best part of North America! My name is Joe – and I am Canadian!” The commercial was somewhat exceptional in the sense that it actually sparked a debate between some political scientists over its implications for the nature of Canadian nationalism (Millard, Riegel and Wright 2002a, 2002b; Brooks 2002). It was much less exceptional in the sense that the use of nationalism by advertisers is a widespread phenomenon; as such, it speaks to the importance of commodified cultural items in the process of defining and expressing national identity. Similarly, our understanding of political values, attitudes, and beliefs can be enriched by paying greater attention to popular culture. By way of illustration, one of the chapters contained in this volume (Wilton) met with considerable media interest after its initial presentation at a scholarly conference. It evoked a storm of protests from people who were upset that Thomas and Friends (a popular children’s show and icon) had been politicized. While the greatest outrage emerged in the United Kingdom and Australia, the story spread across the world. An analysis of the comments posted about this research on Canadian media websites revealed just how controversial an analysis of a children’s show about trains could be. Overall, 75 percent of the comments posted reacted negatively to the research. Of these, 11 percent were overtly misogynist, expressing anger and hatred of women and feminists, and another 15 percent commented on the gender role of the author, suggesting, for example, that she should stop doing such silly research and take better care of her own children. Another 48 percent consisted of negative remarks about academia and so-called “leftists” or “socialists” who were wasting taxpayer dollars, isolated in their ivory towers, and producing research that is of little use or relevance to our society. A recent collection of essays on the Shrek-franchise encountered a public response that was much more limited in scope, but similar in kind (Nieguth 2011).

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Obviously, then, research on popular culture has the potential to strike a nerve among the population. Critiquing tv-shows, movies, or novels that people watch and read for entertainment, pulling out the political ideas and ideologies embedded within them, and encouraging people to think politically about the popular culture they consume is not necessarily a “popular” project. However, the very fact that a study on Thomas and Friends should elicit such strongly charged, deeply emotional responses suggests that it is a worthwhile project. Why, for example, do people become so deeply invested in a show of this nature? Why do they resist interpretations that challenge their own views of the show? Why does this resistance bring into play gender relations, political ideology, or government spending? Similarly, why did the Molson ad evoke such a strong (and unquestioned) nationalist feeling among many Canadians? What role do ads such as these play in shaping our understanding of Canadian identity? The relative inattention of political science to the links between politics and popular culture leaves political scientists ill-equipped to answer such questions. Thus, the discipline has much to gain from taking popular culture seriously. Popular culture matters politically because it can transport particular notions of politics, society, and the nature of power and identity. In consequence, popular culture can serve as a vehicle for the reinforcement of or resistance to dominant political values and ideologies. Popular culture can also serve as a site for engagement with particular values, attitudes, or beliefs, and as an engagement that forms part and parcel of individual and collective identity formation processes. Finally, our understanding of national identity and cultural diversity can be furthered by paying greater attention to their intersection with popular culture. As the discussion of the Molson Canadian commercial demonstrates, popular culture functions as an important site for the construction of collective identity. Or, as John Street succinctly puts it: “our relationship to popular culture and the popular press cannot be seen simply as a relationship of cause and effect. Instead, popular culture has to be understood as part of our politics” (1997, 4). POWER , IDENTIT Y , A N D G LO B A L SO C I E T Y : A N OV E RV I E W O F T H E B O O K

The following chapters are intended to illuminate some of the links between politics and popular culture. Written by scholars from a va-

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riety of backgrounds and institutions, they deploy a variety of qualitative and quantitative methods, such as content analysis, critical discourse analysis, media analysis, interviews, and archival work. Owing to the location of the editor and contributors, many chapters focus on Canada, but they do so in ways that engage with broader themes that are relevant to other societal contexts. The chapters collected in this volume reflect the breadth of what is considered “popular culture” – including analyses of television, news, film, music, art, literature, and games. The authors in this volume participate in a process of broadening our understandings of “the political” and challenging our assumptions about what objects of study are appropriate for political scientists. They do so by providing concrete evidence for the importance of studying the relationship between popular culture and the political. Their interventions in this debate coalesce around three broad themes, all of which have been central to the discipline of political science: (1) order and authority; (2) the nation-state; and (3) collective identity. These themes serve to organize the volume. Thus, the first section of the book explores order and authority through analyses of television shows and popular music. In “A Very Useful Engine: The Politics of Thomas and Friends,” Shauna Wilton engages in a critical discourse and content analysis of the popular children’s television show and argues that, while it is aimed at children, Thomas and Friends exemplifies the ways in which popular culture transmits messages about citizenship, authority, and community, and thus acts as a socializing agent. In their chapter on popular music and social change, Jonah Butovsky and Timothy Fowler analyze the music and politics of the post-punk band The Weakerthans, suggesting that the band’s music reflects the current skepticism towards grand narratives and anti-capitalist projects. At the same time, they point out that the band and its leader engage in political critique through both subtle political lyrics and overt political activism. Tracey Raney’s chapter, “Gendered Identity in Deep Space: Representations of Political Leadership in Battlestar Galactica,” analyzes the framing of gender and political leadership in the popular science fiction television show, asking how gender influences depictions of political leadership and linking the portrayal of leadership on the show to common assumptions and norms regarding political leadership in society at large. In chapter 5, “The Symbolism of Louis Riel and Its Impact on Métis Political Identity,” Kelly Saunders examines the im-

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plications of shifting popular representations of Louis Riel for the reclamation of Métis history, as well as Métis political identity, strategy, and objectives. The chapter contributes to our understanding of the utilization of cultural representations to promote, benefit, and shape contemporary political activities. Together, these chapters articulate the various ways that popular culture both reinforces normative behaviour and provides an avenue for social and political critique and change. As such, popular culture can be understood as reflecting both hegemonic and counter-hegemonic values as part of a struggle to define the values of a particular time and cultural context. The second section of the book engages with one of the dominant topics of discussion among political scientists in the last twenty years: namely, the rise of the global, the potential demise of the national, and the complex relationships that exist between the global, states, nations, and regions. In “Imagining the Nation with The Royal Canadian Air Farce,” Danielle Deveau focuses on the development of Canadian national identity through public broadcasting. She portrays the popular show The Royal Canadian Air Farce as an avenue for the expression of Canadian-ness. Deveau suggests that the show engages with the negotiation of Canadian identity in a manner that tends to reinforce existing tropes rather than provide significant resistance to the dominant mores of Canadian politics. In chapter 7, Jérôme Mélançon uses political theory as a basis for the examination of the cosmopolitan politics and identity expressed by the French band Tarmac. The last chapter in the section, by Tim Nieguth, argues that online multi-player games can offer insights into the fate of the nation-state within an increasingly globalized world. Taken as a whole, this section explores the construction of identities and the role of identity in a globalized and cosmopolitan world. Through globalization, we have witnessed an increasing global spread of popular culture, particularly through new media. Thus, the impact of cultural tropes beyond their “normal” borders and context, as well as the impact of the global on national cultural tropes, are subjects worthy of our attention. The final section of the book examines processes of negotiating identity within a multicultural context. The chapters it contains not only highlight the importance of identity to contemporary politics, but also the intersection of popular culture and the politics of identity. As such, they demonstrate the importance of popular culture to the re-enactment and negotiation of identities. Christian Poirier and

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Gina Comeau both draw our attention to cinema as a site for the reproduction and dissemination of regional and cultural identities. Poirier’s chapter, “Politics, Identity, and the Economy in Quebec Cinema: Film Narratives and the Movie Industry,” sketches the dominant and alternative identity discourses and representations of politics presented in Quebec cinema. In doing so, it argues for a broadened understanding of what we mean by politics and the political. In “The Portrayal of English and French Political Culture in Canadian Film,” Comeau explores the production of regional identity through an analysis of three Canadian films. She is especially concerned with the framing of attitudes towards the role of government, discipline, and authority within the films, as well as the icons, myths, and symbols they promote. Departing from the previous chapters’ focus on cinema, Aurélie Lacassagne’s “The Contribution of La Nuit sur l’Étang to the Construction of a Franco-Ontarian Identity” explores the role of cultural events in the formation, articulation, and dissemination of marginalized identities. Although the chapters that follow cover a wide range of methodological orientations and subject matters, each of them provides a compelling argument for taking popular culture seriously in political science. They do so by engaging with a number of common issues that have been of central concern to the discipline: power, authority, the state, globalization, and collective identity. The chapters contained in this volume show that political scientists can benefit from taking popular culture seriously in analyzing these and other issues – and from the realization that, to borrow a well-worn phrase, the popular is indeed political.

REFERENCES

Almond, Gabriel A. and Sidney Verba. 1989. The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations. Newbury Park: Sage. Bell, David V.J. 1992. The Roots of Disunity: A Study of Canadian Political Culture. Revised edition. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Brooks, Stephen. 2002. “Comments on ‘Here’s Where We Get Canadian: English-Canadian Nationalism and Popular Culture’.” American Review of Canadian Studies 32(1): 35–40. cbc. 2010. “Best Olympics world has ever seen: Harper.” March 1. http://www.cbc.ca/sports/amateur/story/2010/03/01/sp-olympics-folo.html.

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Copenhagen Post. 2010. “Assassination attempt on Mohammed cartoonist.” January 2. http://www.cphpost.dk/news/national/88-national/47853assassination-attempt-on-mohammed-cartoonist.html. ctv News. 2010. “Harper urges Canadians to get loud and proud.” February 11. http://edmonton.ctv.ca/servlet/an/local/ctvNews/20100211/harper _legislature_100211/20100211?hub=EdmontonHome. Dyer-Witheford, Nick and Greig de Peuter. 2009. Games of Empire: Global Capitalism and Video Games. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Fiske, John. 2010. Understanding Popular Culture. Second edition. London/New York: Routledge. Gilroy, Paul. 1987. “There Ain’t No Black In the Union Jack”: The Cultural Politics of Race and Nation. London: Hutchinson. Grossberg, Lawrence, Cary Nelson, and Paula A. Treichler, eds. Cultural Studies. New York: Routledge, 1992. Gruneau, Richard. 1988. “Introduction: Notes on Popular Culture and Political Practices.” In Popular Culture and Political Practices, edited by Richard Gruneau, 11–32. Toronto: Garamond. Hall, Stuart. 1977. “Culture, the Media and the ‘Ideological Effect’.” In Mass Communication and Society, edited by James Curran, Michael Gurevitch, and Janet Woollacott, 315–48, London: Edward Arnold. – 1980. “Cultural Studies: Two Paradigms.” Media, Culture, and Society 2: 57–72. – 1992. “Race, Culture, and Communications: Looking Backward and Forward at Cultural Studies.” Rethinking Marxism 5 (1): 10–18. Hartz, Louis. 1955. The Liberal Tradition in America: An Interpretation of American Political Thought Since the Revolution. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World. – ed. 1964. The Founding of New Societies: Studies in the History of the United States, Latin America, South Africa, Canada, and Australia. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World. Jameson, Fredric. 1991. Postmodernism, Or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. Durham, nc: Duke University Press. Johnson, Richard. 1986–7. “What Is Cultural Studies Anyway?” Social Text 16: 38–80. Lipset, Seymour M. 1970. Revolution and Counterrevolution: Change and Persistence in Social Structures. Revised and updated edition. Garden City, ny: Doubleday Anchor. – 1990. Continental Divide. London/New York: Routledge. McKay, Ian. 1994. The Quest of the Folk: Antimodernism and Cultural Selection in Twentieth-Century Nova Scotia. Montreal/Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

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Millard, Gregory, Sarah Riegel and John Wright. 2002a. “Here’s Where We Get Canadian: English-Canadian Nationalism and Popular Culture.” American Review of Canadian Studies 32 (1): 11–34. – 2002b. “Reply to Stephen Brooks.” American Review of Canadian Studies 32 (1): 41–2. Modood, Tariq, Randall Hansen, Erik Bleich, Brendan O’Leary, and Joseph H. Carens. 2006. “The Danish Cartoon Affair: Free Speech, Racism, Islamism, and Integration.” International Migration 44 (5): 3–62. Nieguth, Tim. 2011. “Potholes of Knowledge: The Politics of Studying Shrek.” In Investigating Shrek: Power, Politics and Ideology, edited by Aurélie Lacassagne, Tim Nieguth, and François Dépelteau, 147–62. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Palmer, Alexandra, ed. 2004. Fashion: A Canadian Perspective. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Palmer, Bryan D. 1979. A Culture in Conflict: Skilled Workers and Industrial Capitalism in Hamilton, Ontario, 1860–1914. Montreal/Kingston: McGillQueen’s University Press. Parr, Joy. 1999. Domestic Goods: The Material, the Moral, and the Economic in the Postwar Years. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Storey, John. 2003. Cultural Studies and the Study of Popular Culture. Second edition. Athens, ga: University of Georgia Press. Street, John. 1997. Politics and Popular Culture. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Thompson, E.P. 1963. The Making of the English Working Class. London: Victor Gollancz. Van Zoonen, Liesbet. 1994. Feminist Media Studies. London: Sage. University of Birmingham. Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies. Women’s Studies Group. 1978. Women Take Issue: Aspects of Women’s Subordination. London: Hutchinson.

Introduction

PART ONE

Negotiating Order and Authority

ii

preface

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Introduction

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2 A Very Useful Engine: The Politics of Thomas and Friends1 SHAUNA WILTON

Kids watch tv. In fact, as is clearly demonstrated by the rise in television stations specializing in children’s programming and the mass marketing around the characters in the shows, kids’ tv is a booming market. A great deal of research exists on the viewing habits of young children, much of it outlining the dangers of too much tv for children. Other research has led to the development of programming for young children, ranging from the controversial Baby Einstein videos to the ongoing pedagogical goals of shows such as Sesame Street. The pressure on parents, particularly mothers, to ensure the optimal learning environment for pre-school children continues to spur on this research and marketing around baby, toddler, and pre-school development. Yet, for most people, when they sit down to watch television – whether alone or with their children – the tv offers an escape, an opportunity to relax, be entertained, and not think. This approach to television consumption ignores the fact that television shows are created by individuals with specific goals and ideological biases that inform and shape the final product. The research below emerged out of my young daughter’s obsession with Thomas and Friends (she has now moved on to Barbie, princesses, fairies, and ponies – all of which also contain political messages in their products and programming). As an academic, I am perhaps more inclined to view television shows and children’s stories through a critical lens. As a feminist with a young daughter, I am inclined to watch for female characters and examine how they are portrayed in the shows she watches. Watching many episodes of Thomas and Friends, I became

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aware of certain messages within the show that reflected political concepts, such as citizenship and power, as well as gender and class-based social hierarchies. Perhaps any other critically minded viewer would also be aware of these messages. However, the vast majority of the responses I received to this research were critical of my analysis of the show, arguing that I was wrong to “politicize” children’s tv. When my research on Thomas and Friends first entered the public domain in the fall of 2009, I was frequently asked by media and the public why I had bothered to examine a children’s television show. Didn’t I have better or more important issues to research? Was this really a good use of the tax-payer’s money? Why couldn’t I just leave the kids alone and let them enjoy a show about trains? After all, why should academics in Canada care about a British tv series? As a political scientist, why was I focused on children at all, never mind their television viewing habits? Children don’t vote. They can’t influence political policies or outcomes. They will not be allowed to participate in formal politics for many years to come. Although there are some exceptions (e.g., Greenstein 1965), children are rarely an object of political study in North America. My attempt to look at children as an object of political study, while deconstructing an iconic figure in children’s tv, was met with a combination of outrage, disbelief, and condescending dismissal. Some readers, however, thanked me. They stated, for example, that they had always had misgivings about the show and that my research provided them with evidence for their interpretation. My simple answer to the questions raised by the media and by readers is that eventually these young children will attain full political citizenship. The opinions and world outlook they develop now – partially influenced by shows such as Thomas and Friends – are part of their process of political socialization. The social order and lessons contained in the television shows children watch impact how they understand the world, their place in it, and the distribution and use of key political concepts such as power, authority, tolerance, and equality. This paper demonstrates that children’s television is not simply entertainment; it projects important political messages to young viewers, a fact that should signify the need for political scientists, among others, to be aware of both the content of the shows and how they are viewed and understood by young children. As a social scientist, I tend not to completely trust my instincts or perceptions. Instead, I try to find evidence to either support my views

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or to convince myself that I am wrong. With my examination of Thomas and Friends, therefore, the goal was to systematically analyze a sample of the shows in order to prove or disprove my impressions. The emerging research on politics and popular culture, as represented in this volume, engages with this overarching goal. The research on Thomas and Friends is but one such attempt, and the method used here could be applied to virtually any other television show. Thus, the goal of my research is not normative. I am not trying to tell people which television shows to watch, which are “good” or “bad,” but rather to demonstrate how political messages can be embedded in television shows for children in order to encourage parents, political scientists, and even children to talk about what we see and what it means. The chapter begins by exploring the television viewing habits of Canadian children and the role of children’s tv shows, such as Thomas and Friends, in the creation of a global political culture. It then outlines the history of Thomas and Friends. The final section of the chapter is a critical discourse analysis of twenty-three episodes of the show, focusing on social hierarchies, gender roles, moral messages, and the embodiment of the “good citizen” in Thomas’s world. C H I L D R E N A N D TE L E V I S I O N

On the imaginary island of Sodor (loosely based on early twentiethcentury England), Sir Topham Hatt is the “fat” controller of an extensive railway system. Thomas and his friends are the trains that work for Sir Topham Hat. Together, they constitute the main characters of the popular children’s book and television series. The characters of Thomas and Friends have been made into clothing, toys, dishes, and cutlery. They star in seven feature specials, and the television series is shown in 130 countries all over the world (“Thomas and Friends – History” n.d.). Although Thomas and Friends was originally written by the British Rev. Awdry in the 1940s for his son in an attempt to entertain, teach simple moral lessons, and romanticize a way of life, today it is a global phenomenon that has made its way into the lives of millions of children around the world. Part of the problem with Thomas and Friends is that the series was created in a context of rigid social hierarchies, male dominance in the public sphere, and a strong social culture of good behaviour, respecting authority, and following the rules. Although the series has evolved somewhat since the 1940s (it now includes more female characters, for example), it remains largely unchanged despite the wide-

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spread social and cultural changes that occurred during the twentieth century. Thus, the social context within which it is now broadcast is very different from the context within which it was created. As mentioned above, the majority of research on children and television focuses on whether or not tv is good (or bad) for young children. This body of work tends to focus on how often children watch tv, what tv they watch, and, to a lesser extent, how they understand what they see on tv, often making recommendations for educators and conscientious parents. Very few studies focus on the content of the shows and the messages they convey (see Buckingham 2007). This paper assumes that the vast majority of children in Canada (perhaps in spite of their parents’ best intentions) watch tv on a regular basis. It also assumes that many children are fully integrated into a multimedia world – they watch tv, use computers, operate iPads and dvd players, surf the Internet, play videogames, and so forth (Lemish 2008, 153). A study by the Kaiser Foundation in the United States, for example, documents “the immersion of our very youngest children, from a few months to a few years old, in the world of electronic and interactive media” (quoted in Lemish 2008, 153). According to Statistics Canada, Canadian children between the ages of two and eleven spend an average of 14.1 hours per week, or approximately two hours per day, watching television (Statistics Canada 2006). The advent and proliferation of 24-hour television stations and companion websites devoted to children not only make programs for children more readily available than in the past, but also are the foundation of a large and extremely profitable industry aimed at the young and their parents, with spin-offs into dvds and other merchandizing. Treehouse tv, launched in November 1997, is the most prominent example of this in Canada, with a 24-hour tv station devoted to providing a “parent approved, nurturing television environment” for preschoolers (Corus Media 2009). Children under the age of five are often seen as the most vulnerable members of society, most in need of protection and guidance during these stages of rapid mental and physical development (Lemish 2008, 153). This leads stations such as Treehouse to pledge their support to quality, age-appropriate shows and to limit advertising to the plugging of their own shows, brands, and spin-off products, complemented by an occasional diaper advertisement. In addition, Treehouse provides multimedia interfaces for preschoolers and their parents through a website with interactive, programming-related activities, Treehouse on demand, Treehouse on Mobile tv, Treehouse Live national tours, and Treehouse Presents dvds.

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A study by Corus Media2 shows that on average Treehouse reaches over 750,000 children aged 2–5 in Canada every week, with the average preschooler watching just over eight hours of Treehouse programming in an average week – more than double that of their nearest competitor Teletoon3 (Corus Media 2008a). The Treehouse website receives an additional 1.5 million monthly visits or 24 million monthly page views (Corus Media 2008b), all of which suggest that television is a central part of growing up in Canada and that the shows on stations such as Treehouse are viewed by significant numbers of Canadian children. At the time of this research, Thomas and Friends was aired four times a week on the station, including a prime Sunday afternoon timeslot.4 C H I L D R E N A S AC T I V E PA RTI C I PA N T S

Kids learn from television. In fact, Dafna Lemish, one of the foremost experts on children and tv, argues that children “learn more about the world from [tv] than from any other socializing agent” (Lemish 2007, 1). Through socialization, the child “learns about his/her culture and internalizes its values, belief systems, perceptions of itself, and of others” (Lemish 2007, 101). tv, Lemish argues, “constantly reinforces certain ideological, mythological, and factual patterns of thought and so functions to define the world and to legitimize the world around them” (2007, 101). Children use their mental capacity to understand the world around them and build meaning into it; as such, they are participating in the social construction of reality. This process of socialization, along with the internalization of political concepts and ideologies, has direct political consequences for the future. Although children are active consumers of tv, the existing research suggests that there is no simple, unidirectional impact of tv on children (Lemish 2007, 2). tv can on the one hand enrich, stimulate, and educate children, and on the other breed numbness and indifference and destroy social values (Lemish 2007, 2–3). The more important question is not whether tv is good or bad, but rather what is conveyed within specific shows and what children are doing with the information they gather from watching the shows. In If Kids Could Vote: Children, Democracy and the Media (2007, 1), Sally Sugarman argues that “children reflect what a society thinks is important for its citizenry to believe.” Children are not just mirrors of society or the adults around them; they actively construct their understanding of the world and their place in it, integrating information from the adults around them

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and from peer groups, communities, and media. However, they do so from a position of dependency and powerlessness (Sugarman 2007, 1). While even babies appear to respond to what they see and hear on tv, it is difficult to ascertain what children under the age of five take away from the shows they watch because they have limited ability for self-reflection and expression (Lemish 2008, 154–5). Even though children may not always accurately interpret information, “they are sensitive to the underlying themes in the messages that society gives them,” including those from tv (Sugarman 2007, 1). Furthermore, the position of children in society further impacts the ways they understand what they see and the messages sent to them. Class, race, and gender, in particular, play a role in how children understand and interpret what they see, and how it is integrated into their general worldview. How they understand what they see on tv depends on their perspective, on their experiences, and on their raced, classed, and gendered positions in society (Sugarman 2007, 2–3). News media play an important part in teaching older children about the political realm, but so arguably do non-news media through the representation of power relationships, authority, gender roles, and diversity. Lemish suggests that tv is becoming (or has already become) a global constant among very diverse groups of children, both within a particular national culture and globally. While children in Canada may grow up to share memories of Franklin, as children in North America share a common education at the hands of Sesame Street or Mr. Rogers, increasingly children around the world are watching the same television shows, such as Thomas and Friends. These “global” television shows create a shared foundation for viewers crossing barriers of language, culture, religion, race, ethnicity, and gender. Considering the immense role that tv plays in the socialization of children around the world today, the political messages contained within these shows are of utmost importance and worthy of study. THOMAS AND FRIENDS

Methodology Twenty-three episodes of Thomas and Friends taken from three randomly selected dvd compilations were analyzed for this research using critical discourse analysis. Critical discourse analysis is the study of texts, their structures, and different linguistic, cultural, social, and

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political implications, in order to determine how language constructs meaning. It attempts to create linkages between discourses, text, language, and social context, suggesting that language is not merely a tool for conveying discourse but a site of struggle in itself. Discourses are important because they carry social meanings that are politicized by the concepts of power embedded within them (Henry and Tator 2002, 25). Thus, a dialectical relationship exists between institutions and discourses. Critical discourse analysis does not pretend to be objective or neutral, but is “committed to an emancipatory, socially critical approach” (Wodak et. al. 1999, 8). This can be seen in Discourse and Social Change, where Fairclough argues that critical discourse analysis has three dimensions or stages: (1) the description of the text; (2) interpretation of the interaction processes and the relationship to text; and (3) an explanation of how the interaction process relates to social action (in Henry and Tator 2002, 73). Thus, critical discourse analysis explores both what is being said and how it is said (van Dijk 1991, 6). For this analysis, each episode of Thomas and Friends was analyzed according to a number of criteria, including: (1) the perceived moral of story; (2) the characters that appeared in the story; (3) the emotions the characters displayed; (4) the types of behaviours displayed and their resulting consequences; and (5) the presence of discourses surrounding individuality, authority, teamwork, gender, usefulness, and equality.5 These results were then quantified, where appropriate, and collated. The following sections explore the results through a discussion of four themes: social hierarchy, gender roles, moral lessons, and citizenship. These themes are central to politics and political science today. For example, the ways in which characters in a show solve problems, resolve conflicts, or interact with authority figures are directly related to the study of political issues, such as respect for authority, conflict resolution, and the exercise of power. Social Hierarchies and Authority Social hierarchies and the distribution of power and authority within them are of central importance to the study of politics and society. The televised transmission of common structures in society serves to socialize viewers and maintain social norms of behaviour. Within Thomas and Friends, a clear social hierarchy exists – not just between Sir Topham Hatt and the trains, but among the trains and other mechanized characters in the show (Figure 2.1).

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Figure 2.1

Shauna Wilton

The Social Hierarchy of Thomas and Friends

Sir Topham Hatt, the controller of the railway system on the Island of Sodor, is really the only character on the show that is viewed by the others as having any legitimate authority. Only the occasional visiting dignitary, such as the Queen, surpasses his authority. The engines, in particular, seek out his approval and fear his censure. This is also apparent in the lack of respect that the engines give to the advice of other engines, viewing them as lacking in legitimate authority. However, as we will see, this disregard often leads to disastrous results. In fact, among the episodes analyzed, one of the central themes is the importance of listening to others and taking advice. The episode “Thomas Breaks the Rules” deals with hierarchy and power among the human characters. In this episode, a police officer is angry with Thomas for whistling behind him and labels Thomas as “dangerous” because he does not have a cow catcher or rail guards. Sir Topham Hatt challenges the authority of the police officer and the legitimacy of his complaints, but in the end states that you cannot argue with the police and brings in Toby (who has cow catchers and wheel guards) to replace the rebellious Thomas. This episode is interesting

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because it is unusual to see representatives of the law portrayed as unreasonable or ridiculous in children’s shows. Also, the fact that Sir Topham Hatt challenges the authority of the police officer (even if he later says that one should not argue with the police) suggests that Hatt sees himself and his railway as above the law. In the second tier of the social hierarchy of Sodor, alongside other human characters and airplanes and helicopters, appear the steam engines. They are the best among the ground-travel machines – the primary focus of the series is on the steam engines, particularly the “Steam Team,” comprised of Thomas, Edward, Henry, Gordon, James, Percy, Toby, and Emily. Among them, the pervasive theme is that they are all different but equally important. All of the characters have strengths and weaknesses which are often the focus of individual episodes as the trains struggle to get along, follow orders, and do their job. The steam engines are often contrasted with the diesel engines, which are generally portrayed as dirty and difficult. The diesels continually try to prove (unsuccessfully) that “diesels” are better than “steamies.” This reflects both the pastoral ideal of the series and an anti-modernity sentiment that is epitomized by the fear that diesels will replace steam engines. The engines themselves have coaches and train cars, which only play a marginal and functional role as the supporting cast of the engines. At the bottom of the social hierarchy of Sodor are the “troublesome trucks.” They are the anarchists of the island and are portrayed as difficult and contrary. The engines are always trying to assert their authority over the troublesome trucks and impose order on them, and the trucks continually resist their efforts and undermine their work, often bringing about disaster (e.g. “Dunkin’ Duncan,” “Edward, the Very Useful Engine,” and “Trouble for Thomas”). Interestingly, unlike the rest of the characters, the troublesome trucks are not individuals, but a nameless mass with the potential to disrupt the peace and order desired by the rest of the cast. In spite of the negative characterization of the trucks, one of the central messages in the episodes involving them is that even trucks need to be treated with respect and care. Thus, although everyone appears to recognize Sir Topham Hatt’s authority unquestioningly, struggles over position and for power characterize the relationships between the remaining characters. Social hierarchies and the distribution of power within the show potentially influence the ways in which children understand power

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and hierarchy in the “real” world. The show reflects a particular distribution of power and the various attempts of characters to gain power. However, any such efforts at gaining individual power, asserting power over others, or upsetting the social hierarchy are punished in the series. Thomas and Friends thus presents a traditional and conformist political position, in which the legitimate power and authority of elites is understood and respected and any change is seen as disrupting the natural order of things. Gender Roles The Thomas and Friends website lists 49 main characters from the tv show, of which 41 (84%) are male and 8 (16%) are female. If we look at railway vehicles only, 33 (85%) are male, while only 6 are female (15% of the total). A disproportionate number of the female characters are passenger cars that are dependent on engines, not engines themselves, while the prestigious airplane and helicopter are all male. The only female train engines in the series are Emily (part of the core group, the “Steam team”), Daisy, Lady, and Mavis. Emily is beautiful and sometimes bossy, Daisy and Lady are hardly present, and Mavis (a diesel engine) is feisty, full of ideas, and reluctant to take advice (“Thomas and Friends – Engines” n.d.). These numbers correspond with the findings of other research showing that mechanical characters tend to be masculine by default (Lemish 2007, 105); they thus reflect the continued gendering of children’s toys and entertainment. Instead of breaking down gender stereotypes, shows like this tend to reinforce them. In the episodes of Thomas and Friends analyzed, female characters play a significant role in the storyline in only 2 (8.6%) episodes.6 In “Mavis,” the diesel engine Mavis works in the Quarry and is young and full of advice. She reorganizes the cars of Toby, an older and wiser engine. Mavis ignores Toby’s advice, which ultimately leads to her getting stuck and needing Toby’s help. In “Rusty Saves the Day,” a truck called Elizabeth helps the engine Rusty to clear a line for his friends. Elizabeth is initially presented as bossy and arrogant, but in the end is shown to be very hardworking and useful. While the female characters are presented as bossy and controlling, overall they are not portrayed more negatively than the other male characters, all of whom are struggling – like small children – to con-

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trol themselves and conform to the standards of good behaviour set by the authority figures in their lives. However, the fact that the female characters are initially not very likable and hold subordinate positions in the social hierarchy of Sodor becomes problematic when the gross underrepresentation of female characters in the television series is taken into account. This does, however, correspond with the general trend among children’s television shows in which female main characters tend to be under-represented and under-developed. “In this way, female characters continue to symbolize a deviation from the dominant male norm and remain the ‘second sex’” (Lemish 2007, 104). Although the influence of television on the construction of gender roles is mediated by other influences and role models in the child’s life, the reproduction of women as secondary characters in the shows children watch has the potential to reproduce patriarchy and stereotypical gender roles and attributes within the real world children inhabit. The Moral of the Story As with many children’s shows, Thomas and Friends often contains a clear moral message or lesson for the characters and viewers. The storyline of each episode generally follows a clear template. First, there is a conflict or problem, generally associated with a negative feeling or action. Then there is a problem resulting from the conflict (such as a train crash). Finally, the moral lesson of the episode is conveyed through the successful resolution of the conflict. Of the moral messages identified (Table 2.1), two themes stand out. Over one-third of the moral lessons identified reflect the idea that everyone is different and has a role to play, while 30% convey the message that it is important to do a good job. The first of these appears frequently in the form of one character disparaging another for being different, but then learning that everyone has a role to play and that we need these differences. For example, in “Terence the Tractor,” Thomas makes fun of Terence because he has caterpillar tracks and does not ride on rails, but Thomas then discovers the usefulness of different wheels when he himself gets stuck in the snow. In “Old Iron,” James complains that Edward is too slow, but Edward proves that he is as fast as James when he saves him at the end of the episode. In “James and the Red Balloon,” James is jealous of the hot air balloon

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Table 2.1

Shauna Wilton

Moral messages in Thomas and Friends Appearance in Episodes

Moral Messages

Total Number

%

Pride comes before a fall Everyone is different and has a role to play Be nice and get along with others It is important to work together It is important to do a good job We need to listen to others and take advice Other

3 8 2 4 7 4 3

13 35 9 17 30 17 13

Note: An episode may have more than one moral message and, therefore, be counted more than once.

and worried that it will steal his passengers, but he learns in the end that trains will be needed to take people to and from the balloon and that everyone has their role to play in serving the people of Sodor. The second dominant message revolves around the importance of doing a good job. This includes the idea that the characters need to be responsible and reliable, and that they need to be careful and take pride in their work (even if they are unhappy with the job assigned to them). An example of this occurs in “Dunkin’ Duncan” when Duncan is unhappy shunting cars on the incline railway and his bad humour and impatience lead to a crash. Similarly, in “A Big Day for Thomas,” Thomas’s excitement about pulling a train leads to impatience, which results in him leaving his cars behind. The importance of teamwork and a good work ethic is constantly repeated during the series. In total, 12 episodes mention the importance of working together and 15 episodes mention the importance of being a useful engine; in fact, while the two behaviours appear in a variety of different ways, they are often integrated and related to each other. For example, in “Toby the Tram Engine” and “Henry’s Special Coal,” the characters exhibit a fear of no longer being useful – the greatest praise that Sir Topham Hatt can give the engines is to say that they are “very useful.” The issue of teamwork often appears as a result of the characters needing each other in order to succeed. “Edward, the Very Useful Engine” is an excellent example of this. In this episode, the big engines complain that Edward is no longer useful, but then he is needed to help push Gordon and Duck up a hill – only by working

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together are they able to complete their jobs. Similarly, in “Percy’s Promise,” Percy, with the help of Harold the helicopter, is able to complete his work in the face of many obstacles, keeping his promise and proving that he is a “very useful engine.” These moral lessons also appear in the form of competition between diesel engines and steam engines. For example, in “The World’s Strongest Engine,” Diesel tries to prove, with negative results, that he is a better and more useful engine than the “steamies.” Similarly, in “Mavis,” Diesel encourages another diesel engine, Mavis, to show that she is better than Toby, a steam engine, but in the end Mavis needs Toby’s help. These themes and their frequent repetition in the series make them likely to be remembered by young viewers and incorporated into their worldview. The message that everyone is different but still has a role to play positively addresses the issue of diversity. However, this message only really applies within the specific social classes of Sodor, and the show does not promote an idea of equality between social classes. Similarly, the show asserts that it is important to work together, to be useful, careful, and to contribute to the community. Most parents devote a significant amount of time and energy trying to teach their children these lessons. Arguably, these are important characteristics of citizens. The problem is that these characteristics are combined with an unquestioning, uncritical, and fearful approach to authority, which raises further questions about the characteristics of good citizens. On Sodor, the engines and other mechanical characters never grow up. They are forever children, powerless and dependent on Sir Topham Hatt’s good will. They do not have the possibility of attaining full citizenship, but children do; therefore, they need different lessons to prepare them for the roles and responsibilities of full citizenship. The “Good Citizen” Chantal Mouffe states: “the way we define citizenship is intimately linked to the kind of society and political community we want” (Mouffe 1993, 60). In this manner, the way in which citizenship (or the values associated with citizenship) is presented in Thomas and Friends can be understood as participating in the construction of an ideal of community and shaping the ways in which the audience – in this case young children – understand both how communities work

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and the relationship between individuals and groups within the community. In political philosophy, the “good” citizen is often characterized as rational and impartial, able to participate in public life while leaving his personal issues and identities at the door in order to achieve an objective public “good.” Feminists have critiqued this approach, arguing that the characteristics attributed to the ideal citizen are often those attributed to men. Iris Marion Young, for example, argues: “The ideal of impartiality is an idealist fiction. It is impossible to adopt an unsituated moral point of view, and if a point of view is situated, then it cannot be universal” (Young 1997, 360). Furthermore, Young suggests, “The public realm of citizens achieves unity only by defining the civil individual in opposition to the disorder of womanly nature … The universal citizen is disembodied, dispassionate (male) reason” (Young 1997, 363). In other words, the idea of the universal citizen is not something to which we can (or should) strive. It is, in fact, a myth that seeks to perpetuate the dominance of one group over another. How, then, is the idea of citizenship expressed in the world of Thomas and Friends? If the values of equality, rationality, and objectivity were the criteria for citizenship in the world of Thomas and Friends, we can see that only Sir Topham Hatt would be an “ideal” citizen. It is only he who seeks to pursue the common good through his direction of the railway. However, he constantly reminds the trains under his control (for Sir Topham Hatt has no equal on the show) of the need to set aside their own differences and desires and work for the betterment of the railway and Sodor. The values of working together and usefulness, as outlined earlier, play into this idea of citizenship in that good citizens work together and are useful – they contribute to the communities within which they live. Neither of these values is necessarily negative – the problem is the context within which they occur. The engines have no say over their collective or individual futures; they have little (if any) free will. Like the children watching them, they are powerless in the face of a greater authority that sets the rules, rewards good behaviour, and punishes those that deviate. The message then for the young citizens-in-the-making in the audience is to follow the rules, do a good job, not complain, and hope for future rewards. What is missing, in my opinion, from this vision of citizenship is the ability to be critical, to question authority, and to participate as equals in the building of the community. To relegate children, and

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engines, to the sidelines is to ignore both their place within the social and political systems within which we operate and their future potential. CONCLUSION

A 2012 article from Cracked.com, entitled “Six Insane (but Convincing) Theories on Children’s Pop Culture,” ranks the top six children’s tv icons or contentious television/book series for children (Strusiewicz 2012). The article suggests that “Donald Duck Promotes Soulless Capitalism,” that “Everyone in Winnie the Pooh Is a Textbook Example of a Common Psychiatric Disorder,” that “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz Is a Political Satire,” that “The Smurfs Are Tiny Blue Nazis,” that “Babar Is a Colonial Apologist,” and, finally (at number one), that “Thomas the Tank Engine Lives in a Totalitarian Dystopia” (Strusiewicz 2012). While the article has a humorous angle, it signifies the bizarre world of children’s television and the controversial political messages contained within it. The purpose of this research was to provide a way for systematically analyzing children’s tv and to demonstrate, via the elucidation of the political messaging within Thomas and Friends, that, because of the role popular culture plays in processes of political socialization and the construction of social reality, this is a subject worthy of serious attention by political scientists. The young children of today are fully integrated into a global, multi-media world, leading to a demonstrable need to understand the political values conveyed to them through popular television series, such as Thomas and Friends. These shows impact the social reality constructed by young children and the ways they understand the world, their place in it, how power is distributed, authority, tolerance, and equality. This understanding will help shape their attitudes to and participation in political life as they grow older. The analysis of Thomas and Friends demonstrates that while the show conveys a number of positive political values – such as tolerance, listening and communicating with others, and contributing to the community – it also presents a political ideology that punishes individual initiative, opposes critique and change, and relegates female characters to supporting roles. Taking these messages and their potential impact on the political values and outlook of young children seriously means that political scientists need to pay attention to the political messaging within popular culture.

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Shauna Wilton NOTES

1 I would like to acknowledge contribution of my research assistant, Wynn Coates, who provided much of the background information on Thomas and Friends and Treehouse and who sat through and analyzed 23 episodes of the show. 2 Corus Media owns Treehouse, as well as other stations, and in November 2008 had total assets of $2.10 billion (Corus Media 2008c). 3 Teletoon, however, does not focus exclusively on the under-5 age group, but provides programming for children of all ages and adults. 4 Britt Allcroft Productions and Clearwater Features produced the television series between 1984 and 1990. Britt Allcroft (later Gullane Entertainment) continued to produce the show from 1990 to 2002, when hit Entertainment bought the company. In 2008, hit Entertainment announced that Thomas and Friends would be undergoing a radical change, relocating production from the United Kingdom to Canada and producing the show using computer generated images (“Thomas and Friends – cgi” n.d.). 5 My research assistant and I viewed each episode separately. We then met and compared our analysis in order to ensure consistency. 6 Annie and Clarabel also appear in a number of episodes as Thomas’s cars, and Henrietta appears as Toby’s coach, but they never play a pivotal role in the storyline – they just follow Thomas and Toby around. REFERENCES

Buckingham, David. 2007. “Children and Media: A Cultural Studies Approach.” In The International Handbook of Children, Media and Culture, edited by Kirsten Drotner and Sonia Livingstone, 219–53. London: Sage. Corus Media. 2008a. “Speciality Network Trending: Fall 2008.” Accessed 8 May 2009. http://www.corusmedia.com/thtv/docs/2008/Fall08 %20AMA%20K2-5.pdf. – 2008b. “Treehouse tv.com is Canada’s #1 online destination for parents and their preschoolers.” Accessed 8 May 2009. http://www.corusmedia .com/ thtv/docs/2008/treehouseTVcom%20Media%20kit.pdf. – 2008c. First Quarter 2009 report to Shareholders. Accessed 13 May 2009. http://www.corusent.com/home/CorusentFiles/files/LAUNCH/ CorusEnt_Q1F09_ShareholdersReport.pdf. – 2009. “Treehouse Media.” Accessed 8 May 2009. http://www.corusmedia .com/thtv.

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crtc (Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Corporation). 2009. “Canadian Content for Radio and Television.” Accessed 21 May 2009. http://www.crtc.gc.ca/public/old_pubs_e/g11.htm. Greenstein, Fred. 1965. Children and Politics. New Haven: Yale University Press. Henry, Frances and Carol Tator. 2007. “Critical Discourse Analysis: A Powerful but Flawed Tool?” In Race, Racialization, and Antiracism in Canada and Beyond, edited by G.F. Johnson and R. Enomoto, 117–30. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Lemish, Dafna. 2007. Children and Television: A Global Perspective. Malden, ma: Blackwell. – 2008. “The Mediated Playground: Media in Early Childhood.” In The International Handbook of Chidren, Media and Culture, edited by Kirsten Drotner and Sonia Livingstone, 152–67. London: Sage. Mouffe, Chantal. 1993. The Return of the Political. London and New York: Verso. Statistics Canada. 2006. “Television viewing, by age and sex, by province.” Accessed 6 May 2009. http://www40.statcan.gc.ca/101/cst01/arts23-eng .htm?sdi=children%20television. Strusiewicz, Cezary Jan. 2012. “Six Insane (but Convincing) Theories on Children’s Pop Culture.” Cracked.com. Accessed 10 July 2012. http://www .cracked.com/ article_19673_6-insane-but-convincing-theories-childrenspop-culture.html. Sugarman, Sally. 2007. If Kids Could Vote: Children, Democracy, and the Media. Lanham, md: Lexington Books. “Thomas and Friends – History.” n.d. Accessed 5 May 2009. http://www.thomasandfriends.com/ca/about_history. “Thomas and Friends – Engines.” Accessed 5 May 2009. http://www.thomasandfriends.com/ca. “Thomas and Friends – cgi.” Accessed 5 May 2009. http://ttte.wikia.com/wiki/Thomas_and_Friends:_The_cgi_Series. van Dijk, Teun. 1991. Racism and the Press. New York and London: Routledge. Wodak, Ruth, Rudolf de Cillia, Martin Reisigl, and Karin Liebhart. 1999. The Discursive Construction of National Identity. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Young, Iris Marion. 1997. “The Ideal of Impartiality and the Civic Public.” In Gender: Key Concepts in Critical Theory, edited by Carol C. Gould, 359– 68. Amherst, ny: Humanity Books.

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“A Big Day for Thomas,” A Big Day for Thomas. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2007. “All At Sea,” 10 Years of Thomas and Friends. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2005. “Dunkin’ Duncan,” James and the Red Balloon. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2003. “Edward, The Very Useful Engine,” James and the Red Balloon. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2003. “Henry’s Special Coal,” A Big Day for Thomas. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2007. “Henry the Elephant,” 10 Years of Thomas and Friends. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2005. “James and the Red Balloon,” James and the Red Balloon. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2003. “James Goes Buzz Buzz,” 10 Years of Thomas and Friends. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2005. “Mavis,” 10 Years of Thomas and Friends. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2005. “Old Iron,” 10 Years of Thomas and Friends. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2005. “Percy Runs Away,” A Big Day for Thomas. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2007. “Percy’s Ghostly Trick,” 10 Years of Thomas and Friends. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2005. “Percy’s Promise,” 10 Years of Thomas and Friends. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2005. “Rusty Saves the Day,” James and the Red Balloon. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2003. “Terence the Tractor,” 10 Years of Thomas and Friends. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2005. “The Flying Kipper,” A Big Day for Thomas. Anchor Bay Entertainment, 2007.

Introduction

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3 “Something Called the Politics of Lonely”: The Politics of The Weakerthans and John K. Samson J ONA H BUTOVSK Y AN D TIMOTHY FOWL ER

The Weakerthans, a band out of Winnipeg, come from the mellower side of the post-punk tradition. John K. Samson, the front man and lyricist, had been a member of the political punk band Propagandhi. The Weakerthans are a political band, but their politics are latent, reserved, and non-proscriptive. In the past fifteen years, they have released five records, moving from an independent label to Epitaph, a major promoter. The band has never received the airplay or name recognition that Blue Rodeo or The Tragically Hip have, nor have they achieved a great deal of success outside of Canada. The Weakerthans’ 2007 release, Reunion Tour, debuted at no. 22 on the Nielson SoundScan Canadian charts and reached no. 181 on the Billboard 200 in the United States. The band has had much more success on “alternative” radio. They were the first band to reach cbc Radio 3’s charts with two different songs: a cover of Rheostatics “Bad Time to Be Poor” and their own “Civil Twilight.” The Weakerthans, while being closer to obscurity than many first-tier Canadian Acts, have a dedicated following within the circles of independent music in Canada. They are certainly critically acclaimed; Chart magazine places Left and Leaving in the top 10 Canadian albums of all time. This chapter looks at the politics and political-economic context of The Weakerthans. Our lyrical analysis reveals themes of alienation, joblessness, urban decay, and a general sense of world-weariness. Although there is some overt political content, most of the politics emerges through the gritty reflection of life under contemporary cap-

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italism. The chapter argues that the disjuncture between John K. Samson’s overt left politics and The Weakerthans’ ironically self-deprecating, subtly political lyrics is a result of the unpopularity of grand narratives and radical alternatives to capitalism, as well as widespread political passivity. The political-economic milieu, therefore, conditions the nature of popular music. Whatever political punch exists in the music of The Weakerthans comes from their realistic sketches of life in the service economy. This truth-telling helps to locate the listener in the class structure and presents a possible launching pad for radical action. The Weakerthans’ protagonists are baristas and retail associates, not the blue-collar workers of Billy Bragg, Bruce Springsteen, and Woody Guthrie. Bragg and Springsteen use the archetype of the blue collar factory worker. Songs like “Factory” (Springsteen) and “Power in a Union” (Bragg) evoke images of masculine, middle aged, blue collar men coming and going through a factory gate. The Weakerthans depart from the traditional working class themes of 9-to-5 work at a factory that are so prevalent in the songs of Bragg and Springsteen (amongst others). The Weakerthans, who began writing in the late 1990s, provide an accurate reflection of their world of work. Manufacturing jobs declined from a peak of about 20 percent in 1980 down to 14 percent in 2004 (Statistics Canada 2005). During this time, there was a surge of well-paying white-collar jobs in the technological sector: computers and electronics, computer system design. But employment in these jobs dropped precipitously with the fortunes of many of the dot-com firms. Now, white collar-job growth is driven by retail sales and clerical jobs, both up by 15 percent in the four years from 2000–04. Securities services and restaurant jobs also saw tremendous growth. By 2007, fully three quarters of Canadians worked in the service sector (Statistics Canada 2009). Samson reflects on this state of affairs: “Service sector work is my generation’s factory work. Low wage sector workers are something that still really interests me. There’s a John Burgess quote, and he says it much more eloquently, but he says ‘rich people aren’t all that interesting’” (Samson 2009, interview). It is in this context that The Weakerthans can be understood. According to Huws (2006), the unprecedented movements of people and jobs around the world have coincided with a breakdown of many traditional occupational identities. Specific skills linked to the use of particular tools or machinery have increasingly given way to more generic and fast-changing skills

The Politics of The Weakerthans

Table 3.1

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Themes in the lyrics of The Weakerthans

Theme

Percentage of songs containing lyrics on this subject

Alienation, loneliness, depression Love and relationships Urban decay Work, unemployment, poverty Daily life Politics

86 71 35 33 25 16

linked to the use of information and communication technologies or to new labour-saving technologies for manual work, for instance in construction, manufacturing, packing, or cleaning (Huws 2006, 35). Occupational identity, formerly a stable component of class identity, has become fragmented. Low wage, service sector work is the new norm for the listeners of The Weakerthans. The fragmented nature of work, the growth of temporary, part-time jobs and “phony” job titles all prevent secure class identities from forming. Of course, people working in these service sector jobs are still working class, but being called a customer service representative, or team member, obscures this identity, which in turn may inhibit class consciousness from forming. We consider the music of The Weakerthans as a cultural representation of these shifts in work and identity. LY R I C A L C O NT E NT A NA LYS I S

We studied and classified the lyrics from The Weakerthans’ four records: Fallow, Left and Leaving, Reconstruction Site, and Reunion Tour. We did not classify particular words per se, but searched for recurring lyrical themes. Listening to the songs helped us pin down the tone of the song – some songs were clearly written in anger, others in desperation and hopelessness, and some had elements of sarcasm or humour. We were also guided by Samson’s own conception of the key themes in his work gleaned from published statements and our own interviews. The main themes (i.e., themes that can be found in at least 16 percent of Weakerthans songs) that emerged through this dialectical process were alienation, work, unemployment, underemployment and poverty, urban problems, politics, love and relationships, and daily life. Table 3.1 offers a bird’s eye view of the themes in the lyrics

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of The Weakerthans. A tally was made for each theme covered in a song. The average number of themes selected per song was about 2.7. A L I E NAT I O N

Alienation is a theme in virtually every Weakerthans song. In places, this alienation can be thought of in the Marxist sense as an alienation from work, from oneself, and from others because of the dominance of the “cash nexus” and the demise of community and solidarity. In other places, the alienation has depressive elements indicating a separation from a life with meaning or motivation. Often intermingled with these feeling of alienation is content about relationships – mostly romantic ones. Samson recognizes that alienation is one of the most important themes in his songs: “I think that there is a certain aspect of hopelessness in the songs. I prefer to think of it as realism, actually. If you took alienation away from the songs, they’d be four lines long. It’s a pretty big concept and it’s a huge theme in my music” (Samson 2009, interview). The protagonists in The Weakerthans’ songs feel out of step with society, alienated and disconnected, even when they are surrounded by people. In “Pamphleteer,” for example, the protagonist is trying to pass out pamphlets to a large crowd of people in the street, but nobody cares. He is alone in a crowd. Similarly, “History to the Defeated” details the life of a “mechanic-school dropout” with “derelict daydreams.” He has never fit in, and he cannot now; he was “always too tall, [and wore] a smile that was not quite sure of itself.” Samson (to the degree that his songs are autobiographical) is self-deprecating, and many of his lyrics are “structured around an ambivalence to his own identity” (Hawkins 2002). Again, in “Pamphleteer,” Samson writes: “How I don’t know what to do, with my hands when I talk to you. How you don’t know where you should look, so you look at my hands.” In “Everything Must Go,” he writes: “For a laugh too hard and too long. For a place where awkward belongs.” In “Aside,” he describes his appearance – “My ribs that show through t-shirts and these shoes I got for free” – and goes on to say: “I’m unconsoled, I’m lonely, I am so much better than I used to be.” In these lines, he presents a stark contrast with the idealized, physically strong, self-assured male. In “The Reasons,” an up-tempo and melodic number, he opens with these lines: “How I don’t know how to sing, I can barely play this thing.” An interesting comparison can be made

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here with Bruce Springsteen, who is seen as a master player, the “boss” of a gang of musicians who are “a well oiled machine” (Palmer 1997). WO R K , UNEMPLOYMENT , UNDEREMPLOYMENT , A N D P OV E RT Y

The theme of alienation spreads to Samson’s protagonists who work in the “new economy,” an economy dominated by post-industrial service sector work – work that tends to be low wage and low skilled with little chance of “getting ahead.” In “Letter of Resignation,” the main character feels total alienation and is ready to completely surrender. He has a life of “ten hour shifts, faking sympathies, drugs, unpaid bills, empty lives” and is in “a certain search for certainty.” The Weakerthans sing songs about the details of work in a post-industrial setting. In “Everything Must Go,” the singer is “A wage-slave forty-hour work week”; in “Letter of Resignation,” Samson sings about working ten-hour shifts; in “Confessions of a Futon Revolutionist,” he sings about working “9 to 5” or “10 to 6.” Many of the day-to-day experiences of characters in The Weakerthans’ songs are bounded by their lives in underemployment or poverty. The song “Exiles Among You” speaks of a woman who is “barely coasting into a paycheque, stuck on empty,” and in “A New Name for Everything,” the protagonist complains that “rent is too high” and that “you can’t save cash or conviction, you’re broke and breaking.” The characters in The Weakerthans’ songs have little or no control over the circumstances of their work. There is no escape to a better work life, no sudden riches that allow the characters to throw off the chains of work. There is no escape to a romantic home life either – the romantic songs of The Weakerthans are predominantly songs of failed romance. Life in the new economy, at least according to John K. Samson, is mostly miserable from morning to night, from birth to death. U R B A N G E NT R I FI C AT I O N A ND S P R AW L

The lyrics of John K. Samson have both an implicit and explicit fear and mistrust of cities. Samson views cities as “a sort of dystopic tool for oppression” and also recognizes the city as “an easy metaphor” for the political messages he is trying to convey (Samson 2009, interview). In “Slips and Tangles,” he describes cities as “urban wastelands thick with fear,” and the lyrics of “None of the Above” lament that a “brand

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new strip mall chews on farmland.” The themes of development and the growth of urban sprawl are also echoed in “My Favourite Chords”: “They’re tearing up streets again; they’re building a new hotel.” “One Great City!” – Samson’s anthem for Winnipeg – repeats the line “I hate Winnipeg” at the end of each verse. Samson has said that while “One Great City!” was written about Winnipeg, it is a crowd favourite, which suggests that The Weakerthans’ fans see the characteristics of the Winnipeg of “One Great City!” in their own home towns (Bruhm 2007). The entire narrative of “Exiles Among You” highlights the shame of poverty and homelessness and criticizes cities for oppressing workers. The songs of The Weakerthans suggest that cities are becoming less liveable, with a decline of public space and the urban environment sprawling out of control. Samson explains that his mistrust of cities comes from living in Winnipeg: “A lot of people talk about how centred the record [Left and Leaving] is on Winnipeg and in the few mainstream interviews I do, it’s always difficult to get the point across that I’m in no way a Winnipeg booster, because this is quite a terrifying place to live for a lot of the residents. A quarter of the children live below the poverty line and there’s rampant injustice and it’s not often looked at by people who live here” (cited in Green 2000). The mostly negative opinions of the contemporary city tie into the general views The Weakerthans have on the new economy. The new service sector economy is strongly tied to the urban environment. As both agriculture and manufacturing decline, urban sprawl grows to house the new service sector. Cities are home to the workforce that supplies the protagonists of so many of Samson’s songs: the underemployed, the working poor, and the homeless. By attacking cities, Samson criticizes the economy that gave rise to “urban wastelands thick with fear.” D IR E C T P O L I T I C A L M E S S AG E S

The central themes of The Weakerthans’ work – alienation, unemployment, urban blight – all have a political dimension, but there are also moments in their songs when they make overt political statements, sometimes critiquing capitalism and suggesting alternatives. There are, for instance, some explicit political statements representing Samson’s leftist political orientation. However, they are less frequent and less direct or programmatic than one might expect from a “political band.”

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In “Time’s Arrow,” Samson claims he is “terrorized by the ruling party.” In “My Favourite Chords,” the protagonist tapes messages for workers to machines: “We hope they treat you well. Hope you don’t work too hard. We hope you get to be happy sometimes,” at the same time that he offers condemnation: “The Mayor’s out killing kids to keep taxes down.” In “Confessions of a Futon Revolutionist,” perhaps the band’s most overtly political song, Samson says he will “enlist the cat in the impending class war.” While “Futon Revolutionist” clearly incorporates socialist nomenclature, Samson has never thought of it that way: “I don’t think of it as a political song, I think it’s more of a sentimental song in a sort of way. But I understand when the sentiments rise to the surface of the song; of course people will think that it’s a political song” (Samson 2009, interview). “Futon Revolutionist” is sarcastic and tongue in cheek. “Relative Surplus Value” uses Marxist terminology it its title but presents a sympathetic portrayal of a disaffected corporate executive cast aside by the dot-com bust. The sarcastic and bemused outlook of Samson’s protagonists is a result of bearing the crushing weight of corporate and bureaucratic structures without a plausible alternative. The Weakerthans are at their most political when they cover songs by other artists. On the compilation Return of the Read Menace [sic], The Weakerthans covered Phil Ochs’s “Ringing of Revolution.” The song is direct in its description of the class divide in society, as well as in its call for revolution – as the title suggests. More recently, The Weakerthans contributed to The Rheostatics Secret Sessions, a compilation of Rheostatics covers. The Rheostatics, a veritable institution of CanRock, are comparable to The Weakerthans in their general avoidance of overt political lyrics despite a left-wing disposition. Over their twenty-year career, the Rheostatics recorded just three explicitly leftwing, political songs. For the compilation, The Weakerthans chose to record one of them, a version of “Bad Time to Be Poor,” the Rheostatics’ song written as a direct attack on the archly conservative government in Ontario (1995–2003). There is some irony in the name The Weakerthans – which is taken from “Solidarity Forever,” an anthem for working class mobilization written in 1915 – in that there is a profound sense of individualization in the band’s songs and little optimism about the potential for collective action. Maybe it is the nature of storytelling in songs that the songs tend to be about one person, even if the effects of capitalism are felt by social classes and other collections of people.

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In “The Pamphleteer,” Samson uses lyrics from “Solidarity Forever” and links them to the theme of lost love. In doing so, he subversively updates “Solidarity Forever,” bringing it in line with the themes of alienation, both from work and from romantic life, that permeate many of Samson’s lyrics: Oh what force on earth could be Weaker than the feeble strength Of one [original song] … like me remembering The way it could have been. Later in “The Pamphleteer,” Samson echoes Marx when he sings, “there’s a spectre haunting Albert Street.” Again Samson has used subversion to link Marx’s spectre of communism to Samson’s spectre of unreturned love. Samson takes on the ironic disposition that characterizes our day and age, rather than the earnest approach of someone like Billy Bragg. C A NA DIA N MU S I C A ND T H E WO R K I NG C L A S S

The Weakerthans are typically Canadian in not giving a place of pride to social class and traditional forms of class mobilization. As political scientists Brodie and Jenson (1988) pointed out more than twenty years ago, while class matters in Canadian life as a predictor of economic outcomes, health and well-being and so on, it has little salience in political debate or popular culture. If class identity is largely missing from Canadian workplaces, party politics, and even labour unions, we probably should not expect it to be central in the lyrics of a pop band. Indeed, other Canadian bands that sing about leftist politics also tend to ignore class in their lyrics. There are a couple of exceptions. The Lowest of the Low enjoyed some airplay on college radio in the 1990s, playing songs inspired by Marxism and the Spanish Civil War. Vancouver based punks D.O.A. have released numerous labour songs (“General Strike,” “Class War”) but have not achieved mainstream success in their more than thirtyyear career. If we accept a wider conceptualization of working class music, there are others bands that can be mentioned. The early work of Spirit of the West included songs dealing with poverty, unemployment, homelessness, labour rights, and the environment. However, one would be hard-pressed to find an explicit expression of class pol-

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itics in Spirit of the West. The Barenaked Ladies have raised both funds and awareness for the New Democratic Party, but the Barenaked Ladies’ songs are devoid of overt political content. Blue Rodeo, one of the grand institutions of CanRock, can be seen as a left-leaning band, but in their career of more than twenty years, there are just a few political songs. “Fools Like You” deals with native land claims and “It Could Happen to You” sings about poverty in urban areas; like “Bad Time to Be Poor,” the latter was written in response to the Conservative government in Ontario. While class is rarely mentioned in Samson’s lyrics, the protagonists of his songs are certainly members of the working class. These characters identify with the growing legions of service sector workers of the new economy. As mentioned above, the main character in “Letter of Resignation” has a life of “ten hour shifts, faking sympathies, drugs, unpaid bills, empty lives” and is in “a certain search for certainty.” Listeners can associate with these themes of disillusionment and alienation. Alienation from society or from the work one does is easier to identify with than one’s relative position in the class structure. Indeed, the alienation many in the service sector feel may stem from the exploitative nature of work; however, it is easier to build common ground through feelings of “I hate this job” than through feelings of explicit class consciousness. The Weakerthans offer an adept description of work in the twentyfirst century: the economic shift toward immaterial service sector work in call centres, retail, and customer service. Samson taps into these contemporary forms of alienation. In presenting images of a gritty and disappointing urban Canada, he points out the lies of perky pop or the target-less anger of some bands. “I’m interested by the margins, in all senses of that word,” says Samson: “Part of our mandate is to talk about people who do not get talked about in mainstream culture” (Shaw 2003). The Weakerthans present a realistic take on the ills of contemporary Canada, validating their fans’ dissatisfaction with contemporary life as members of the new look working class, but leaving it up to the listener exactly how to respond. T H E P O LI T IC A L AC T I V I T I E S O F J O H N S AM S O N : IS T H E M U S I C E NO U G H ?

John Street (2006) makes a useful distinction between musicians being political via the content of their music and their political ac-

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tivism outside of the music. Elton John has promoted various social causes but his music is rarely political, while Morrissey leaves his politics to his lyrics alone. John K. Samson clearly believes that his politics extends beyond his music. Samson’s more directly political work comes in his other life as a founder of Arbeiter Ring, a small-scale leftist publishing house in Winnipeg. Arbeiter Ring is organized on the principle of Participatory Economics: the publishing house features democratic decision making, job rotation, no hierarchies, and equal pay for all workers. Arbeiter Ring has published books by leading public leftist intellectuals like Henry Giroux, Michael Albert, Ward Churchill, and Noam Chomsky. Titles include Another World Is Possible by David McNally, a political scientist at York University, and The Gruesome Acts of Capitalism by activist and musician David Lester. While Samson may not include overt political statements in his lyrics, he has spoken out about the need for the left to outline an alternative world: Also I think the left has to put forward its understanding of what society should look like, and it hasn’t, I think. I mean, I’m being really general here, but I think that we really have to express our vision for the future, and our vision for what society should be, and it’s really dangerous to be constantly in a defensive position. I think that’s what the left is in right now, we’re on total defense right now, and we have to move forward to offence, to express our vision of a complicated, generous, just society. (Splendid 2003) The need to articulate an alternative vision, which is central to Samson’s politics, is absent from his lyrics. Much of this likely comes from the current absence of a strong, optimistic left movement in Canada. The potential of popular music to spur political commitment is dependent on a supportive social movement structure (Weinstein 2006). Samson’s views on anarchism are unclear. In some music magazine articles, Samson is called a “self-described anarchist.” Samson’s reluctance to advocate for a specific future social system/organization might be taken from anarchists’ openness to popular input and from a belief in the spontaneous emergence of political forms and non-hierarchical structures (see, e.g., Ward 2006). Despite his openness to a range of perspectives, Samson retains the belief in the possibility of a socially just future. On The Weakerthans’ third album, there is a song about an imaginary meeting between French postmodernist scholar

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Michel Foucault and Ernest Shackleton, a turn-of-the-twentieth-century explorer in Antarctica, called “Our retired explorer dines with Foucault.” In an interview, Samson says that he sees himself more like the retired explorer than Foucault: “I’m a bit of a modernist – I think the Enlightenment was a great thing … I have a totalizing worldview, as Foucault would say, and I’m pretty happy with that” (Shaw 2003). Samson has recently released several solo eps, each detailing the socio-cultural significance of particular roads in Canada. On the ep Provincial Road 222 (a road running north of Winnipeg), the song “Petition” is about Reggie Leach, a poor aboriginal kid from rural Manitoba who made it to the National Hockey League but experienced racism and, later, substance abuse. After the release of the record, Samson set up an on-line petition to have Leach inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame. Samson uses his typically tongue in cheek approach to address what he sees as an injustice, however minor. CONCLUSIONS

Billy Bragg was always completely serious about his politics and political content. He believed that his music could affect people’s thinking and then their behaviour. With The Weakerthans, there is an ironic, world-weary sensibility in their characters that says: “we’ve heard it all, don’t lecture us, it’s not likely that you hold any privileged information, and it’s unlikely that a future world could be much different from the current one in any case.” According to Rodnitsky (2006, 27), “most topical singers and, more importantly, their audiences find blatantly political songs stiff, outdated, or both.” Street (2003, 128) notes that the music that made up the 1960s US folk revival was politically progressive but “musically uninteresting.” It is precisely the self-deprecating humour, the irony, and the reflexivity that makes The Weakerthans music what it is. The problem with this, from the point of view of those who are interested in radical transformation of the status quo, is that it implicitly supports the neo-liberals who say that there is no alternative to capitalism. So, as much as the lyrics about alienation, work, and unemployment in the new economy accurately reflect the world today, they offer little hope that things could be different or any indication of how that different world might look. This is really characteristic of the postmodern turn that encourages us to be very wary of alternatives promoted as preferable, even among those who are not themselves convinced by postmod-

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ernist arguments (Lipsitz 1994; Eagleton 1999). The implication is that even with a highly progressive, highly politicized and brilliant band, there is no real direct political content or call to action. We will see if the massive economic crisis that began in 2007 will loosen the political imagination of progressive artists. The Weakerthans are, in Laurence Grossberg’s terms, an alternative rock band. They “mount only an implicit challenge on the dominant culture” (Grossberg 1992, 110). The Weakerthans clearly eschew the pervasive trends in popular music. They are genre-bending musically and have lyrics rich in cultural and intellectual references. Their lyrics depict life in the new economy as it really is. But their songs are very rarely overtly oppositional, political, or radical. Samson recognizes that his songs resonate politically with some listeners, but says, “I’m often surprised when people come up to me, people I think are going to be politically influenced aren’t, and people who I don’t think will, are. It’s kinda strange sometimes” (Samson 2009, interview). Compare this to the artists associated with England’s Rock Against Racism (rar), formed in the 1970s out of the punk tradition and including the Clash, Elvis Costello, and the Specials. rar organized a series of shows to raise awareness of racism in Britain. Although triggered by a racist comment by Eric Clapton, and focusing its sights on racists like Enoch Powell and the National Front, rar had a clear socialist focus (Frith and Street 1992, 70). Moving to the East, Wicke (1992) makes the case that rock music played a key role in the demise of East Germany. Longhurst (2007, 109) notes that the influence of rock in the East was influenced by the state repression of rock – giving it its illicit radical edge – and the lack of other outlets for legitimate political expression. While it is certainly easy to romanticize the political significance of popular music, music can augment an existing political force. This type of supportive infrastructure is mostly absent today in Canada. Without a supportive framework in terms of organized political structures and audience political awareness, radical messages in the lyrics are harmlessly absorbed into the sound-proofing. In other words, a more overtly political version of The Weakerthans would not likely accomplish much, and Samson recognizes this about his music and his fans: I think a lot of people have to approach politics in an indirect way in order to access it – sometimes it has to be more subtle than

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coming out and saying it. The first step is trying to make people aware of who and where they are. Art and music has great potential to do that, to gently distort the world and allow people to experience it in a different way. (Samson 2009, interview)

REFERENCES

Bruhm, Jon. 2005. “The Weakerthans: Setting the Record Straight.” Chart. May 2005, 30–3. Eagleton, Terry. 1999. “Utopia and its Opposites.” In Socialist Register 2000: Necessary and Unnecessary Utopias, edited by Leo Panitch and Colin Leys, 31–40. London: Merlin Books. Frith, Simon, and John Street. 1992. “Rock Against Racism and Red Wedge: From Music to Politics and Politics to Music.” In Rockin’ the Boat: Mass Music and Mass Movements, edited by Reebee Garofalo, 67–80. Boston: South End Press. Green, Stuart. 2000. “The Weakerthans: Renaissance Radicals.” Exclaim. Aug. 2000. Accessed 10 September 2007. http://www.exclaim.ca/articles/ coverstory.aspx?csid1=9. Grossberg, Lawrence. 1992. We’ve Got to Get Out of this Place: Popular Conservatism and Postmodern Culture. New York: Routledge. Hawkins, Stan. 2002. Settling the Pop Score: Pop Texts and Identity Politics. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company. Huws, Ursula. 2006. “Fixed, Footloose, or Fracture: Work, Identity, and the Spatial Division of Labour in the Twenty-first Century.” Monthly Review. March 2006. Lipsitz, George. 1994. Dangerous Crossroads: Popular Music, Postmodernism, and the Poetics of Place. London: Verso. Longhurst, Brian. 2007. Popular Music and Society. Second edition. Cambridge: Polity Press. Palmer, Gareth. 1997. “Bruce Springsteen and Masculinity.” In Sexing the Groove: Popular Music and Gender, edited by Sheila Whiteley, 100–17. London: Routledge. Rodnitsky, Jerry. 2006. “The Decline and Rebirth of Folk-protest Music.” In The Resisting Muse: Popular Music and Social Protest, edited by Ian Peddie, 17–29. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company. Shaw, John. 2003. “The Weakerthans Grow Strong.” Z Magazine. December 2003. Accessed 5 October 2007. http://zcomm.org/zmagazine/the-weakerthans-grow-strong-by-jeff-shaw/

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Splendid. 2003. “Features: The Weakerthans.” Accessed 6 September 2007. http://www.splendidezine.com/features/weakerthans. Statistics Canada. 2005. The Canadian Labour Market at a Glance 2004. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. – 2009. The Canadian Labour Market at a Glance 2007. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Street, John. 2003. “‘Fight the Power’: The Politics of Music and the Music of Politics.” Government and Opposition 38 (1): 113–30. – 2006. “The Pop Star as Politician: From Belafonte to Bono, from Creativity to Conscience.” In The Resisting Muse: Popular Music and Social Protest, edited by Ian Peddie, 49–61. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company. Ward, Colin. 2006. Anarchism: A Very Short Introduction. New York: Oxford. Weinstein, Deena. 2006. “Rock Protest Songs: So Many and So Few.” In The Resisting Muse: Popular Music and Social Protest, edited by Ian Peddie, 3–16. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company. Wicke, Peter. 1992. “The times They Are A-Changin’: Rock Music and Political Change in East Germany.” In Rockin’ the Boat: Mass Music and Mass Movements, edited by Reebee Garofalo, 81–92. Boston: South End Press. INTERVIEWS

Samson, John K. 2009. Toronto, March 31.

Introduction

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4 Gender Identity in Deep Space: Representations of Political Leadership in Battlestar Galactica T R AC E Y R A N E Y Science fiction writers foresee the inevitable. And although problems and catastrophes may be inevitable, solutions are not.1 Kiyomata Akasaka

The genre of popular science fiction is especially well suited to offer a lens through which we might view and interpret our own sociopolitical realities. Through the creation of “new” worlds, science fiction can project an image of what our future might look like and, in so doing, reveal to us how our current paths are neither inevitable nor natural (Rowley 2007). In this chapter I focus on Battlestar Galactica (bsg), a popular science fiction television show which aired on the Space Channel (in Canada) between 2003 and 2009. Specifically, I will examine gender and political leadership in bsg as depicted by its central political figure, President Laura Roslin. I aim to show how representations of gender in bsg recast traditional notions of political leadership in ways that challenge its normalization as an inherently masculine domain. To do so I draw upon feminist critiques of leadership, which highlight how gendered norms and expectations are embedded in modern understandings of political leadership. I argue that bsg offers not only a glimpse of what a feminist vision of political leadership might look like in the future, but that it also provides a mirror to reality, revealing how gendered stereotypes constrain notions of leadership in the real world of politics today. The chapter unfolds as follows: before exam-

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ining the text of bsg, I offer a brief overview of leadership studies, followed by feminist and gendered critiques of this literature. I then apply a feminist analysis of political leadership to the character of Laura Roslin in bsg, offering evidence of how her presidency evolves throughout the series, becoming less anchored to conventional notions of gender, and moving toward a feminist model of political leadership that neither erases, nor is limited by, her gendered identity.2 D EF IN ING P O L I T I C A L L E A D E R S H I P

Leadership is any behaviour that “gives purpose, meaning, and guidance to collectivities by articulating a collective vision that appeals to ideological values, motives, and self-perceptions of followers” (House 1995, 413). Political leadership refers to the exercise of authority over others that occurs within the public sphere, including governments and other modes of governance (e.g. international or non-profit organizations, advocacy groups). In order to evaluate the effectiveness of leaders, several criteria have been identified in the literature, of which I will focus on three: the amount of power and influence exercised by a leader, leader traits and behaviours, and the situational aspects of leadership (Yukl 1989). The power/influence perspective of leadership assesses the amount of power possessed by a leader, the types of power exercised, and the processes of how power is acquired (Yukl 1989, 254). A central preoccupation in this tradition focuses on how power is gained and lost, and on the different types of power that can be exercised, such as the ability to influence subordinates or superiors, or the ability to control information. Researchers have identified a variety of tactics used by leaders, including ingratiation, appeals to authority, consultations, rational persuasion, and pressure tactics (Yukl 1989, 256). Within the domain of politics, the exercise of power might include forming coalitions, co-opting opponents, and/or further institutionalizing one’s power in order to retain it (Pfeffer 1981). The traits/behavioural approach to leadership emphasizes the personal attributes of the leader, including confidence, initiative, emotional maturity, and stress tolerance (Yulk 1989). Leaders can also be evaluated based on their style of social interactions. Ammeter et al. (2002) point out that successful leaders are often able to read, understand, and control social interactions through attributes such as sociopolitical intelligence, interpersonal acumen, and ego resiliency.

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Charismatic leadership theory suggests that some leaders derive their legitimacy from perceptions that they possess some kind of spiritual or divine power or gift (Yukl 1989). Indicators of charismatic leadership include the unquestioning acceptance, affection, and willing obedience of the leader by followers (House 1977). Lastly, leadership studies suggest that a leader’s environment matters. Research shows that an organization’s culture, which consists of the values, beliefs, and behavioural norms shared by its members, can constrain or enhance leadership (Waldman 1993; Ammeter et al., 2002). The external environment of a leader also includes wider societal values and norms, and how followers and subordinates relate and respond to them. Given that individuals interact with other persons in specific situations, a leader’s situated identity as a leader is thus dependent upon both how they view themselves, and how they are viewed by others (Ammeter et al. 2002). WOM E N A ND P O L I T I C A L L E A D E R SH I P

Globally, political leaders possess an array of traits and styles of governance and are influenced by an assortment of contextual factors. One of the most common characteristics shared by political leaders, however, is that most are men. As of 2014, the proportion of female legislators in national offices around the world was 21.9 percent (Inter-Parliamentary Union n.d.); in Canada, it was 25.6 percent – far below that of the number of women in the general population. Feminist and gendered critiques of political leadership point out that when it comes to the exercise of power and authority around the world, women most often constitute the “other.” Accordingly, analyses of leadership need to consider the central role sex/gender plays in definitions of “good” political leadership. As a social construction, gender prescribes behaviours and attitudes into two categories, masculine and feminine. While masculinity is associated with characteristics such as assertiveness, assuredness, and individuality, femininity is associated with honesty, passivity, nurturing, and the family and/or community (Alexander and Anderson 1993, 534). The categorization of gendered behaviour into a masculine/ feminine binary is further linked to power: while the attributes of masculinity (rationality, reason, logic) have come to be associated with being powerful, femininity (emotionality, nurturing, caring) is associated with being powerless.

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Gendered systems of belief further structure conceptions of leadership. Feminist research points out that the qualities most often associated with “good” political leadership are tied to masculine traits and behaviours, like assertiveness and the ability to reason. Traditional conceptions of leadership assume that while men are good leaders in the public spheres of business and politics, women are better at dealing with the private spheres of motherhood, family, and home. In this respect, gendered expectations within the broader society serve to limit the range of behaviours and attitudes deemed acceptable for political leaders, and masculine attributes have come to be considered the norm within the public spaces of political life. “Good” leadership, then, denotes the presence of the masculine and the absence of the feminine. Where women have been successful at overcoming the structural barriers that limit their leadership options (e.g. sex/gender stereotypes, financial limitations, childcare), research indicates that many face gender-specific challenges. In order to prove their legitimacy and authority in a domain that is dominated by men, women might choose to emphasize their feminine attributes so as not to overtly challenge traditional assumptions of leadership, or they might instead emphasize masculine traits that are the traditional markers of good leaders. As Duerst-Lahti and Kelly (1995) argue, however, neither option alters extant gender power relations as the normalcy of leadership-as-masculine remains intact in both scenarios. In order to challenge the norm of “masculine” political leadership, feminist and gender scholars have developed a normative framework that seeks to strip leadership of its masculinist assumptions. One useful concept is that of transgendered leadership, which assumes that leaders exhibit various traits and behaviours within specific situations that are irrespective of their biological sex or sexual orientation (Duerst-Lahti and Kelly 1995). As Duerst-Lahti and Kelly state, the goal of transgendered political leadership is to move “toward a world in which traits and behaviours exhibited by leaders, and actors at all levels and positions, can be seen as suitable for the socially situated context in which they occur regardless of the biological sex or sexual orientation of the person who happens to be the leader or actor at that moment and place” (1995, 262). Transgendered leadership allows us to consider what leadership might look like when women and men are not evaluated for their leadership skills according to pre-determined criteria based on sex/gender. Rather than “de-gender” social structures entirely, a transgendered view of political leadership means that gender remains a com-

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ponent that comprises the matrix of identities (e.g. race, religion, sexuality, age) within which we are situated, but that such differences are not assumed as natural given an individual’s sex. In other words, transgendered leadership is leadership that occurs when the power differential between gendered categories (masculine/feminine) is erased. G EN DER I DE NT I T Y A ND P O L I T I C A L L E AD ER SH I P IN B AT T L E STA R G A L AC T I C A

What might such a world look like? In thinking about spaces where gender power is equitably dispersed and shared amongst groups of people, the alternate universes of science fiction, where anything is possible, can be especially instructive. As a science fiction narrative, bsg depicts an alternate universe that shares many resemblances to our own world. In March 2009, the United Nations launched a “Battlestar Galactica Summit” in which writers and actors were invited to discuss some of the core themes addressed in the show, including terrorism, religion, natural resource depletion, human rights, racism, and sexuality. While the treatment of many of these themes in bsg has been the focus of scholarly inquiry in other disciplines (Potter and Marshall 2008; George 2008), analyses of political leadership as a gendered concept in bsg have yet to take place. In the bsg universe, humanity is engaged in war with the Cylons, a computer-generated species it has created and that has risen in rebellion against its creators. The series begins with the end of a forty-year armistice between the Cylons and humans, when the Cylons wage a brutal nuclear attack on the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, the human population.3 After most of humanity is wiped out in this attack, under the protection of the Battlestar Galactica and its commander, Bill Adama, the remaining humans flee to space in search of a distant planet known only as “Earth.” From the onset of war, the bsg universe is thrown into a political leadership vacuum: the president of the Twelve Colonies, President Adar (a man), has been killed in the attack, and it is not yet clear who is to be the leader of the people. While the military leader (Commander Bill Adama) assumes command of the fleet immediately after the attack, we learn that the secretary of education, Laura Roslin, has also survived; as the most senior ranking public official alive, she assumes the presidency (“Mini-Series,” S1). Roslin’s route to political power is significant: rather than have her as the democratically elect-

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ed President at the time of the attack, her status as the forty-third in line of succession places doubt and uncertainty over her authority and ability to lead in a time of war. For instance, we do not know whether she will lead “like a woman” or “like a man,” or whether she will be challenged or accepted by her subordinates and followers. At this stage, we do not yet know whether or how gender matters to political leadership in the bsg universe at all. When we consider the three aspects of leadership discussed above in turn (power and authority, traits and styles, and situational/ contextual factors), one of the most striking observations about Roslin’s presidency is how her political leadership transforms across each criteria, moving from one that is ultimately constrained by her gender, toward one that more closely approximates that of feminist/ transgendered notions of leadership. At the beginning of the series, Roslin’s power and authority are determined by and reduced to her gender. Although Commander Adama tentatively agrees to recognize her as the leader of the civilian government, he does so under the proviso that he will remain in control of the military decisions of the fleet. Roslin’s power as president therefore does not extend to the realm of commander-in-chief, which is the norm in presidential systems, and also happens to be one of the most masculinized domains of power available (“Mini-Series,” S1). As long as Roslin refrains from making military decisions and is willing to share power with Adama, her authority as the civilian leader will not be challenged by him. However, this distinction between political/civilian and military power – and the limitations of Roslin’s power and authority – is disrupted early on. When two of the central military figures, Commander Adama and his son, Major Lee Adama, make a military decision guided by their emotions rather than by the best interests of the fleet, it is Roslin who points out the folly of their decision: All right, it’s military. Fine. And you’re both officers. And you’re both honourable men. And you’re both perfectly aware that you are putting the lives of over 45,000 people and the future of this civilization at risk for your personal feelings. Now if the two of you, of all people, can live with that, then the human race doesn’t stand a chance. Clear your heads. (“You Can’t Go Home Again,” S1) This juncture is a critical turning point in the exercise of Roslin’s power: it signifies Commander Adama’s recognition of her authority

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as the leader of the fleet. With few exceptions, from this point forward Adama accepts her leadership over the human population, and occasionally requests her advice on military matters (“Flight of the Phoenix,” S2).4 Roslin’s use of her political power is anything but feminine, and early on she establishes that she is a dominant, strategic, and calculating president, leading one observer to characterize her presidency as “Machiavellian” (Blahuta 2008). Certainly, many of her early decisions bear out this characterization. Rather than seek out coalitions and engage in a more “feminine” style of collaborative decision-making, she exerts pressure on her political opponents and condones the rigging of an election to ensure her victory (“Lay Down Your Burdens Pt 2,” S2.5). Yet at the same time as we are presented a ruthless, cunning leader, we learn that she is also dying of breast cancer, a fallibility that is acutely female. Induced by her cancer treatments and the drug chamalla extract, Roslin begins to have quasi-religious visions that inspire her to seek out “Earth” for her people. This mystic element of her leadership has a decidedly feminine quality; in addition to being a calculated leader who is sometimes lacking in moral judgement, in her visions she appears as a maternal, spiritual figure attempting to save the child Hera, whom we learn is somehow connected to the survival of the human species (“Crossroads Pt I,” S3). Roslin’s illness thus provides her with the opportunity to transform her leadership. As a “dying leader,” she becomes guided by a higher spiritual vision that she relies on to guide and lead the human fleet. Through her moral and spiritual conviction that she will find a way to Earth, she becomes the true leader of humanity by providing them with what they need most of all – hope in the survival of the human species on the planet “Earth.” By the final season, Bill Adama confirms her status as the true leader of the people, stating “You made me believe” (“Faith,” S4). Roslin’s leadership traits and styles are also not static; they transform, becoming less dominated by traditional “masculine” traits to a style that possesses both “masculine” and “feminine” attributes. Feminist critiques of political leadership point out that when women enter into politics they often must choose to become “more like a man” in order to legitimate their status as decision-makers. When Roslin becomes president she is confronted with this precise dilemma, and many of her decisions appear driven by her need to prove that her leadership will not be weakened because of her sex, and that she is more than prepared to make “tough” decisions. In her first major de-

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cision as President of the Twelve Colonies, she is forced to choose whether the fleet should leave behind several ships containing thousands of people that will most certainly be found by the Cylons and destroyed, or to remain with these ships and risk the survival of the entire human population. Roslin’s decision is made all the more heart-wrenching as we see her sitting with a little girl, whom she knows will be on board one of the ships left behind (“Mini-Series,” S1). The image of the president juxtaposed with the young girl plays upon traditional notions of gender that contrast women’s maternal instincts and empathies with those of cool, rational calculation: save the child, or sacrifice her for the good of the majority of the fleet. Roslin makes her decision, and as the fleet jumps away the screams of those who are left behind, including the girl’s, echo across the universe. Her leadership is thus put to the ultimate test, and she proves she will not “give in” to her feminine emotionality. Yet the boundaries of Roslin’s masculinized leadership style are pushed even further: some of her decisions appear entirely devoid of emotion, lacking in sound moral judgement, and ruthless to a fault. While her leadership is clearly not reduced to her femininity, it is a hyper-masculinized version, and shows her need to “out-male” the males. Roslin orders the torture and murder of the Cylon Leoben (“Flesh and Bone,” S1); condones the psychological torture of Gaius Baltar (“Taking a Break from All Your Worries,” S3); bans women from having abortions (“The Captain’s Hand,” S2.5); orders the execution of a female military figure (“Resurrection Ship Pt 2,” S2.5); and authorizes the use of biological weapons against the Cylon population (“Measure of Salvation,” S.3). Although Roslin’s decision-making in these cases is clearly not driven by her femininity, it remains nonetheless pre-determined by her gender in her apparent need to overcome her femininity, over and over. At this point in the series, while Roslin’s presidency indeed challenges the traditional stereotype that female leaders are by nature passive and incapable of leading, her leadership does little to alter pre-conceived notions that femininity is inherently oppositional to “good” political leadership. Roslin’s hyper-masculinized leadership style is even noted by another character on the show, an old political friend who tells her: “You know, all those years I watched you with Adar, you were always so quiet, so polite, so dignified. I never thought you’d fit in with the bare-knuckle, backstabbing politicians. I guess I was wrong” (“Colonial Day,” S1).

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By Season 4, however, Roslin’s presidency begins to transform, culminating in her self-realization of the limitations of her overtly masculinized style of leadership. Her “epiphany” occurs when a spiritual figure appears to her in a dream and tells her, “You don’t love people anymore” (“The Hub,” S4). It is at this point that Roslin recognizes that her political decisions have been stripped of emotion and empathy for her people and those she cares about most. This is a turning point for Roslin, and she comes to acknowledge and accept that in order to be a true leader of the people she must make decisions based on reason and emotion, logic and intuition, ambition and caring. In “The Hub” (S4), Roslin embraces her feminine qualities and comes to acknowledge their importance in her decision-making: when she is faced with the choice to let her chief political rival die or save him, she chooses to save him, and a flood of pent-up emotion at last escapes her. Rather than shut down her emotions and rule with the coolness of rationality, she finally permits herself to acknowledge her love of Bill Adama. While her spiritual journey to find Earth for her people remains important, she has accepted the importance of human relationships and love, and comes to realize that home is more than an actual physical place, but is instead “some kind of longing for something, some kind of connection” (“Islanded in a Stream of Stars,” S4.5). Roslin’s contextual environment also shifts over time, transforming from traditional to non-traditional notions of gender and leadership. Feminist theory suggests that transgendered leadership requires a more equitable distribution of power between women and men within society more broadly. The structural conditions of social context therefore matter: how women are perceived within organizations and society will influence how they will act as leaders, and whether their authority will be recognized and legitimated. Feminist scholars point out that one of the most oppressive social structures limiting women’s choices is the division between public and private space. In bsg, this division is transgressed in both a symbolic and physical way. The crew of Battlestar Galactica sleeps together, shares bathrooms, works together, plays together, and wears the same uniform, regardless of sex. The central protagonist in the story, Kara Thrace (call sign “Starbuck”), is a cigar-smoking, foul-mouthed, maverick fighter pilot who also happens to be female. Although social relations between women and men are more equitable in the bsg universe than they are in the real world, Roslin’s pres-

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idency reveals just how deeply ingrained gendered stereotypes are in our conceptions of political leadership. Shortly after she assumes the presidency suspicion arises over her ability to lead the fleet. In her first act as president, she holds a press conference and is asked by a doubtful reporter, “Who put you in charge?” Roslin replies tentatively, “Good question. I’m the senior government official on this ship. So I am in charge” (“Mini-Series,” S1). Further, we learn that the seeds of suspicion about her presidency are directly connected to her gender. Roslin’s former profession as a schoolteacher – a female-dominated profession – is repeatedly called into question as a suitable route to the Presidency. In an exchange between Lee Adama and Bill Adama, her background as the secretary of education (and former school teacher) is ridiculed: Lee Adama: The President has given me a direct order. Bill Adama: You’re talking about the secretary of education. We’re in the middle of a war and you’re taking orders from a schoolteacher?! (“Mini-Series,” S1) Derogatory references to Roslin’s background as a schoolteacher are made by her subordinates throughout the first half of her presidency, and serve to undermine and erode her authority within the fleet. But they also carry a specific gendered meaning that positions masculinity as superior to femininity in the exercise of political power: it is precisely because she is a former elementary school teacher that she is ill-equipped to deal with the harsh realities of being president. Once Roslin is accepted as the true leader of the fleet (despite her gender), references to her schoolteacher background are no longer used as a means to challenge her authority. In the real world, many women do not enter into politics due to structural reasons: they often do not have the time, money, or resources necessary to run for political office, and many are overburdened with the “double-day” workload of obligations within the home and workplace that limit their choices to run for public office. Interestingly, very little is known of Roslin’s personal life before becoming president. Although her relationship with Bill Adama develops slowly throughout the series, details of her private life prior to the attack remain vague. We do not know if she was married, what her family life was like, or anything much about her personal life at all.5

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It is not until the last episode in a series of flashbacks that the true motives behind Roslin’s decision to enter into politics are revealed. When, in this flashback, she is asked by a friend why she isn’t willing to run for political office, she replies, “Because I don’t like politics to begin with and a national campaign is just so blah” (“Daybreak Pt I,” S.4.5). Only in this flashback sequence that appears near the end of the series do we learn of the intimate, private details of Roslin’s life, which she has kept hidden from everyone: her father and sisters were killed in a horrific car accident, and only after they are dead and she has nothing else left does she decide to enter into politics. From a feminist standpoint, the circumstances surrounding Roslin’s decision to run for political office are profound: it is not until her private life is obliterated – erased – that she is willing to enter the public sphere and forge a career as a politician. Moreover, Roslin’s private life remains virtually non-existent throughout the entire series, and it is not until the final season, when she is dying of cancer, that she allows herself to feel empathy and emotion toward another human being (“The Hub,” S4). In order to be a “good” female political leader, it seems, Roslin’s private life must cease to exist. The assumption is that a woman cannot occupy both spaces of private and public life at once; she must choose. By the end of the series, through her acknowledgement of her love for Bill Adama, Roslin is able to transcend the private/public division that has historically limited women’s choices in the real world. She is now a complete political leader: one whose decision-making is neither constrained by nor ignorant of her gender, one who possesses both masculine and feminine traits, and one who is able to exist in both the private and public domains. H Y P E R - R E A L I T Y TO R E A L I T Y I N B S G : M OV IN G TOWAR D T R A NS G E ND E R E D P O L I T I C AL L E AD ER SH I P ?

One of the goals of feminist political research is to theorize the preconditions necessary to achieve political leadership that does not assume masculine normalcy. In this regard, using science fiction/bsg as a text to analyze political leadership is especially appealing because it allows us to move from the real world to a world where anything is possible. In bsg, while political leadership is initially cast in traditional gendered stereotypes of what constitutes a “good” political leader, over the course of the series the relationship between gender and po-

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litical leadership transforms, and with it our normative understandings of what constitutes a “good” leader become less embedded within conventional ideas of gender. Laura Roslin evolves over the course of the series, from a “schoolteacher” determined to overcome the limitations of her gender to a president who is in full command of the fleet, a female leader who is capable of reason and empathy, and who has both a public and private life. In the end, Roslin’s character offers us a political leader who is able to negotiate her gendered identity as something that is integral to – yet not solely reduced by – her position as a political leader. She is a feminist/transgendered figure of political leadership. At the same time, the bsg universe reveals to us the obstacles to transgendered leadership in the real world. It requires an individual willing to lead with both masculine and feminine traits and a social structure wherein power relations between women and men are equal. Moreover, followers and subordinates must recognize the legitimacy and authority of the leader regardless of her or his sex and gender. Because human beings in bsg’s world are far less constrained by traditional notions of gender than are humans in the real world, we are left to wonder: is a Roslin-like transgendered political figure possible in today’s world? Roslin’s eventual death at the end of the series casts doubt on this possibility, and one of the subtexts of bsg is that in a world that remains largely under the authority and control of men, a more equitable distribution of political power in the real world would require a destabilization of power, dominance, and inequality within the organizational and societal structures that surround our political leaders. Put another way, in order to have political leaders who reflect our diversities as people, we need to change how we think about gender because it is so deeply embedded within these broader institutional and societal settings. Science fiction texts help us to understand and critique extant relations of power, highlighting how power is exercised in the real world and providing us with alternative insights into how unequal power relations can be changed. To be certain, the bsg universe does not portray a utopian vision – feminist or otherwise – of political power: Laura Roslin is a flawed leader who shows herself to be susceptible to corruption and to making decisions that are sometimes morally questionable. Yet bsg manages to takes us from what we know and expect of a leader to a leader who is closely aligned with a transgendered de-

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piction of leadership. The power of bsg (and of science fiction texts more broadly) is that it is able to bridge both reality and hyper-reality, showing us who we are (or were) and who we can become. At the same time, bsg helps to redefine political leadership in ways that make it more open to women and to feminine styles of decision-making, as well as to ways that are more reflective of our identities as gendered bodies, either as women or men. In so doing, Battlestar Galactica exposes the historical interconnection between political leadership and masculinity for what it really is: neither natural nor inevitable.

NOTES

1 Kiyomata Akasaka, under-secretary-general for communications and public information for the United Nations, in a reference to science fiction writer Isaac Asimov. The United Nations Summit on Battlestar Galactica, 17 March 2009. 2 The majority of the analysis for this paper was written prior to the ending of the series, when President Roslin eventually dies of cancer. One reading of Roslin’s death is that her style of leadership is incompatible with the new civilization on “New Earth.” While this may be true, the discovery of the new planet and hence, the survival of the human and Cylon populations, was also rendered possible by her intuition and ability to mobilize people to her cause throughout the show. Although her character dies, the discovery of “New Earth” also serves to validate her mission toward salvation, and ultimately legitimizes her as a true leader of her people. 3 Although the new Battlestar Galactica series has similarities with the original version that aired in 1978–79, it differs from its predecessor in several ways. In addition to the more advanced technological and visual aspects of the re-imagined series, there was no equivalent to the Roslin character in the original series, as the last president of the Twelve Colonies, President Adar, is killed in the pilot episode of the original series and is not replaced. The lead protagonist in the series, Starbuck, was also originally cast as a man and in the new series is played by a woman (Katee Sackhoff). 4 A notable exception occurs when Adama refuses to acknowledge Roslin’s status as spiritual leader of the colony and attempts to terminate her presidency (“Kobol’s Last Gleaming, Pt 2,” S1). He later acknowledges his mistake, and accepts that she made the right decision for the fleet to follow her spiritual quest to find Earth (“Home Pt 2,” S2).

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5 The exception is when we learn that she had an affair with President Adar when she was the minister of education in his cabinet prior to the attack (“Epiphanies,” S2.5). REFERENCES

Alexander, Deborah, and Kristi Anderson. 1993. “Gender as a Factor in the Attribution of Leadership Traits.” Political Research Quarterly 46 (3): 527–45. Ammeter, Anthony P., Douglas Ceasar, William L. Gardner, Wayne A. Hochwarter, and Gerald R. Ferris. 2002. “Toward a Political Theory of Leadership.” The Leadership Quarterly 13: 751–96. Blahuta, Jason P. 2008. “Machiavelli in the Colonial Fleet.” In Battlestar Galactica and Philosophy, edited by Jason T. Eberg, 40–51. Blackwell Publishing: Oxford, UK. Duerst-Lahti, Georgia, and Rita Mae Kelly. 1995. Gender Power, Leadership, and Governance. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. George, Susan A. 2008. “Fraking Machines: Desire, Gender, and the (Post) Human Condition in Battlestar Galactica.” In The Essential Science Fiction Television Reader, edited by J.P. Telotte, 159–76. Lexington, Kentucky: The University Press of Kentucky. House, Robert J. 1977. “A 1976 Theory of Charismatic Leadership” In Leadership: The Cutting Edge, edited by J.G. Hunt and L.L. Larson, 189–207. Carbondale, il: Southern Illinois University Press. – 1995. “Leadership in the Twenty-First Century.” In The Changing Nature of Work, edited by A. Howard, 411–50. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Inter-Parliamentary Union. n.d. “Women in National Parliaments.” Accessed 11 February 2010. http://www.ipu.org/wmn-e/world.htm. Pfeffer, Jeffrey. 1981. Power in Organizations. Marshfield, ma: Pittman. Potter, Tiffany, and C.W. Marshall, eds. 2008. Cylons in America: Critical Studies in Battlestar Galactica. New York: Continuum. Rowley, Christina. 2007. “Firefly/Serenity: Gendered Space and Gendered Bodies.” British Journal of Politics and International Relations 9 (2): 318–25. Waldman, David A. 1993. “A Theoretical Consideration of Leadership and tqm.” Leadership Quarterly 4: 65–79. Yukl, Gary. 1989. “Managerial Leadership: A Review of Theory and Research.” Journal of Management 15 (2): 251–89.

Introduction

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5 Métis Political Identity and the Symbolism of Louis Riel K ELLY L . SAUNDERS

In the fall of 2008, the Manitoba Métis Federation (mmf) purchased four poems that had been penned by Louis Riel shortly before his execution in 1885. Hailed as a landmark event for Métis across the country, the purchase represented more than the simple ownership of an important cultural artifact. Fundamentally, it also reflected the desire of the Métis people to reclaim a part of their own history, and the symbols, events, and personalities that have shaped that history. In speaking on the occasion of the purchase, mmf president David Chartrand declared, “it’s a great victory. Bringing it back [the poems] gives us a sense of pride. You look at the penmanship – it’s beautiful. [Riel’s] not somebody who’s mad, or angry or shaken up” (cbc News 2008, 1). As he later added, “For too long we’ve watched some of our great leaders’ artifacts disappear into foreign soil … and we take strong offence to that” (Lambert 2009, A13). President Chartrand’s comments speak to several important themes. On the face of it, they illustrate the enduring significance of Riel to the Métis people, nearly 130 years after his death. More than an important cultural icon to the Métis, however, Riel also stands as one of the most prominent figures in Canadian history. The subject of scholarly works, films, novels, songs, and plays, Riel has long captured the country’s popular imagination. At the same time, though, the fascination with the Métis leader has also been a study in contradictions. Since his death at the hands of the Canadian government, Riel has been variously portrayed in popular culture as a traitor, a madman, a martyr, and a hero (Moore 1992; Osborne 2002; Braz 2003). Because

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Riel’s life and struggles captured so many of the geographic, ethnic, and religious tensions that remain a part of Canada, he has become the “ultimate Canadian example of the usable in history” (Swainson 1980, 290). Perceiving Riel in a multitude of ways, Canadians have been able to take out of him what they want to see. As J.R. Miller describes it, “Riel has always served as a mythic figure that a variety of groups have used to interpret, not the Métis, but themselves in the guise of history” (1988, 5). At the same time, President Chartrand’s statements speak to the damaging ways in which Riel has been historically portrayed, primarily by English Canada, and the legacy of controversy and shame with which the Métis people have had to contend as a result. Yet while these depictions have led to the dispossession and marginalization of the Métis in Canada, Métis political leaders in the country have also successfully used these alternate portrayals of Riel to their political advantage.1 Ignored by provincial and federal governments, and with few tools at their disposal to advance their cause, the Métis, it can be argued, have achieved much of their success as a political force over the past several decades because of their ability to translate the martyred image of Riel into an effective rallying point for their people. By drawing on not only the historical injustices suffered by the Métis, but the wrongful execution of their leader at the hands of the state, Métis leaders have used the martyr and hero persona of Riel as a critical vehicle for reinforcing a shared identity and resisting assimilation by the dominant culture. As we consider these factors, President Chartrand’s remarks also draw attention to the issue of cultural appropriation. In Chartrand’s assertion of the Métis claim to the last written words of their fallen leader, the question arises: who “owns” Métis culture and the image of Riel? While the perception of Riel has been somewhat rehabilitated in much of Canadian discourse (indeed, commemorations honouring Riel’s death on November 16 are held each year in towns and cities across the country), this transformation has come at a price. In the journey from traitor to hero, by “depriving him of his Otherness, his national specificity as a Métis,” Riel has become Canadianized and homogenized (Braz 2003, 15). The fear of some Métis is that, stripped of his cultural identity, the issues and rights which Riel fought and died for will be forgotten. Is it possible that he will fade into the larger multicultural fabric of Canada, relegated to being just another ethnic icon rather than the leader of a distinct Aboriginal people for whom

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the struggle for recognition of their rightful place in Confederation continues to this day? In examining these various threads, this chapter will begin by tracing the manner in which Riel has been portrayed in Canadian popular culture since his death in 1885. This will be followed by a discussion of the ways in which Métis leaders draw on these varying representations of Riel in shaping their political identity and objectives. As I shall argue, these alternate depictions of Riel, and the controversies which still exist in some quarters over what his appropriate legacy should be, have created a space within which Métis governments in Canada have been able to act.2 And lastly, the chapter will touch upon the issue of cultural appropriation and its impact on the Métis Nation in Canada. Specifically, if Riel is the critical rallying point for Métis nationalism in Canada, what are the challenges posed by the usurpation of his image by the hegemonic culture? T H E C ONT E ST E D I M AG E S O F LO U I S RI EL I N C A NA D I A N C U LT U R E

Few other leaders or personalities in Canada have captured our popular imagination more than Louis Riel. Jean Teillet, Métis rights lawyer and great-grand-niece of Riel, contends that, on the eve of the 130th anniversary of Riel’s death “we are still obsessed with this man” (2009b, interview). Indeed, more histories, novels, poems, and biographies have been written about Riel, and the resistance movements that he led at Red River and Batoche, than any other figure in Canadian history. Added to this body of what Donald Swainson (1980) has so aptly referred to as “Rielania” are the voluminous writings of the man himself. Riel is one of the few prominent figures in Canada whose writings have been published in their entirety; indeed, the 100th anniversary of Riel’s execution was marked by the publication of a five-volume set of his collected writings (Reid 2008; Morton 1992). Our fascination with Riel, however, transcends the written word. While the real historical figure lived and died in the nineteenth century, constructions of his image have become ingrained in the various threads of our popular culture (Strange 2006). Riel has been the subject not only of television shows, documentaries, and radio programs but also a variety of artistic forms from songs and opera to paintings and sculpture. Monuments have been erected in his honour, academ-

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ic conferences held, and resolutions passed in the House of Commons. His image adorns everything from Government of Canada brochures to postage stamps, and, in February 2007, a new statutory holiday in the province of Manitoba was established in his name. Yet this wholesale embrace of all things Riel is a relatively recent phenomenon. For the first half of the twentieth century Riel was portrayed as anything but the prototypical all-Canadian hero. In English Canada he was dismissed as a madman and religious zealot, an enemy of Confederation who defied the law and stood in the way of progress and nation-building. For French Canada, Riel and the uprisings that he led were cast in the larger context of French-English tensions. With the focus on his French Catholic rather than Aboriginal ancestry, Riel was depicted as the victim of Protestant racism and a symbol of Quebec’s ongoing oppression by English Canada. Still a third theme emerged in the Western Provinces, where Riel and the battles of the Métis were seen as representative of the earliest example of western alienation, the struggle of the West against a complacent and apathetic federal government whose power base resided in central Canada (Goulet 1999; Rocan 1992; Braz 2003).3 In the decades following the Second World War, however, a shift in tenor could be discerned in the various representations of Riel. Regarded almost universally in English Canada as a homicidal traitor in 1885, by the 1960s Riel had become something of a “cultural emblem” in the country (Reid 2008, 38). The significant socio-cultural shifts that were occurring at the time explain much of this re-consideration of Riel and his place in Canada. The 1960s represented an era of “Red Power” in Canada as newly-formed Aboriginal organizations found their political voice and began the painstaking process of asserting their rights as self-determining peoples (Valaskakis 2005; Weinstein 2007; Brown 2002). The occasion of Canada’s centennial celebrations in 1967 also led many to search the annals of the country’s history for new heroes and myths, and to emphasize the mosaic rather than the melting pot image of the nation (Mattes, 1998; Kaye, 1997). Given the comprehensive set of uniquely Canadian tensions embodied in the persona of Riel – English/French; Protestant/Catholic; East/West; European/Aboriginal; Métis/First Nation; Canada/United States – it seemed only natural that a country in search of its identity would settle on him. As Douglas Owram (1982) writes, the dramatic transformation of Riel into a mythical figure did not occur by accident; rather, myths develop because they fulfill a perceived need in the

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minds of the community. In this vein, some have suggested that the appropriation of Riel and his translation into a powerful symbol for all people is attributable to the absence of an historical meta-narrative in Canada (Reid 2008; Francis 1997; Granatstein 1998). For others, it represents the attempt by Euro-Canadians to become indigenous themselves, both as a way of ameliorating their collective guilt over their treatment of Aboriginal peoples as well as of resolving their “lingering sense of not belonging where they need to belong” (Francis 1992, 190). We are, as John Ralston Saul reminds us in A Fair Country, “a Métis civilization” (Saul 2008, 3). Scholars have used a variety of metaphors to describe the tenacity of Riel in Canadian culture and the rehabilitative transformation that his image has undergone in the intervening years. For Claude Rocan (1992), our perceptions of Riel are a “window into the Canadian psyche,” capturing the “important cleavages that are still a vital part of Canada” (93–4), while Daniel Francis (1997) maintains that “since the 1960s Riel has emerged as an all-purpose hero who manages to be different things to different people, depending on what they want him to be” (114). Through much of our shared history in Canada, Riel’s image has been used by various groups as a symbol for their beliefs, and by the dominant culture which he in some measure opposed (Kaye 1997). The danger in this, as Glen Campbell (1992) has pointed out, is that “this constantly changing image runs a dangerous course as far as the accuracy of Canadian history is concerned, in that Riel the symbol, the almost mythical god, risks supplanting Riel the historical figure” (353). If the prevailing persona of Riel is that of the quintessentially Canadian folk hero, rather than that of the leader of a people whose grievances and rights have yet to be fully reconciled by the state, the logical extension of this may be the continued marginalization of the Métis people. I C ON OGR A P H Y A S A FO RC E FO R P O L I T I C A L AC TI O N

The Métis have historically been referred to as Canada’s “forgotten people” (Sealey and Lussier 1975; Lischke and McNab 2007). As a people of mixed European and Aboriginal ancestry, the Métis have never fit comfortably into the categories of indigeneity that have been created by the federal government (Sawchuk 2000; Grammond n.d.). “The very concept of Métis, as a people, challenged the established boundaries of culture in Canada” (Teillet 2009a, 4). As a result, from

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the time of ethnogenesis over 200 years ago, the Métis have had to fight for acknowledgement of their existence as a separate and distinct Aboriginal people within Canada. The federal government has long resisted the view that Métis are “Indians” within s. 91(24) of the Constitution Act, 1867, and hence that Parliament has either the jurisdiction or the constitutional obligation to preserve and promote Métis communities (Magnet 2003).4 Government policy towards the Métis has traditionally been one of denial: “governments denied that Métis collectivities existed, denied that they were Aboriginal, denied their Aboriginal and treaty rights, and denied that government had any legal obligations towards the Métis” (Teillet 2007, 63). As such, the Métis were caught in a game of jurisdictional football, with the federal government maintaining obligations to First Nations and the Inuit but leaving matters affecting the Métis to the vagaries of provincial governments.5 The lack of movement on Métis rights in Canada has largely been justified by the Crown in the context of debates over identity and membership. While Indian Bands have registries and Inuit people have a treaty to which there are a limited number of beneficiaries, Métis people have neither (Nichols 2003). Although subsequently recognized as a distinct Aboriginal people under s.35 of the Constitution Act, 1982, over the intervening years there has been little consensus amongst governments, academics, and, most significantly, amongst the Métis themselves over who can claim membership in the Métis Nation (Chartrand 2004; Isaac 2004; Sawchuk 2000). Given that s. 35 recognizes the collective rights of the Métis, a clear understanding of what constitutes membership in that collectivity is not merely an academic exercise. That governments could (and indeed have) used this as an excuse for inaction and failure to negotiate with the Métis has been recognized by the courts themselves, as evidenced by the decisions related to the harvesting rights case R. v. Powley.6 As a result, the Métis have traditionally been excluded from many of the legal protections and government policies, programs, services, and benefits that are extended to First Nations and Inuit (Teillet 2009a; Stevenson 2002). Yet despite this uneven playing field relative to other Aboriginal peoples in Canada, the Métis have not disappeared from the socio-political fabric of the country. To the contrary, given the relatively short duration of the Métis rights movement in Canada, their achievements to date have been impressive. As summed up by Gary Lepinski, Presi-

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dent of the Métis Nation of Ontario, “It’s quite remarkable when we think of how far we’ve come” (2009, interview). After the execution of Riel, a renewed political awareness amongst the Métis began to assert itself from the 1930s onward, with the formation of new organizations and associations in provinces across Western Canada (Peterson and Brown 1985; Madden 2008; Saunders, 2013). A pinnacle achievement in these attempts to keep their culture and quest for self-determination alive came in 1982, with the inclusion of Métis under the definition of “Aboriginal peoples of Canada” in section 35(2) of the Constitution Act, 1982 (Weinstein, 2007).7 And while, as Teillet (2009a) reminds us, the promise of these s.35 rights has yet to fully materialize in practice, in the intervening years this constitutional recognition has opened the door to a growing body of Métis-specific case law in the areas of harvesting rights, land claims, and self-government. Although the translation of these court victories into policy outcomes remains an ongoing challenge for Métis governments, there is an undeniable sense that “there is a power now to the Métis Nation that is beyond anything we could imagine” (Chartrand 2009, interview). In provinces from British Columbia to Ontario, Métis organizations are involved in a growing array of program and service delivery, including such areas as child and family services, housing, education, health, justice, and labour market training (Madden, Graham, and Wilson 2005; Madden 2008). As witnessed by the mmf’s Harvesting Initiative in Manitoba, the Métis are also increasingly asserting their right to self-government through the establishment of their own laws, mechanisms, and processes to govern their constitutionally-recognized rights (Saunders 2011; Chartrand 2008). Recent initiatives at the federal level, such as the protocol signed between the Métis National Council (mnc) and the Minister of Aboriginal Affairs in September 2008 (and renewed in 2013), are also promising. This protocol established a bilateral process between the Métis Nation and Canada to examine such issues as lands and resources, rights, governance, health, justice, and economic development. The comprehensive, nation-tonation tone of the protocol, which commits both parties to the development of a “new relationship … in order to improve the quality of life outcomes for Métis people” (Métis National Council 2008, 2), reflects, at least symbolically, the recognition by the Crown that the Métis people, and their representative governments, constitute an integral part of the Canadian political framework (Dubois and Saunders 2013).

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What accounts for the tenacity of the Métis, and their ability to position themselves as effective political agents negotiating the contours of federalism in Canada? As Joe Sawchuk writes, “a colonized people will often find themselves working within parameters dictated by the dominant society” (n.d., 5). In the case of the Métis, the contested portrayals of Louis Riel that have been carried forward since his death, and that find their expression in our country’s popular culture, stands as a compelling explanatory factor. Indeed, it can be argued that the Métis, both in terms of how they see themselves politically and the image which they themselves seek to project, reflect the symbolism and the evolving representation of Riel himself. This suggests that the use of Riel’s iconography by the political leadership of the Métis is and has been purposely shifted to accommodate the evolving political realities of the Métis people. In exploring this argument John Morrisseau, an activist in the Métis nationalist movement in the post-war years who later served as president of the Manitoba Métis Federation, recounts how, after the failed resistance in 1885 and the execution of Riel, the Métis essentially became “non-persons” (2009, interview). The dominant view of Riel as a traitor that was perpetuated by English Canada was embedded in the collective conscience of the Métis people. As he articulates, not only was Riel “guilty” of treason, but the entire Métis Nation was symbolically convicted of the same charge. As a result, while Métis communities and cultural societies quietly worked to preserve their history, traditions, and political objectives, the climate of fear, disgrace, and racism that was enforced upon the Métis by the dominant society led many to deny their heritage and “go underground.”8 Seemingly erased from both public and government recognition, throughout this dark period of the Métis Diaspora Riel was the only Métis-specific icon that persisted in the public’s mind (Weinstein 2007; 2009, interview). While the Métis themselves appeared relegated to a footnote in history, Riel, the literal and symbolic leader of the Métis Nation, endured. With few other tools at their disposal, the Métis in Canada needed a martyr and messianic symbol on which to focus their collective will to survive. “As Métis we always knew that what the rest of Canada was saying about Louis Riel was wrong – what has kept us going as a people through many dark years was the need to clear his name, and by extension, the Métis people” (Morrisseau 2009, interview). In this way, the ambiguities contained within the depictions of Riel have served as a useful rallying point for Métis organizations to unite their

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people, and to mobilize them into political action. Every nationalist group needs to find a way of keeping its movement alive, explains Al Benoit, Political Advisor to President Chartrand. For the Métis, “we have used the controversies surrounding Riel, and Canada’s attacks on our belief system, to build our nation” (2009, interview). That Riel willingly sacrificed his life for his people – an act that few, if any, leaders in Canada can claim – remains a source of pride for the Métis, and one that Métis leaders have purposefully drawn on in building support amongst their people (Lepinski 2009, interview; Dumont 2009, interview). Heroes must be cut down in their prime, and in this Riel was aided by the singular determination of his nemesis, Sir John A. Macdonald (Morton 1992). The irony of this is not lost on the Métis. As President Chartrand reminds us, “the interesting thing about Louis Riel is that Canada turned him into a martyr by wrongfully hanging him. They created him, the myth of Riel, without even realizing it. What they didn’t anticipate was that we’d use this mythology to our advantage” (2009, interview). Several of those interviewed for this project attested to the manner in which this strategic usage of Riel’s image reflects both the political reality faced by the Métis in Canada, and what Riel himself would undoubtedly have wanted for his people. Reflecting the reality of being Canada’s “forgotten people,” President Lepinski contends that “our options (in terms of moving our political agenda forward) aren’t as open as the First Nations ... We’ve had to find our own way” (2009, interview). This assessment was echoed by both Bruce Dumont, the President of the Métis Nation British Columbia, and Clément Chartier, head of the Métis National Council. There are different ways of “getting in the door,” explained Dumont. For the Métis, “much of what we do is based on the example of Riel and the lessons that he taught us” (Dumont 2009, interview). For President Chartier, there was “no question” that Riel would serve as the impetus for political action on the part of the Métis leadership. “If we didn’t use Riel, and the wrongs that were done to him, he would have sacrificed his life for nothing” (2009, interview). That the contemporary Métis leadership in Canada sees its work as the direct continuation of Riel’s life and struggles is indisputable. For them, Riel is synonymous with the Métis people and their ongoing quest for self-determination. He is, President Chartrand has stated, the “embodiment of who we are as a people, as a Nation” (2009, interview). In mobilizing their people around the martyrdom of Riel, the

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Métis have been aided by the simple fact that,“while the First Nations all had their own leaders, they weren’t united under one central figurehead like the Métis were under Riel” (Teillet 2009b, interview). This has allowed the Métis leadership to focus their political messaging around a single icon and the issues that he fought for. Through constant references to Riel and his struggles on behalf of all Métis people in speeches, announcements, and other communications, contemporary leaders impress upon their members the fact that the work begun by Riel over 140 years ago remains unfinished.9 While leaders draw on the imagery and legacy of Riel to propel the Métis rights movement forward amongst their own people, they have also effectively used his iconography as a strategic tool in their dealings with Crown actors. Métis leaders remind Ottawa that not only was Riel wronged, but that he was unjustly convicted and executed by the very government with which the Métis negotiated the province of Manitoba’s entry into Confederation. That Riel stands in contrast to other Aboriginal leaders in this regard is a factor that the Métis take pride in, and that they have used to their advantage. In their estimation, Louis Riel’s role in founding the province of Manitoba “provides us with a legitimacy that other Aboriginal groups, namely the First Nations, don’t have” (Weinstein 2009, interview). Riel rejected both national independence for the Métis as well as amalgamation with the United States in favour of Confederation; indeed, he ran for and was elected three times to the House of Commons. Much of the “rehabilitation” of Riel’s image by mainstream Canada is attributable to the efforts on the part of the Métis Nation to provide a more accurate and balanced view of the historical record. Métis leader Bruce Dumont describes it this way: We press upon governments the fact that we are different from other Aboriginal governments largely because of the legacy of Riel. He was a responsible and reasonable leader who wanted to work with Canada to protect minority rights and the rights of the Métis, through negotiation, petitions and other lawful means. What many forget is that military action was only the last resort, when the government failed to negotiate with us and uphold their own commitments to the Métis people. (Dumont 2009, interview) That Riel’s people have been successful in transforming the collective shame imposed upon them by the dominant culture is evident in the

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emerging Métis pride movement across the historic homeland. For the first half of the twentieth century, only a handful of Riel’s most loyal followers would gather on the anniversary of his execution, November 16, to honour their friend and leader. Today, hundreds attend Louis Riel commemorations in locations stretching from British Columbia to Ontario; included in the official delegations are not only Métis, but also provincial and federal governments, the rcmp, and representatives of the Crown. At the same time, the prominent displays of symbols of the Métis Nation – from posters of Riel, to Métis flags and sashes – are also indicative of “how our people are connecting with their culture, with their history and with each other. This, I think, is Riel’s greatest legacy. He brought us together, he united us as one people under one leader. He is, and always will be, the symbol of our Nation” (Chartrand 2009, interview). An even more striking example of the ways in which Métis organizations have used the shifting images of Riel to position themselves politically is contained in the debates surrounding the statues erected in his honour in Saskatchewan and Manitoba (Mattes, 1998; Kaye, 1997). As Osborne (2002) contends, “Monuments, like the history of which they are a part, become sites of contestation and the construction of new values” (308). The original portrayals of Riel which were unveiled in Regina in 1968 and in Winnipeg in 1971, both of which were done without the involvement of the respective Métis communities, were met with a less than favourable response from the Métis leadership. The Winnipeg statue in particular, which depicted Riel as a naked and tormented soul of questionable mental capacity, was widely condemned by the Manitoba Métis Federation as racist and offensive.10 In the mid-1980s, the mmf began a campaign to have the original sculpture replaced with a statesman-like image more in line with Riel’s role as the founding father of Manitoba. The new statue, which was erected in 1996, depicts Riel in a suit and moccasins holding a scroll representing the Manitoba Act of 1870. The ability of the Métis community and their political representatives to have final say over the particular image of Riel that would be displayed, and their success in convincing the provincial government of their right to do so, represented a significant victory for the mmf. Not only did it allow the Métis to re-frame the public presentation of Riel in a way more respectful of Métis culture and history, but it also demonstrated their emerging strength as influential political actors in the province and the country.

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The contestation over who owns the image of Louis Riel, as well as the challenge presented by reconciling the individual with the nationalist movement that he led, has also been evident in the debates surrounding the issue of exoneration. Since the 1980s there have been over a dozen private members bills introduced in Parliament seeking to pardon or exonerate Riel (Sawchuk, n.d.). As Jean Teillet (2009b, interview) explains, for some members of the Riel family, who had grown up “feeling as if they had a brand on their head because of Riel,” exoneration was seen as a way of removing the stain on the family name. However, for subsequent generations of Riels, that shame no longer exists. As a representative of this younger, more empowered generation, Teillet views the act of pardon as reflecting the self-serving interests of others, rather than the wishes of the Métis people. “For us, the government would just be pardoning itself; it would be re-writing history through legislation” (2009b, interview). The reaction of the Métis community to cbc Newsworld’s televised “re-trial” of Louis Riel, in October 2003, was similarly telling. Designed on cbc’s part as a “public gesture of reconciliation,” for the Métis it was seen as yet another attempt by the colonizing powers to erroneously judge Riel and, by extension, the Métis Nation itself. To no one’s surprise, the presiding judge found Riel “innocent” of treason, a verdict which led Riel’s legal counsel to exclaim that “justice is finally done for Louis Riel.” At the conclusion of the retrial, Métis lawyer Jason Madden declared, “well fine, the stunt is done, the trial is done, and this bunch of white guys have been pursuing their agenda, but the Métis people are still here and it’s still unfinished business for Canada, largely” (quoted in Strange 2006, 212). The sentiments expressed by Teillet and Madden are also widely shared by the contemporary Métis leadership in Canada. A pardon, Clément Chartier states, “would only be a whitewash of history. Our position is, Riel did nothing wrong, so why would we pardon him?” (Chartier 2009, interview). The fear with a pardon, he adds, is that it could deflect attention from other issues confronting the Métis and their full recognition by provincial and federal governments as a rights-bearing community. If Canadians truly want to address the injustices perpetuated against Riel, Chartier insists, they should urge governments to honorably deal with what he fought and died for: namely, the recognition, rights, and land owed to the Métis. The wrongful conviction of Riel thus stands as testimony for what still needs to be done. As President Chartier asserts, “give us our 1.4 mil-

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lion acres of land (that was promised, but not delivered, to the Métis under the terms of the Manitoba Act, 1870) instead of a pardon” (2009, interview). CONCLUSION

Given the status of Riel in Canadian popular culture it is clear that the Métis “must fight to keep him as their own” (Sawchuk n.d. 12). The transformation of Riel into a Canadian icon suggests that the Métis project has been completed, a claim that the Métis themselves widely dispute. Thus, while the imagery of Riel as a national folk hero provides opportunities for Métis leaders to more widely share his accomplishments with others, there remains the fear that the dialogue over what Riel represents distracts governments and non-Métis Canadians from outstanding Métis grievances. In other words, the sanitization of Riel, and the popularization of his image in Canadian culture, can serve as a diversion from genuine acknowledgement of the cause he died defending. As President Lepinski of the Métis Nation of Ontario describes it, “it’s only natural for Canadians to look at Riel and see something of themselves in him. However, it does make it more incumbent on Métis leadership to make sure that Riel is not lost to our people, that he is not diluted. That’s why educating our people about Riel and our history remains an important part of our day to day work” (2009, interview). For the Métis Nation in Canada, the legacy of Riel endures because contemporary leaders see him as their leader, and his legacy as the inspiration that drives them forward (Weinstein 2009). They remain motivated to continue their efforts to ensure that Riel, and the issues that he sacrificed his life for, are not forgotten. “We are doing the same thing that Riel did, just in a different context. What Riel picked up and ran with, hasn’t been completed. We still have a long way to go” (Chartier 2009, interview). Jean Teillet offers a similar assessment. “Riel,” she argues, “didn’t do what he did for himself. Therefore, until the Métis people are living in a good space, until we are no longer marginalized and impoverished, Riel’s work has not been accomplished. Until then, you don’t give up your martyr” (Teillet 2009b, interview). As Canadians we are haunted still by Riel’s ghost: “he has become a Canadian legend, if not the Canadian legend. He is our Hamlet, the personification of the great themes in our history” (Stanley 1988, 56).

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That Métis leaders across the country have effectively used the contested images of Riel to their advantage, both as an internal rallying point for the mobilization of their people, and externally to impress upon governments the need for a more just settlement with Canada’s other Aboriginal peoples, is clear. While some have suggested that perhaps the time has come for the Métis to move beyond Riel and focus on contemporary heroes of the Métis nationalist movement in Canada, it remains disputable whether this is something that they are prepared to do (Doucette 2009, interview). Louis Riel, and the sentiments that he continues to evoke to this day, remains for the Métis the “Rosetta Stone to translate our rights and aspirations into reality” (Benoit 2009, interview). In the absence of a full and true recognition of the Métis as a rightsbearing Aboriginal people, the Métis will continue to draw inspiration from the legacy of Riel. In the meantime, Métis leaders will remain vigilant to ensure that the image and meaning of Riel is properly managed, to ensure that his death was not in vain. The rightful place of the Métis Nation within Canada is the cause to which Riel devoted, and eventually gave, his life. As Riel himself stated, “I am more convinced everyday that without a single exception I did right ... and I have always believed that, as I have acted honestly, the time will come when the people of Canada will see and acknowledge it” (Manitoba Métis Federation, n.d.). Until that day comes, Riel’s legacy will undoubtedly continue to shape and inspire the work of Métis peoples and leaders everywhere.

NOTES

1 Contemporary Métis organizations in Canada exist from British Columbia to Ontario, and include the Métis Nation British Columbia (mnbc), the Métis Nation of Alberta (mna), the Métis Nation-Saskatchewan (mn-s), the Manitoba Métis Federation (mmf), and the Métis Nation of Ontario (mno). A national body, the Métis National Council (mnc), serves as the umbrella organization of these various provincial groups and represents the Métis Nation at the national and international levels. 2 That Riel remains a controversial figure to this day was demonstrated by the closing comments of Justice Thomas Berger during cbc Newsworld’s dramatic “re-trial” of Louis Riel in 2002. As Justice Berger intoned to the audience, “was Louis Riel a traitor? Is Louis Riel a traitor? It’s up to you decide” (see Strange, 2006).

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3 In his address to the Annual Assembly of the Métis National Council, in November 2009, the Honourable Chuck Strahl, former minister of Indian Affairs and federal interlocutor for the Métis, spoke of the picture of Louis Riel that used to adorn the caucus room of the Canadian Alliance in the House of Commons. 4 As Jean Teillet (2007) explains, when Canada was created in 1867, s. 91(24) of the BNA Act gave jurisdiction to the federal government for “Indians, and Land reserved for the Indians,” to ensure that they would be protected at the national level and not be at the mercy of the provincial governments. This fiduciary responsibility was later extended to the Inuit as well. In January 2013, the Federal Court of Canada ruled in Daniels et. al. v. Canada that Métis are included as Indians within the meaning of s. 91(24), a decision that was subsequently upheld a year later by the Federal Court of Appeal. At the time of writing, the federal government has not stated whether it intends to seek leave to appeal the Daniels decision to the Supreme Court of Canada. 5 At the same time, there is inconsistency with regard to how the federal government approaches the Métis across Canada. Those Métis residing north of the 60th parallel in the Yukon and the Northwest Territories are extended the same benefits as First Nations and Inuit, while those south of this boundary are not. 6 R. v. Powley was a landmark Supreme Court of Canada decision that recognized the Métis right to harvest. See R. v. Powley. 2003. SCC43 [2003], 2 S.C.R. 207, September 19. 7 Weinstein (2007) offers a fascinating and firsthand account of these events and the political debates and manoeuvrings that occurred throughout this seminal period in Canada’s constitutional history. 8 John Morrisseau described to me the climate of fear that existed in the decades after Louis Riel’s execution in 1885. When he worked as an organizer for the mmf in the 1960s, Métis people would come up to him and say, “you’ve been publicly talking about the Métis; you can’t do that, they’ll come and kill us” (2009, interview). 9 As a direct witness to numerous Métis political events, cultural activities, and conferences over the years, I have always been struck by the images of Riel that are a constant presence at these occasions. His picture adorns everything from coffee mugs to t-shirts, and the speeches of political leaders are frequently littered with references to Riel and the resistances at Red River and Batoche that he led on behalf of the Métis people. 10 The previous statue in Winnipeg was also surrounded by pillars that effectively blocked it from view. My thanks to Shauna Wilton for pointing this out.

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Braz, Albert. 2003. The False Traitor: Louis Riel in Canadian Culture. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Brown, Jennifer. 2002. “The Métis: Genesis and Rebirth.” In Native People, Native Lands: Canadian Indians, Inuit and Métis, edited by Bruce Alden Cox, 136–47. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. cbc News. 2008. “Louis Riel Poems Return to Manitoba.” November 27. Chartrand, Larry. 2004. “The Definition of Métis Peoples in Section 35(2) of the Constitution Act, 1982.” Saskatchewan Law Review 67: 209–33. – 2008. “‘We Rise Again’: Métis Traditional Governance and the Claim to Métis Self-Government.” In Aboriginal Self-Government in Canada, edited by Yale Belanger, 145–57. Saskatoon: Purich Publishing Ltd. Dubois, Janique and Kelly Saunders. 2013. “Just Do It!” Carving out a Space for the Métis in Canadian Federalism.” Canadian Journal of Political Science 46 (1): 187–214. Frances, Daniel. 1997. National Dreams: Myth, Memory and Canadian History. Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press. Grammond, Sebastien. n.d. “Finding Métis Communities.” Accessed 10 February 2011. http://www.uottawa.divex.ca. Granatstein, J.L. 1998. Who Killed Canadian History? Toronto: Harper Collins. Goulet, George. 1999. The Trial of Louis Riel: Justice and Mercy Denied. Calgary: Tellwell Publishing. Isaac, Thomas 2004. Aboriginal Case Law: Commentary, Cases and Materials. Third edition. Saskatoon: Purich Publishing Ltd. Kaye, Frances W. 1997. “Any Important Form: Louis Riel in Sculpture.” Prairie Forum 22 (1): 103–33. Lambert, Steve. 2009. “Riel’s Poems Echo through Time: Métis Leader’s Writings While Awaiting Hangman in 1885 Are Finding an Audience for First Time.” The Toronto Star, February 17. Lischke, Ute and David McNab. 2007. The Long Journey of a Forgotten People: Métis Identities & Family Histories. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier Press. Madden, Jason. 2008. “The Métis Nation’s Self-Government Agenda: Issues and Options for the Future.” In Métis-Crown Relations: Rights, Identity, Jurisdiction and Governance, edited by Frederica Wilson and Melanie Mallet, 323–89. Toronto: Irwin Law Inc. Madden, Jason, John Graham, and Jake Wilson. 2005. “Exploring Options for Métis Governance in the 21st Century.” Ottawa: Institute on Governance. Accessed January 2011. http://www.iog.ca.

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Magnet, J.E. 2003. “Who Are the Aboriginal People of Canada?” In Aboriginal Rights Litigation, edited by J. Magnet and D. Dorey, 23–91. Markham: LexisNexis Canada Inc. Manitoba Métis Federation. n.d. “Louis Riel Quotes.” Accessed 19 March 2011. http://www.mmf.mb.ca. Mattes, Catherine. 1998. “Whose Hero? Images of Louis Riel in Contemporary Art and Métis Nationhood.” Unpublished MA thesis, Concordia University. Métis National Council. 2008. “Métis Nation Protocol,” September 5. Accessed 20 December 2010. http://www.metisnation.ca. Miller, J.R. 1988. “From Riel to the Métis.” Canadian Historical Review 69 (1): 1–20. Moore, Mavor. 2002. “Haunted by Riel.” In Images of Louis Riel in Canadian Culture, edited by Ramon Hathorn and Patrick Holland, 411–16. Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press. Morton, Desmond. 1992. “Reflections on the Image of Louis Riel a Century After.” In Images of Louis Riel in Canadian Culture, edited by Ramon Hathorn and Patrick Holland, 47–62. Lewiston: the Edwin Mellen Press. Nichols, Rob. 2003. “Prospects for Justice: Resolving the Paradoxes of Métis Constitutional Rights.” Canadian Journal of Native Studies 23: 91–111. Osborne, Brian S. 2002. “Corporeal Politics and the Body Politic: the RePresentation of Louis Riel in Canadian Identity.” International Journal of Heritage Studies 8 (4): 303–22. Owram, Douglas. 1982. “The Myth of Louis Riel.” Canadian Historical Review 63 (3): 315–36. Peterson, Jacqueline and Jennifer Brown. 1985. The New Peoples: Being and Becoming Métis in North America. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press. Reid, Jennifer. 2008. Louis Riel and the Creation of Modern Canada. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Saul, John Ralston. 2008. A Fair Country: Telling Truths About Canada. Toronto: Penguin Group. Saunders, Kelly. 2013. “No Other Weapon: Métis Political Organization and Governance in Canada.” In Métis in Canada: History, Identity, Law & Politics, edited by Christopher Adams, Gregg Dahl, and Ian Peach, 339–95. Edmonton: University of Alberta Press. – 2011. “The Hunt for Justice: Métis Harvesting Rights and the Pursuit of Self-Government.” Canadian Journal of Native Studies 31 (1): 161–85. Sawchuk, Joe. 2000. “Negotiating an Identity: Métis Political Organizations, the Canadian Government, and Competing Concepts of Aboriginality.” American Indian Quarterly 24 (3): 73–92.

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– n.d. “Ethnic Symbolism: Reinterpreting and Recreating the Past.” Unpublished paper. Sealey, Bruce and Antoine Lussier. 1975. The Métis: Canada’s Forgotten People. Winnipeg: Pemmican Publications. Stanley, George F. 1988. “The Last Word on Louis Riel – the Man of Several Faces.” In Louis Riel: Selected Readings, edited by Hartwell Bowsfield, 42–60. Toronto: Copp Clark. Stevenson, Mark. 2002. “Section 91(24) and Canada’s Legislative Jurisdiction with Respect to the Métis.” Indigenous Law Journal 1 (Spring): 237–62. Strange, C. 2006. “Hybrid History and the Retrial of the Painful Past.” Crime, Media, Culture 2 (2): 197–215. Swainson, Donald. 1980. “Rieliana and the Structure of Canadian History.” Journal of Popular Culture 14 (2): 286–97. Teillet, Jean. 2007. “The Winds of Change: Métis Rights after Powley, Taku and Haida.” In The Long Journey of a Forgotten People: Métis Identities and Family Histories, edited by Ute Lischke and David McNab, 55–78. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier Press. – 2009a. “Métis Law Summary.” http://www.pstlaw.ca/resources. Weinstein, John. 2007. Quiet Revolution West: The Rebirth of Métis Nationalism. Calgary: Fifth House Publishers. INTERVIEWS

Benoit, Al. 2009. Political Advisor to President David Chartrand, August 20. Chartrand, David. 2009. President, Manitoba Métis Federation (mmf), December 13. Chartier, Clément. 2009. President, Métis National Council (mnc), September 12. Doucette, Robert. 2009. President, Métis Nation Saskatchewan, November 21. Dumont, Bruce. 2009. President, Métis Nation British Columbia (mnbc), December 8. Lepinski, Gary. 2009. President, Métis Nation Ontario (mno), December 11. Morrisseau, John. 2009. Métis Elder and former President of the mmf, November 21. Teillet, Jean. 2009b. Métis Lawyer and Great Grand-Niece of Louis Riel, August 27. Weinstein, John. 2009. Political Advisor to President Clément Chartier, November 22.

Introduction

PART T WO

Negotiating the Nation-State

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preface

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Introduction

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6 Imagining the Nation with The Royal Canadian Air Farce DA N I E L L E J . D E V E AU

The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (cbc) is mandated to provide distinctive programming of national and regional interest. As such, the continued existence of this service is dependent upon its ability to insert itself into national narratives related to a broader understanding of Canadian democracy and community. The cbc has engaged Canadians through symbols of national identity in an attempt to legitimate its presence in a competitive media environment. As the purveyors of certain Canadian symbols, the segments and examples of Canadiana that are emphasized through the cbc’s English programming reflect a hopeful acknowledgment of the broadcaster’s political and cultural importance at a time when its popularity amongst Canadian audiences is clearly in question. Canada has a knack for producing comedians (along with hockey players and popular musicians) for both national and international markets (Rasporich 2006). While a limited Canadian market requires that a majority of comics must pursue careers south of the border, the cbc has consistently produced popular sketch comedy and news parody, especially since the early 1990s. This chapter considers one example from this tradition, the long-running and, in its hey-day, highly popular sketch comedy program Royal Canadian Air Farce (1993–2008) in relation to the production of national identity through television broadcasting. Through an analysis of this sketch comedy, I question how certain political ideologies are intertwined with discourses that legitimate the cbc in relation to its role as a producer of national identity. Thus, this chapter analyses the role that cbc programming plays in forwarding a

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celebratory attitude toward nationalistic symbolism, as well as the function of such programming in justifying the cbc’s continued existence. I consider the ways in which television programming addresses a popular imagination that is nationalist, populist, and ambivalent. As a text, humour is well suited to such a consideration. According to Beverly Rasporich, “humour is a sociocultural and grouped phenomenon, and the humorist a spokesperson for a group that shares common language, experience, attitudes and value systems” (1996, 84). In this case, there is no other genre more intrinsic to the protection of Canada’s cultural sovereignty than television comedy, as it not only requires shared cultural knowledge, but also constructs and reproduces it. C AN A D IA N I DEN T I T Y A ND T H E I M P O S S I B L E M AN DATE

Public broadcasting in Canada is historically bound to the project of nation building. From its inception, the cbc has been expected to fulfill certain responsibilities related to the provision of a national infrastructure for the dissemination of Canadian content. However, the lack of consensus on what “Canadian identity” should entail has led to a very superficial upholding of this mandate (Angus 1997). Symbols like hockey, the frozen North, Mounties, and beavers offer the visual shorthand for an imagined – if inarticulate – national project. Furthermore, the expectation that Canadians have the right to access domestically produced cultural goods is often challenged by a perceived consumer desire and preference for American popular culture. Anne MacLennan has argued, regarding the early days of network radio broadcasting, that the establishment of the cbc in fact “hastened the delivery of U.S. commercial programming to Canadian cities” (2005, 99). Specifically, the creation of a far-reaching broadcasting infrastructure, without similar developments in content production, provided the means through which American cultural products could be broadcast quickly and easily to Canadians. Additionally, television in North America has been structured almost exclusively as a commercial medium; this means that, despite being a public broadcaster, the cbc is still expected to generate advertising revenue (Beaty and Sullivan 2006). While the cbc has made a concerted effort to produce competitive programming, the broadcaster has generally failed to win a consistently high proportion of viewers compared to the Canadian audiences for American dramas. It is in the genres of variety comedy, sports, and news programming that the cbc has been most successful

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ratings-wise, with Hockey Night in Canada regularly the highest rated Canadian production on network television. It is no accident or even coincidence that such general interest programming has dominated at the perpetually under-funded broadcaster. In 1977, the crtc observed: “the cbc is caught between its mandate and its commerciality” (36). While the crtc admitted the need to sell audiences to advertisers, there was also ambiguity as to the role of the cbc as a public rather than a commercial broadcaster. If the audience is the product, what is the programming? Skeptical of this commercial framework, the crtc notes rather cynically “the cbc is vital to Canada’s survival as a cultural entity. Without that recognition it makes little sense to have international postings of diplomats or armed forces to defend something that is little more than “a geographic expression” (38). This alludes to a cultural nationalism that has often been woven into broadcasting discourse. It also draws the problem of geography into a cultural debate. Much infrastructural investment has gone into solidifying Canada’s “geographic expression.” Canada’s transportation and communication infrastructure is some of the most expansive in the world. In Canadian Television Today, Bart Beaty and Rebecca Sullivan (2006) note that this technological expansion has often been met with very limited indigenous content production, resulting in a geographic and technological nationalism. Without funding for original programming to occupy this infrastructure, the cultural value of the public broadcaster loses some of its rationale. The reliance of the cbc on news, sports, and variety comedy programming might be linked to the ability of these genres to fulfill a rather impossible broadcasting mandate on a limited budget. According to the crtc, “the 1968 Broadcasting Act refers to the cbc as our ‘national broadcasting service.’ Its mandate is to provide a broad range of programming designed to entertain and inform all Canadians. To this end the service reaches 99% of Canadian homes” (1977, 1). This is an impressive cultural guarantee, especially when one considers that the federal government has no such mandate regarding, for example, the provision of safe and accessible drinking water. The 1991 Broadcasting Act was equally dedicated to a cultural mandate: 3(1)(1) the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, as the national public broadcaster, should provide radio and television services incorporating a wide range of programming that informs, enlightens and entertains …

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(m) the programming provided by the Corporation should i) be predominantly and distinctively Canadian, ii) reflect Canada and its regions to national and regional audiences, while serving the special needs of those regions, iii) actively contribute to the flow and exchange of cultural expression … (cited in Hoskins and McFadyen 1996, 285–86) This mandate has been widely criticized as impossible to fulfill, and recommendations have been made for more specialized forms of content (Hoskins and McFadyen 1996; Denley 2006). Although sitcoms and dramas tend to attract demographically specific audiences (called “narrow-casting”), news, sports, and variety comedy are better described as derivative of this general and expansive mandate. The issue of the cbc’s mandate has been met with a seemingly endless number of reports, reviews, sub-committees, and policy papers. A recent document is the Report of the Standing Committee on Canadian Heritage, cbc/Radio Canada: Defining Distinctiveness in the Changing Media Landscape (Canada 2008), chaired by Gary Schellenberger (Conservative MP for Perth–Wellington). Not surprisingly, the report recommends that “cbc/Radio-Canada continue in its role as Canada’s public broadcaster, an institution at the center of cultural, political, social, and economic life in Canada, and a key component of Canada’s broadcasting system” (139). Programming should remain “predominantly and distinctively Canadian” and “reflect all regions of Canada” (139). The role of comedy and sports programming in the fulfillment of this mandate is treated with ambivalence in the report itself. In the chapter discussing cbc/Radio-Canada programming, content is divided into six distinct categories: dramas, documentaries, information, children’s, sports, and feature films. Comedy is discussed only in relation to drama. Of the top twenty English-language Canadian dramas and comedies (2005–06), fourteen were aired on the cbc. Of these fourteen, half were original airings or reruns of sketch comedy and another four were stand-up comedy. The report claims that this “situation” could be “remedied” with increased funding for the production of drama. Sports programming is addressed with similar ambivalence. The report notes that much debate took place as to whether or not professional sports (especially hockey) should take up so much funding and broadcast time and that respondents were very much divided: some were passionate fans of sports programming, others felt that the

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primetime prevalence of such content was detrimental to other genres. Unlike the discussions of documentaries and film, which resulted in explicit recommendations, the report’s discussion of comedy and sports offered no conclusions. Ironically, these are the very genres that fare best in the ratings competition – and in the current organization of the cbc, ratings are indeed a measurement of success. As these genres are stretched to fulfill a larger and more complex, symbolic role – the design of “what is Canadian” – the underlying ideological assumptions are laid bare. FUN NY B E C AU S E I T ’ S C A N A D I A N ?

Television, in particular the cbc, has been framed as a vital force for the dissemination of a nationalist experience in Canada; humour, specifically, Rasporich suggests, “in the national vein … acts like a community glue; it brings the country together in the country’s interest” (1996, 85). This supports the general goal of cultural nationalism in broadcasting, which is “to raise the stature of television by ensuring that it is provided with content that is more in keeping with the aesthetic and nationalist values of Canada” (Beaty and Sullivan 2006, 18). How we define “aesthetic values of Canada” is generally elusive and frequently contradictory. “Strategies of distinction rather than definition,” as Beaty and Sullivan put it, leave us with characters like sctv’s Bob and Doug McKenzie, who come to be valued aesthetically mostly by accident (18). When Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas brought Bob and Doug McKenzie to televisions across the country, they proved that there are popular rewards for playing to a Canadian sensibility.1 They stumbled upon a hidden desire to see a national identity represented in the mass media. But cases such as the McKenzies emphasize the complexity of refitting the cbc to be appreciable. They draw upon the most basic of cultural stereotypes, and the extent to which they contribute to the production of national identity is questionable – even Moranis and Thomas were at a loss to explain the mass appeal of their glib representation of “Canadian content.” In the early 1990s, the genre of political satire really took off on the cbc. In 1993, the popular radio show The Royal Canadian Air Farce made the transition to primetime television and several members of the cast of CODCO moved to Halifax and launched This Hour Has 22 Minutes and extended their political satire to include a critique of the mainstream media. Air Farce is a hybrid genre of current affairs and va-

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riety in that it parodies a range of variety type programming such as musical performances, award shows, and interviews, but also focuses on major current political and cultural issues. The sketches also mock typically Canadian “themes” such as regionalism and Tim Horton’s coffee shops. Of 22 Minutes, Stephen Cole claims, “in the early ’90s Canada finally caught up to Newfoundland” (2002, 218). Through its immense popularity, politicians gradually came to accept both Air Farce and 22 Minutes as necessary stops in any media relations tour. In fact, in Comedy Gold, Rick Mercer smugly gives an account of his having scored an interview with Jean Chrétien at a time when the prime minister was not speaking to the press. When members of the media react negatively upon learning that Mercer will receive a sit-down with such a high ranking political figure and question his even being allowed into the PM’s office, Mercer claims to have responded, “actually … he’s meeting me at a Harvey’s, on the arse end of Ottawa. That’s where I wanted to do it.” That politicians are so willing to engage in primetime parodies is frequently pitched as a source of national pride; however, this perspective often overlooks the problematic side of this issue. In the case of the Mercer interview, the fact that Chrétien was avoiding explaining his leadership and his policies to the mainstream media, and spent one of the most important political days of the year in a Harvey’s hiding out with a comedian, is seldom critically interrogated. Although participation in popular parodies seems to have regressed into a tool for politicians to sell their images to a popular audience, during the ’90s Air Farce and 22 Minutes certainly proved that they could exert substantial media power. In Canadian cultural production, political satire has long held a popular and valued position. In fact, it is often incorporated into nostalgic analyses of Canadian culture as distinct from that of the United States. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, for example, airs prime-time shows that openly ridicule the network and employs comedian Rick Mercer in the production of serious programming such as documentaries and political commentaries. Canadian politicians willingly participate in mock interviews and sketch routines that make fun of their own actions, political ideals, and media campaigns. The popularity of such satire is impressive – especially given the relative marginality of other Canadian televisual productions. However, this very popularity and relevance also proves problematic for cultural nationalists who would like to see a public television service that upholds many of the standards set by cbc Radio One programming.

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This can result in some awkward analyses: “cbc has pioneered this [the comedy/variety] genre with successful shows, often involving political satire, such as The Royal Air Farce, Boys in the Hall, and This Week has 22 Minutes. Again, private broadcasters’ reluctance to air controversial programs makes it unlikely they would fill the void if there were no cbc” (Hoskins, McFadyen, & Finn 2001, 23). Notably, the authors did not get a single series title right: The Royal canadian Air Farce, kids in the Hall, and This hour Has 22 Minutes. This points to a central problem faced by the cbc: the disparity between official support of the broadcaster and unofficial lack of interest in much of its programming. This is not simply a characteristic of cultural elites. A caption in a satirical cartoon featured in Morris Wolfe’s Jolts (1985) makes a similar point; it depicts an average looking husband declaring to his average looking wife: “I’m totally supportive of cbc’s mandate to safeguard, enrich and strengthen the cultural, political and economic fabric of Canada … I just don’t want to watch them do it!” (Carter, Toronto Star). Yet, sketch comedy has succeeded where more “highbrow” shows have not. The cbc, along with some of its most recognizable television personas, has framed Canadian humour as being quintessentially ironic and satirical. The documentary Comedy Gold (2005) privileges political satire as being distinctly Canadian. For example, Rick Mercer suggests that “Canadians definitely are more accepting of political satire [than Americans]. It’s always existed in Canada, and also it’s always been mainstream.” We are allowed to laugh at our government, our politicians, and our media – so the theory goes – and this makes our comedic identity special, distinct, perhaps even better than our neighbours to the south. It is a nice narrative, but one largely based in myth. In her recent analysis of Canadian news parody, Zoë Druick (2008) has found that Canadian political satire actually lacks much of the critical bite that characterizes American productions like The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. In her estimation, through news parodies on the cbc, we (the audience) are not really laughing at authority; we are simply being authorized to laugh. The cast of Air Farce certainly appeared to consider themselves cultural critics. As founding member Luba Goy suggests, “Roger Abbott always says that ‘satire is to comfort the afflicted, and to afflict the comfortable.’ You know, and that’s what we do” (Comedy Gold). The group afflicted the nation to such popular acclaim that by the late ’90s high profile politicians could be expected to appear regularly on

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their program. Participating in self-mockery became an easy method for public figures to humanize themselves in the eyes of constituent viewers/voters. Don Ferguson explains that the joys of working with the likes of Preston Manning and Jean Chrétien quickly lost its charm as the actors realized their work as political satirists was being undermined: “We kinda woke up one day and said, ‘you know, we’re being had here.’ We didn’t want to become a vehicle for politicians to promote themselves” (Comedy Gold). In order to protect an oppositional stance the troupe decided to stick to parodying politicians rather than featuring them. Although its popularity was waning in its final years, Air Farce has made immense contributions to the national imagination: the brute symbolic tropes out of which daily conversations about Canadian popular culture are constructed. Its annual New Year’s special – and its chicken cannon – frequently garnered high ratings. The final show of the series, the 2008 New Year’s special Final Flight, drew 1,523,000 viewers (bbm Nielsen 2008). While the idea of a humorous, critical force featured on a national broadcaster is appealing, the reality of Air Farce programming is rather less impressive. Much of its engagement with cultural symbolism is not particularly oppositional.2 Consider the recurring sketch “A Canadian Moment.” This broad imitation of daily life in Canada takes place in a Tim Horton’s-esque coffee shop. Don Ferguson, Luba Goy, and Roger Abbott don working class accents, say things like “aboot” and “eh,” and make common-sense quips about the major issues of the day. For example, in the 31 October 2003 sketch, Goy jokes about giving out Air Canada stock instead of Halloween candy because it’s cheaper, and Abbott expresses relief about a government ban on cloning because now we won’t need to worry about the creation of another Don Cherry. The mockery is gentle, especially considering that Air Canada and Don Cherry exist as part of the same program of cultural nationalism that justifies and sustains shows like Air Farce. In fact, Air Farce and Hockey Night in Canada are engaged in a constant relation of intertextual exchange – hockey is a regular sketch theme, Ron MacLean made a guest appearance on the final New Year’s special (firing the chicken canon at a picture of his Coach’s Corner co-host Don Cherry), and Hockey Night in Canada is broadcast out of the “Air Farce Theatre.” During the Final Flight chicken canon sketch, cbc is also made a target. As Colonel Stacy (Don Ferguson) explains, cbc is nominated “for losing the Hockey Night in Canada theme, and other bone-headed programming choices.” The implication is that the cancellation of Air Farce is one such poor decision.

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The Final Flight edition of “A Canadian Moment” is similarly selfreferential. While discussing their dismay at having the coffee shop shut-down, Al (Ferguson) exclaims to Vera (Goy) and Sam (Abbott), “well the coffee’s weak, the donuts stale, and the riff-raff they let in here ... I love this place!” Dave Broadfoot has a cameo as the shop owner who is about to retire to his log cabin in Kicking Horse Pass, and Sam concludes the sketch with the observation, “Ya know, I don’t care what anybody says, we’re going to miss this place.” Throughout the sketch, the Air Farce troop are engaging in a sort of referential nostalgia. The sketch is built around facile references to themselves, the cbc, and popular symbols of “Canadianness” like coffee, donuts, beavers, and maple leafs. Following the cancellation of the program, the coffee shop background was put on display in the lobby of cbc Toronto. The donuts are indeed stale – crumbling and falling apart, the set is tired and old; to the right, a plaque boasts of the show’s achievements: “Air Farce was a pioneering comedy show on cbc: the first of our political satire programs, it was also the first Canadian tv comedy series to notch over a million viewers every week on the Nielsen People Meters, paving the way for other prime time hits such as This Hour Has 22 Minutes and The Rick Mercer Report.” The celebration of programming by the cbc is critically ambivalent – even when the satire (like the coffee) is weak it ought to be loved in spite of itself. It is, in many respects, this weakness that protects the broadcaster from cultural criticism. Cultural nationalists, engaged as they are in writing critically about the value of public broadcasting, must be sparing and gentle in their criticism of the cbc, lest such a critique be used to justify the institution’s demise. Notably, Air Farce could not, in the end, be sustained through the mere parody of nationalist symbols. CONCLUSION

In this chapter, I’ve argued that the cbc strives to legitimate its own existence and function as an engine of Canadian culture and nationalist pride through a patterned mobilization of particular symbols and tropes. Although the conflation of Canadianness and the cbc may aim to symbolically position the institution as crucial to Canada, it does so while ignoring the reality of its political and economic marginality. With a limited number of possible outlets to express or articulate its usefulness, the cbc’s attempts at self-legitimation through

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broad, comedic programming is conducted chiefly on symbolic grounds and is consequently met with some fairly standard conflicts and complications, including marked popular ambivalence towards its programming which frames the broadcaster as essential to national identity through the overly nostalgic use of facile cultural references. This engagement with the construction of national identity draws upon social and cultural norms that audiences, by their very consumption of cbc programming, are expected to be familiar with. According to Ian Angus, “the feeling of belonging to a group, of having this feeling in common with other members of the group, is the core of national identity. In general, a feeling of belonging to, or identifying with, a socially defined form of human organization may be called a ‘social identity’” (1997, 11). In essence, the social identity that the broadcaster taps into as an attempt to attract large audiences is being conflated with the political ideologies that define the cbc’s role in relation to the production of the nation-state and the establishment of material links between English speaking Canadian identity and the public broadcaster. The incongruity of such a conflation can be perceived in the sketch comedy that makes up much of the broadcaster’s most popular programming. For example, Air Farce, 22 Minutes, and The Rick Mercer Report have all taken aim at the typically Canadian “Heritage Minute” series, also broadcast on the cbc (Rukszto 2005). This referentiality, aimed internally at the broadcaster itself, draws attention to the ambivalence of the nation-building mandate of the cbc. It is not surprising that so many comedians have taken the obvious, symbolic tropes of programs such as the “Heritage Minutes” and rendered them absurd through parody. These symbolic oversimplifications, intended to reproduce social identity, are very much at play in Air Farce sketches such as “A Canadian Moment,” which draws heavily upon obvious and stereotypical cultural signifiers with little satirical or political bite.

NOTES

1 Notably, SCTV was not a product of the CBC but was originally aired on Global, a private broadcaster. The Bob and Doug McKenzie characters were developed as a critique of Canadian content regulations after Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas were asked to add a few minutes of distinctive Canadian programming to the show.

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2 In terms of satirical programming, This Hour Has Seven Days (1964–66) remains the hallmark of counter-cultural Canadian current affairs programming. The popular show was a take on a current affairs programme with a mixture of interviews and comical sketches intended to fill the blind-spots in the Canadian media and act as a soapbox for political criticism. In two seasons, it managed to offend enough cbc executives and political officials that it was abruptly cancelled despite being one of the broadcaster’s highest-rated programs (Nash 1994). REFERENCES

Angus, Ian. 1997. A Border Within: National Identity, Cultural Plurality, and Wilderness. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. bbm Nielsen. 2008. “Top Programs – Total Canada (English) December 29 2008 – January 4 2009.” http://thefiveeight.com/CWT30/nat12292008 .pdf. Beaty, Bart, and Rebecca Sullivan. 2006. Canadian Televsision Today. Calgary: University of Calgary Press. Canada. Parliament. House of Commons. Standing Committee on Canadian Heritage. 39th Parliament, 2nd Session, 2008. cbc/Radio Canada: Defining Distinctiveness in the Changing Media Landscape. Ottawa: Department of Canadian Heritage. Canadian Radio-television Telecommunications Commission. 1977. “cbc Television: Programming and the English Language Service.” Background Research Paper, Committee of Inquiry into the National Broadcasting Service. Cole, Stephen. 2002. Here’s Looking At Us: Celebrating Fifty Years of cbc-tv. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. Denley, Randall. 2006. “The comedy never stops on cbc television.” Ottawa Citizen, June 25, A6. Druick, Zoë. 2008. “Laughing at Authority or Authorized Laughter? Canadian News Parodies.” In Programming Reality: Perspectives on English-Canadian Television, edited by Zoë Druick and Aspa Kotsopoulos, 107–128. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. Hoskins, Colin, and Stuart McFadyen. 1996. “The Mandate, Structure, and Financing of the cbc.” In Seeing Ourselves: Media Power and Policy in Canada, Second edition, edited by Helen Holmes and David Taras, 285–301. Toronto: Harcourt Brace & Company. Hoskins, Colin, Stuart McFadyen, and Adam Finn. 2001. “Refocusing the cbc.” Canadian Journal of Communication 26 (1): 17–30.

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MacLennan, Anne. 2005. “American Network Broadcasting, the cbc, and Canadian Radio Stations During the 1930s: A Content Analysis.” Journal of Radio & Audio Media 12 (1): 85–103. Nash, Knowlton. 1994. The Microphone Wars: A History of Triumph and Betrayal at the cbc. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. Rasporich, Beverly. 1996. “Canadian Humour in the Media: Exporting John Candy and Importing Homer Simpson.” In Seeing Ourselves: Media Power and Policy in Canada, Second edition, edited by Helen Holmes and David Taras, 84–98. Toronto: Harcourt Brace & Company. – 2006. “Canadian Humour and National Culture: Move Over, Mr. Leacock.” In Canadian Cultural Poesis: Essays on Canadian Culture, edited by Garry Sherbert, Annie Gérin, and Sheila Petty, 51–66. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. Rukszto, Katarzyna. 2005. “The Other Heritage Minutes: Satirical Reactions to Canadian Nationalism.” Topia 14: 73–91. Wolfe, Morris. 1985. Jolts: The tv Wasteland and the Canadian Oasis. Toronto: James Lorimer & Company.

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7 Leaving Nothing on the Tarmac: Cultural Exchanges and Post-European Cosmopolitics JÉRÔME MELANÇON In saying Here all is well, Democracy Would be easy maintenance, We’d only be saying idiocies Tarmac 2001, “Des Frontières aux Pays”1

In 2001, following the wide success of the French rock group Louise Attaque, two of its members, Gaëtan Roussel and Arnaud Samuel, undertook a new musical project under the name Tarmac through which they sought to explore the cosmopolitan facets of European identities. They used popular music to create new communities beyond nations, by using different languages and musical styles and by interacting with multiple publics. Tarmac give us, as Canadians, the opportunity to reflect on our European roots and identity, as well as on cultural differences and their political implications – and most importantly, on the possibilities they open. By teasing out the social and political dimensions of the lyrics of their songs, this chapter explores the manner in which Tarmac created a European project of their own, in reaction against the primacy of borders. In doing so, they promoted a broader understanding and practice of culture that could potentially contribute to a post-European culture. Indeed, I will argue in this essay that a different kind of culture – as a reflexive relationship to ourselves, to others, and to the world – becomes possible once the

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most dangerous and oppressive facets of the European project are abandoned. To highlight the political relevance of these considerations, we can, along with other thinkers, look at the political meaning of relationships taking place beyond the limits of borders and national cultures. This paper will analyze, through an analysis of their lyrics, how Tarmac offers us an image of such relationships and, in doing so, outlines new political possibilities. H E R E , I T ’ S N A R ROW

The official policy of multiculturalism has had wide-ranging effects on Canadian society. It has allowed for the rights of members of cultural minorities to be recognized and respected, as well as for cultural communities to have the financial means to continue developing their cultures despite living in the midst of the omnipresent and dominant culture of the majority. However, while it was meant to allow many cultures to coexist, multiculturalism has also reinforced cultural distinctions and separations within Canadian society – without necessarily being divisive in the sense in which its critics see it (Ryan 2010, 29–42). The idea of multiculturalism rests on an understanding of cultures as mutually exclusive, although always in flux, with persons being situated either inside or outside a culture. Minority cultures, present on Canadian territory largely as a result of changes in immigration laws that ended the discrimination against non-European immigrants, are to be “preserved and enhanced” (Canada 1988) as well as shared, leading to exchanges between cultures. Yet the majority culture itself is protected by the multiculturalism policy: the commitment in the policy to English and French as official languages amounts to the recognition of their dominant position. They stand out from “all languages that contribute to the multicultural heritage of Canada” (Canada 1988). We can then think of a parallel development to the rise of multiculturalism as a political reality: the Canadian government’s attempt, in the 1969 White Paper, to make indigenous peoples into ordinary citizens who would only differ from other Canadians in their culture rather than in their status – and the refusal of this proposal by various Aboriginal groups. The recognition of multiculturalism and of a special status for indigenous peoples reveals that the majority culture, the culture that is left unmentioned in the Multiculturalism Act and that also participates in the “Canadian heritage and identity,” is a European culture

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that is shared beyond the linguistic gap between French and English Canadians. The culture of the majority of Canadians is the continuation of the culture of the Europeans who settled and colonized North America, who posed themselves as different from the indigenous inhabitants of the continent, and who are now posing themselves as different from all the communities that are forming as a result of the relatively recent waves of immigration, for whom barriers to participation in society must be removed. Insofar as we live in the context of a majority European culture, we are faced with the same reality as other Europeans. The idea of a “postEuropean world” – or of the necessity of Europeans moving beyond a vision of the world centered on Europe – was formulated in the 1970s by the Czech philosopher Jan Patočka. It was apparent to him that the project at the basis of Europe (meant in a narrower sense than what we usually understand as Western civilization), of forming a universal humanity based on reason, had failed because it had remained solely European. This project was founded on a belief in the specificity of Europe as the rational culture, the only culture capable of bringing progress and industrialization to the world, the culture that should precede others, preside over others. It is perhaps not so far-fetched to define Europe through the project of a completely rational existence in which science is supposed to lead to universal values. After all, politically speaking, European countries have attempted to universalize their values and their political systems by conquering other countries and establishing their values there. Even outside of the politics of empire, the capitalist market and liberal economics have been continuously praised as the tools that would make liberty and equality possible by establishing peaceful ties between nations and discouraging the wars that would negatively impact their national markets.2 The scientific model of rationality could thus be found throughout economics, politics, ethics and psychology, as well as in physics or biology. Patočka followed the attempt of Edmund Husserl, a German philosopher with whom Patočka studied in the 1930s, to find a remedy for the lack of meaning of scientific endeavours, given the lack of reflection as to the purpose of science, as well as for the destruction of moral values that accompanied it and its use toward the most destructive ends.3 As a result of this crisis of science, Patočka suggested that other traditions would come to international attention, either through a spontaneous or a deliberate search for meaning – he men-

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tions Christian, Judaic, and Islamic traditions, Marxism-Leninism, astrobiologism, Buddhism, as well as pre-Columbian American or African traditions. The possibilities for a richer cultural and spiritual life, and for mutual comprehension through exchanges between these traditions and a renewed understanding of rationality, would be a positive outcome of the looming “end of Europe” that appeared inevitable in the 1970s. Just as non-European cultures can use European rationality to better understand themselves while altering it with elements of their own traditions, so, Patočka thought, Europeans must look to the world to find a new meaning for the rationality that led them toward their attempts to dominate the world and into the crisis of their own culture. However, Patočka also found that there was danger in this meeting of so many traditions. Differences both in beliefs and in the historical foundations of these beliefs could be used in discourses of hate which would lead to further divisions of humanity rather than lead to the new kind of common life that was becoming possible with new technologies. This danger could be especially acute, Patočka believed, if we did not abandon the great presupposition of European rationality: the idea that the subject (the rational individual who thinks and acts) is absolute, that scientific and political endeavours all seek to further this absolutism of the subject, and that life in common is only made up of our attempts to impose our desires and our goals on others. In the nineteenth century, this scheme was extended from the individual subject to the state as a whole: life within the state and the necessity to obey the state became the conditions for the freedom that was understood as the possibility for each of us to do what we want or what we are obligated to do, regardless of the consequences. In this tendency to see the individual and the state as absolute subjects, closed unto themselves and without need to reach others, Patočka sees “the starting shot for the imperialist dialectic which will logically lead to the dissolution of Europe” (Patočka, 2007, 215).4 The end of Europe is thus found in the crisis of its rationality and in the end of its hegemony over most of the world; yet its rationality and its universalism still provide an inheritance which, if we can find new meaning for it, can lead to an increased openness to others and a better organization of society and societies, just as they can lead to more of the same if, without reflection, we simply take on its legacy of domination and colonialism. Freedom, equality, and solidarity thus depend on taking into account the crisis we have been facing for most

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of the twentieth century (and toward which we had been racing beforehand) and on critiquing its shortcomings in order to build a new tradition on the basis on this ambiguous inheritance. This tension can be overcome in a positive manner: the kind of rationality that is needed and becoming possible is a way of thinking that is open to other people and that is completely oriented toward them and toward the world we all share. We need to understand the full extent of our dependence on others and on the world, as well as our place in the movement through which we are constantly thrown back toward what is not us: toward these objects, these people, these ideas, and this world that make us who we are. As a result, Patočka writes: “Only a conception of the ‘open soul’, of a finitude which is entirely at once the insurmountable misery and the unique patrimony of humans, is able to form the mentality on the basis of which alone we could attempt to resolve the problem of post-European humanity” (Patočka 2007, 218). B O R D E R S TO C O U N T R I E S

Being open to the world and to others and recognizing that we are in a network with them will mean changing the way we understand ourselves, not as separate individuals with the world outside of us, but as part of a physical and cultural world, a human world. For Patočka, caring for ourselves also means caring for others and for the world. The world then has a double meaning: it is a style of understanding and of experience that acts as the background for our activities, and it is the things to which these activities are linked. Étienne Tassin, a French political philosopher, takes on this meaning of “the world” as a human and meaningful world, as a network of fragile relations between persons, which comes to complement the usual, physical understanding of “the world” as an ecosystem where life develops. Both are to be protected and “[t]he care for the world is at the center of political action” (Tassin 2003, 11). Political communities are created from the actions we undertake in common, in our attempts to go beyond social or cultural communities. The world is what we have in common with the others with whom we are acting and, as Tarmac shows, this contact with others transforms us just as much as it transforms our culture. Action itself is a way for us to open ourselves to others: through it, we reveal who we are within a community, we show ourselves, we

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establish bonds with others, we become the person who undertook this action, who acted with these other persons – beyond any social or cultural identity traits. In this political community, we are making ourselves and others equal; we are using our freedom and creating its very conditions – and it is only through action that we can be singular within a plurality yet still equal, it is only by acting that we can be free. This understanding of action is completely opposed to its traditional political meaning, that of the imposition of what we want based on what we are (what nation we belong to, what race, what gender, what class) and of the attempt to reach a position of domination, or of the organization of collective life so as to administer our economic needs as members of the human species (again, what we are). If politics is about action, and if action is about overcoming what we are in order to reveal ourselves as free and equal yet singular, then true politics must be about establishing a common world and a common life with others, no matter what they are, where they are from, or in what culture they were brought up and continue to participate: “the opening toward a common world it makes possible is not susceptible to be accused of serving as an alibi for a hegemonic valorisation of certain dominant cultural contents” (Tassin 2003, 130). Insofar as we extract ourselves from our culture and let it be changed by our actions and interactions with others, we allow our politics to be a politics for the world, a cosmopolitics. As a result, “Cosmopolitism would be not so much the project of a universal political community as the worldly orientation of a politics that refuses to stir up hatreds and to feed them to exclusive communities” (Tassin 2003, 177). Politics must begin by welcoming strangers, by establishing relations between cultural worlds, so as to create a common world composed out of these distinct but relatable worlds.5 The problem of the border and barrier has been taken up by the French sociologist Gérôme Truc. Asking the question of how far our responsibility for other people can go, given the unpredictability of our actions and their consequences, he suggests that we tend to focus on arbitrarily chosen minuscule differences in order to describe the groups to which we belong and to differentiate them from other groups. Such social barriers, which help us to define who we are and which also arise out of the habit of acting with the people who are closest to us, only become political barriers through other, distinct actions. This action of establishing a barrier and of laying down fron-

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tiers does not follow from cultural or habitual differences but is added on to them, “leading to the illusion that there would be markers beyond which human beings do not resemble us because they do not share with us these properly political characteristics of humanity” (Truc 2008, 118). Such instituted political barriers ignore the humanity of the persons they exclude from the human group, our group, by portraying them as strangers, as barbarians, as aliens. Because of this barrier, which may take the name of “culture,” of “race,” or of “border,” other persons are simply not given our attention or our consideration when we act and potentially disrupt their lives. Instead, following John Dewey, Truc suggests that we ought to assume our responsibility and to recognize the infinite consequences of our actions by attempting to know more about these consequences and the people who suffer (or benefit) from them. Acting with others in mind, and eventually with others, is the only way to overcome racism and to meet the other person as human. Through manifestations of solidarity, we can construct a space where we can reveal ourselves to others as human beings and as singular persons – as actors capable of creativity and responsibility, and not exclusively as members of a species or of a culture. The challenge of political responsibility is then to displace borders even further. Sympathy, dialogue, and friendship will play central roles in displacing and in completely erasing borders: they are practices of hospitality, of welcoming the stranger into a common world, of building a common world, insofar as acting always leads us to meet others, if we remain open to them. The problem, of course, is to devise ways to open ourselves to others in this manner. DR EA M IN G O F T R AV E L L I NG , D R E A M I N G O F B E I N G

The desire for a common world, as expressed by Patočka, Tassin, and Truc, is not limited to political philosophy, or even to politics – and if we want to reflect on coexistence and the creation of such a common world in the midst of a plurality of cultures, we must look for the forms this coexistence can take. To this end, we can turn to popular culture. The French band Tarmac are a particularly pertinent example that draws on the French songwriting tradition of Jacques Brel, Georges Brassens, and Renaud, puts the emphasis on lyrics (often themselves political) and the power of the human voice set over unassuming but often complex arrangements, and incorporates the musi-

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cal styles and languages of Mediterranean Europe. Their lyrics and artistic practice can shed light on the ways in which we can all act toward the creation and the maintenance of a common world. They can also give us further reasons as to why we need to care for this world as a way to care for ourselves. Two broad interwoven themes can be found in Tarmac’s lyrics. There is a preoccupation with another person, sometimes a loved one and sometimes a “comrade” (Tarmac 2001, “International”), who ties the singer to the world and to what is material, but at the same time makes him whole. There is also the singer’s desire to dream, to fly, to leave, to travel, to explore the world, without which he is not whole either. The tension between these two forms of desire is expressed throughout Tarmac’s first album, L’Atelier (2001). While the contradiction between a general human life that is international and a daily life that is enclosed seems to be impossible to reconcile, it is nonetheless experienced by the singer. He finds himself in a “narrow” space but still “feasts” on what he can find of “the international” (Tarmac 2001, “International”) – while dreaming of leaving, and of being in a truer, fuller sense – and this leaving and this being are equated in the dream. What is more, this experience is shared by, shared with, and involves his “democrat comrades” from whom he is separated but whose wishes he understands. The shared realization of separation and the desire to overcome it through travel allows the singer to reach others. This realization and desire create the further desire to want to know how to be a neighbour, that is, how to be a bridge for sequels to their respective experiences, how to be a road for others. The cover of Georges Brassens’s song “La ballade des gens qui sont nés quelque part” describes the criticism of isolation and of the narrow existence and provincialism of “the people who were born somewhere.” Although their homes are pleasant, a home is not a reason to feel contempt toward other places and other people: “They pity with their whole heart the little unlucky ones / the little clumsy ones who didn’t have the presence / the presence of mind to see the day there” (Brassens, in Tarmac 2001, “La ballade des gens qui sont nés quelque part”). They see strangers more or less as barbarians, and only leave their homes to die in wars against or beside them. This is a criticism of provincialism everywhere: “whether they come from Paris or from Rome or from Sète” (Sète was Brassens’ home town), from their own country or another, these provincials share the same attitude of being

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proud of having been born somewhere and closing themselves off from the rest of the world and from others who are not like them, including both singers, Tarmac’s and Brassens alike. In contrast, in “Dis-moi c’est quand” the singer is reaching for a feeling of belonging to reality that depends both on his loves and his friendships, “all that’s needed to be whole.” This is an attempt; he is an amateur at life – we are left to presume that he must spend his efforts on other things – and the constant requests, “tell me when it is / that you’ll come back” and “tell me when it is / that it begins,” tie these attempts and any success to the presence of another, be it a loved one or not. While focusing on what we already have can be a way for us to be absent, an alibi for not attempting to reach others, what allows the singer of the song to continue this attempt is that he does not completely have or hold the other. At the same time, there remains the possibility of failure in this search for the other he might not meet or find. If he can still continue his search, it is because of the face of the other, the one he is trying to reach, and whose smile is the theme of the songs “Ce sourire est pour moi” and “Longtemps.” The singer takes the smile by day and keeps it for himself by night, against a forgetfulness that is personalized as tenacious and overbearing, a forgetfulness that, if it ever does leave, will only come back. What we keep of others will remain an important theme. The song that closes the album is “Des frontières aux pays,” which translates either as “From or Some borders to countries.” It offers a series of what would be “que des conneries,” “only idiocies” (to put it mildly): if we put water in our wine, borders to our countries, if we talk about the ease of maintaining democracy here, if we say that dangers will inevitably become reality, that there is no room to breathe, no place for support, for doubt, or for need, we would be saying or doing “only idiocies.” Instead, here again, we see the need for repeated attempts, the need to refuse half-measures even in these attempts, and the consciousness of the possibility of failure and of the danger that accompanies it. The singer’s answer to this danger is to focus on “the roses, the rubies” he remembers and that come to stand for all the beautiful things, things and experiences that act as reasons to attempt once again to reach the ones with whom he shares the desire to reach the whole world and who, at the same time, allow him to feel present to the world (“Des frontières aux pays”) despite the distance that might lie between them (“International”).

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S I LH O U E T T E S A ND O U T L I NE S O N T H E B AC KG RO U N D O F TH E WO R L D

On their second album, Notre Époque (2003), Tarmac further develop the expression of their desire to enter the world more fully and to be open toward others. In the song “La lune,” the singer, speaking about travel and movement, claims, “I want to always hang out,” to always loiter: he loiters on the road, and this existence is already what he is seeking. There are hesitations over what can be said, over whether people can really look to each other or at each other when they are in doubt as to where they are going. Nonetheless, the singer invites his interlocutor to accompany him and take a direction, one neither of them knows, one that has yet to be explored. What matters in the face of uncertainty and the silence of our times is the desire to be “always listening”: “our times resound / as a closed door / and as for us, how do we go about / on what idea can we rest?” (Tarmac 2003, “La lune”). In this deafening silence, filled with a wind that sends chills through the singer’s spine, there is still “the first being we look at / the first moments we keep” (Tarmac 2003, “Notre époque”). His answer to uncertainty is to look closely enough to keep something of others. It is to follow a path and to continue to be, even though he cannot help but become and be pushed away by that chilling wind. It is to attempt to hold firm instead, not to where he is, but to his very attempt to be, to come closer to reality – we should remember the earlier proximity of being and traveling. The song “Notre Époque” ends with a poem by Whitman, “Children of Adam,” which comes to illustrate the thing on which the singer fixes his gaze: “Once I pass’d through a populous city imprinting my brain for future use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions,” the singer recites, adding that all he now remembers is a woman he met there: “I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me.” The opening lines of the song return, describing once again the deafening silence of our times and the search for the idea that will lead us to rest, but they take on a more specific meaning. No matter what details we try to pin down, to keep whole, to engrave in our minds, it is the people we meet and the images they engrave in our minds that remain with us. His description of the thing for which he is searching ends with “a thread, some background / a silhouette / bearing my name” (Tarmac 2003, “Je cherche”). The searches, perhaps contradicting one another, for a way to express and

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begin, and for a way to box up and name things, are part of a greater attempt to develop a self. The difficulty lies in finding what to say in moments when we become aware of being alive, of being, along with everyone else around us. From that point on, the leading theme of the album becomes the place of his silhouette against the background of the world and the thread that unites them. In “Tout petit,” the singer speaks of a place that, although quite small, is “all around the globe” and where “the outline of things lets itself be glimpsed.” Patočka suggests that we open ourselves to this tendency of things to address us, this tendency of the world to be open to us. In Tarmac’s song, similarly, we are instructed to allow ourselves to be passive and to re-examine the value of passivity, to allow ourselves to be changed by the things that come to us: “and to slowly let come feelings, elements and memories / the outline of things is a place apart” (Tarmac 2003, “Tout petit”). This place is also alluded to as “a friend” or “for a friend”; in this respect, as a common place, it is always too small and must be expanded. On both occasions when these lines appear in this song, they are followed by different consequences: first, “this detour imposes itself; / to be somewhat talkative,” juxtaposing passivity and our response to it; second, “the mix of voices / the return of the narrative / the silence day and night / that the rest follows,” showing their interconnectedness. The outline of these things that presents itself to us silently remains to be filled with our words and with our voices. Such detours are necessary, as are loitering along the road and travelling in order to make borders disappear. Speech, the use of our voice in our attempt to reach this place where we are with others, will have unexpected consequences. The singer relates this experience metaphorically in “Sur mes lèvres”: “on my lips without a sound / without asking / suddenly snuggled / a foreign country / today leaning against / the outline of my thoughts / on my lips thus / remains lying / a perfume of envy / this foreign country / always leaning against / the outline of my thoughts.” He is surprised by the face of the one he loves, by this country that has become attached to his own words and thoughts. The outline of his thoughts in “Sur mes lèvres” is directly related to the outline of things in “Tout petit” – yet they are not to be confused with the borders of countries. Rather, countries are associated and compared with perfumes; they never quite end, they are noticed once we are within them, they are to be added to the memories, the feelings, the elements that come from

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this place apart from the rest and present around the globe. Through their outlines, thoughts and things become more than themselves: feelings and memories become attached to them and fill in their outlines differently. There is something of things, of persons, of countries that we keep in this manner and that, when we run out of breath, as the singer suggests, comes back to us, surprises us, keeps us moving forward, highlighting the road travelled and still to be travelled. In this manner, all cities become interchangeable, without losing their uniqueness: all we need to do to be of a city (rather than from one) is to visit it, a possibility that is open by the simple fact of having been born in one: “if we are born Parisian / we are just as much / Barcelonan” (Tarmac 2003, “Chaque ville”). The city has us, as the Madrilenian problem also suggests: “if you are in Madrid, you are of Madrid.” The ease of movement within cities, from one city to the next, is what makes them interchangeable: “it’s Paris / by the sea / Barcelona / in the heart of the country / each city / is our own” (Tarmac 2003, “Chaque ville”) – each city is what we make of it, based on what it offers us. The interchangeability of cities comes from them being intercalated into the same world: just as we were born where we were by chance, cities could have been founded somewhere else, inserted in between two other different cities, where other languages are spoken. In the same manner, languages are intercalated, as when, in the song itself, the title “Chaque ville” (“each city”) appears in Spanish (“cada ciudad”) between each line. Here again the singer recites Whitman: “I see the cities of the earth and make myself at random a part of them, I am a real Parisian, I am a habitant of Vienna,” of any of the thirty-one places enumerated (Walt Whitman, “Salut au monde,” in Tarmac 2003, “Chaque ville,”). This last line reinserts the poem into Tarmac’s own context: “I descend upon all those cities, and rise from them again,” the singer claims with Whitman, opening us to the proximity between dreaming and flying, dreaming of a different world as he travels it and going beyond borders, as if to push this idea of interchangeability even further. “I do not leave my amazement!” (“¡ no salgo de mi asombro !”), he comments in “Volar” on his dream, his flight, directed toward another world. All cities, all places can be reached in the same movement, one which is likened to dreams, one in which another world is present. Imagination is at stake here just as much as utopia – a different world is presented in “Chaque ville,” not one that is unattainable, but one that begins with the realization that, because cities, languages, and cultures could have

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been otherwise, and because we could have been born somewhere else, they can be other than they are now, and we can be of any other place, partly by imagining ourselves as Parisian or Barcelonan, partly by visiting them, and, more importantly, meeting other people there. Although travels may seem like dreams upon our return, they nonetheless transform our understanding of the world and shape a new world by altering our perspective on it – and if they seem like dreams, it is because we keep something of them in us, that we do not leave their perfumes and images on the tarmac as we fly home. I M AG I NA RY VA R I AT I O NS

Tarmac, beginning with their very name and in all aspects of their work, do not let us forget that they are French and that they are able, as French citizens, to travel easily – and by plane. They have, after all, the financial means, as the Wampas remind us when they sing: “if I had Louise Attaque’s bank account / I’d leave on holidays at least until Easter” (Les Wampas 2003, “Manu Chao”). The Wampas are poking fun at the extremely successful endeavour that made it possible for the members of Louise Attaque to foray into different territories, both geographically, as we can see on the dvd that accompanies their third album (2003, À plus tard crocodile) and showcases their interactions with local musicians and fans during their international tour, and musically, given the risks of side projects such as Tarmac in a music industry with an ever-shorter attention span. In drawing attention to the financial comfort of the members of Tarmac, the Wampas pose an important challenge to the attitude we find in Tarmac’s songs – a challenge rather than an accusation, given their respect for Louise Attaque (Delay 2003): are they simply elevating tourism into a lifestyle, into a facile ethics and politics? What differentiates Tarmac’s position from that of privileged Western travelers who, like them, mostly travel to other Western nations? Such questions must be addressed, failing which Tarmac’s attitude might be open to accusations of simply appropriating other cultures either superficially, in order to entertain themselves, or more profoundly, by exploiting other cultures in their own search for authenticity, or by defining other cultures from their position as outsiders (Coombe 1993; Lutz 1990; Pivato 1996; Bhabha 2004). The interpretation I have presented of Tarmac’s songs already indicates how they do not fall into such problematic stances and how they approach the very notion of culture in a manner that overcomes such prejudices.

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The attitude adopted and described in Tarmac’s songs is not that of a lifestyle and not one of travel as tourism or consumption; nor is it one of appropriation of other cultures or of the voices of their members. It is not political in a sense that would allow them to claim citizenship or full participation in the cities they mention or to exercise power over others;6 nor is it ethical in a manner that would make them full participants in any other culture than their own. Rather, their attitude is at once ethical and political insofar as it is the attempt to enter into different relationships with others and to overcome the resistance of international borders in being able to do so. Indeed, their focus is on transforming themselves and on getting rid of the identity markers that limit how they can understand others and what they can understand of their culture and existence. In this way, they are working against traditional European identities, tied to nationality, ethnicity, or language, and against essentialism. Tarmac thus brings into practice something of a post-anarchist position, similar in spirit to that developed for instance by Saul Newman, who describes the change in the nature of sovereignty in reaction to globalization: “Through mechanisms of security, state power spills out beyond its own borders, constructing networks of surveillance, incarceration, control and war making that are no longer strictly determined by national boundaries” (Newman 2010, 170). While camps are created on the national territory for illegal refugees, who see their own rights suspended or their claims to rights ignored, states have increased their power and extended their surveillance beyond their own territory, gaining the right to decide who is a member of the national population and who is not. Power and the right to define identity thus rest with those who can enforce security and draw borders. Europe is thus attempting to remain European, and to maintain its place in the centre of world politics. Against the extension of state power and of its borders, Newman describes contemporary anarchists as attempting to create new spaces for politics and for freedoms by building alliances beyond borders, beyond racialized communities, in order to allow more persons to speak for themselves and to speak to each other. Such attempts are utopian, in a manner similar to those outlined by Tarmac: Utopianism, while it is a means of escaping from the mental confines of the current order, should not be seen as a means of escaping from the responsibilities of political engagement. Indeed, we

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could say that a utopianism of the ‘here and now’ is also present in concrete forms of resistance to domination. For instance, to disrupt border control activities and to campaign for the rights of ‘illegal’ migrants is already a utopian act, because in such acts is presupposed the idea of a society of free circulation, without the tyranny of borders. (Newman 2010, 163) Such actions draw new spaces as alternatives to the realities outlined by states, recognizing that borders take their efficacy from their enforcement through force, of course, but also from their being respected by the populations they serve to delineate. Following Foucault, Newman defines a micro-politics through which we may construct ourselves and our relationships, let ourselves change, and become who we are in the manner in which we practice our freedom and engage in our relationships with ourselves and with others in such a way as to become ever freer. Similarly, Tarmac’s stance allows for fluidity in defining our identities and in receiving and understanding those of others, despite the borders and belongings that inevitably structure our relationships to others and to ourselves. Yet they do so in a manner that involves fewer risks than the examples given by Newman. In imagining Paris by the sea, in collecting cultural “roses and rubies” that will stay with us, in espousing what we find engraved in our memories or spoken on our lips without intending it – as described earlier (in “Chaque ville,” “Des frontières aux pays,” and “Sur mes lèvres,” respectively) – they enjoin us to take back the freedom to situate ourselves somewhere else, to remain in flux, to abandon notions of rootedness and rootlessness alike. In entering into relationships with others – those from other cultures, beyond existing borders – and establishing friendships and camaraderie, Tarmac call on us to transform ourselves, rather than the cultures or the places we encounter or, more precisely, to let ourselves be transformed by these new experiences, rather than hold on to predefined, rigid identities. Far from the appropriation of the voices and cultures of others, such experiences, contacts, and relationships are openings toward slight shifts in our identity throughout our lives, and can lead to further openings by pushing us to learn other languages and form new communities, be it at a distance.7 Through such contacts and commitments, we can begin to understand and experience more and more meaningfully the history and cultures that thus become more familiar and less foreign. Notions of foreignness and fa-

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miliarity also replace the sharper divisions between “their” culture and “our” culture, otherness and sameness. There is a different ontology of cultures at play, in the interaction of waves and ripples rather than in the mutual exclusivities of definitions and lines. CONCLUSION

In the “Post-scriptum” to Notre Époque (from the Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa’s “Cancioneiro,” “Songbook”), the singer asks what happens to those who never dream, how they can smile at their own life, how they can live without smiling to another soul. The singer suggests that while dreaming is not meant to bring any success or to obtain anything, the activity leaves traces within him and allows him to know something other than what is practical. In “Post scriptum,” he opposes the practical to everything he has sung about: “the great men of this earth / those who fabricate / without grammar / sentences of peace and of war / who know the practical by heart / except that the practical is wrong / yes, these ones have presence / they have crowds, some biography / destiny keeps them in the faith / that all these values testify.” In this movement of opposition, he refuses the idea of a personal destiny, of a life that can easily be narrated with a sense of purpose. “I have espoused difference,” he concludes, the kind where insanity and sanity are confused, where dreaming is being and becoming. In their espousal of dream and difference, Tarmac have a hand in creating a world that is post-European, where identities and cultures are not tied to borders, where relations between cultures are not mediated through the exclusions of the state, where technical rationality is an instrument, and where strangers are not only welcomed but also sought out. In other words, their opening to other European cultures is post-European in that it is already set against the older, exclusive definition of European “civilization” as universalist in an englobing sense. The discourse contained in their songs is politically significant in that it both describes and operates a shift in the manner in which we relate to ourselves and others, to the familiar and to the foreign. They let us hear something else and something new, with songs that borrow as much from other cultures as from traditional French songwriting, with words that express their desire to get closer to others and to us, who might just be their “democrat comrades” (Tarmac 2001, “International”). They show us how popular music – one aspect of exist-

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ing culture – opens the possibility of creating new communities beyond borders, despite the differences in language, and they transform us as we hear and respond to their music. This care for the soul, for others, and for the world is the work of responsibility, of extending who we are to live with as many others as possible – even though so much work goes into relationships and into democracy, even though we may fail, and even though at times it may feel like a useless endeavour. If we are how we relate to others, if our being emerges out of our encounters and out of our attempts to go beyond our current emplacement, such an attitude allows us to not be afraid of losing who we are. Indeed, Tarmac show that our identity and culture are not tied to the borders of our country or of our culture. Instead, they appear as flows, as the forms and colours we give to our relationships, as the means to interact with others and be taken somewhere else. They are tied to the desires we share and communicate with others. We can learn languages and borrow the words that were once those of others; we can also show ourselves to be responsible by extending our exchanges and welcoming as much of others as we possibly can. We can be open to another perspective on politics, where the actions of the state within the borders of its country and the boundaries of its sovereignty are secondary to our actions, which can already take place beyond states and beyond borders. The kinds of relationships described in Tarmac’s songs are the beginning of a world without borders, be they national or cultural.

NOTES

1 All translations of Tarmac’s lyrics are mine, except for translations from Spanish, which were graciously done by Randee Melançon. 2 For an early argument, see for instance Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws, Book XX. 3 Husserl did not live to see the Second World War, but as a Jewish professor he lost his position and witnessed the rise of fascism. Patočka, explaining his adherence to the phenomenological tradition, writes that “The work written by Husserl to prevent the ultimate catastrophe of the European world will then perhaps still be able to serve to shed light on the situation of humanity after the catastrophe, and even to shed light of its first step on the road that leads to the post-European world” (2007, 42).

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4 All translations from the French are mine; Patočka’s own text was translated from Czech into French by Erika Abrams. 5 Indeed, Tassin goes to great pains to dissociate his position, which is that of a politics for the world focused on the possibility of political action and is developed along Arendtian lines, from the current cosmopolitan school of political thought and international relations theory, whose position he ties to an economically driven process of globalization which simply consumes the world and destroys it, limiting itself to a focus on the defense of individual rights. 6 Because the cultures which Tarmac intertwine and weave together are all European cultures, and all colonial cultures (French, British, Spanish, Portuguese), the issue of power as usually described by critical race theory may be circumvented in order to speak, as I do here, of a new post-European (or more generally speaking “Western”) identity and culture. However, to be truly applicable, a more general model would include many other cultures and, especially in the Canadian case, Indigenous cultures as well as minority cultures encountered through migrations. In such cases, issues of power come to the fore which would require further investigation. 7 The relationships to others and to cultures indicated in Tarmac’s songs can also be tied to what Bhabha describes as “a radical revision in the concept of human community itself” (2004, 8), in relation to literary works and in an attempt to redefine culture and to describe “postcoloniality” (2004, 9) as a form of collective life where we “dwell ‘in the beyond’” of our time and situation and seek to encounter newness and difference (2004, 10) and that is already moving beyond postcolonialism as the critique of colonialism. REFERENCES

Bhabha, Homi K. 2004. The Location of Culture. London: Routledge. Canada. 1988. Canadian Multiculturalism Act, RSC 1985, c 24 (4th Supp). Accessed 4 June 2012. http://laws.justice.gc.ca/eng/C-18.7. Coombe, Rosemary J. 1993. “The Properties of Culture and the Politics of Possessing Identity: Native Claims in the Cultural Appropriation Controversy.” Canadian Journal of Law and Jurisprudence 6.2 (July 1993): 249–85. Delay, Olivier. 2003. “Les Wampas.” Musicactu. Accessed 3 June 2013. http://www.musicactu.com/actualite-musique/15490/les-wampas/. Lutz, Hartmut. 1990. “Cultural Appropriation as a Process of Displacing Peoples and History.” The Canadian Journal of Native Studies 10.2: 167–82. Montesquieu, Charles de Secondat, Baron de. 1989. The Spirit of the Laws. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Newman, Saul. 2010. The Politics of Postanarchism. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Patočka, Jan. 2007. L’Europe après l’Europe. Paris: Verdier. Pivato, Joseph. 1996. “Representation of Ethnicity as Problem: Essence or Construction.” Journal of Canadian Studies 31.3 (Fall 1996): 48–58. Ryan, Phil. 2010. Multicultiphobia. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Tassin, Étienne. 2003. Un Monde Commun. Pour une Cosmo-Politique des Conflits. Paris: Le Seuil. Truc, Gérôme. 2008. Assumer l’Humanité. Hannah Arendt: La Responsabilité Face à la Pluralité. Bruxelles: Éditions de l’Université de Bruxelles. DISCOGRAPHY

Attaque, Louise. À Plus Tard Crocodile. © 2005 by Atmosphériques. Compact disc. Tarmac. L’Atelier. (P) 2001 by Atmosphériques, © 2002 by Cœur de Lion. Compact disc. Tarmac. Notre Époque. © 2003 by Atmosphériques. Compact disc. Les Wampas. Never Trust a Guy Who After Having Been a Punk, Is Now Playing Electro. © 2003 by Atmosphériques. Compact disc.

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8 Playgrounds of the Global Village? MMOs and the Contemporary Globalization Debate TIM NIEGUTH

The production, distribution, sale, and consumption of computer games represents a rapidly growing share of the global economy: a recent dfc Intelligence projection estimates that the global market for video games will reach a value of US$70 billion by 2017, up from US$52 billion in 2011 (Radd 2012). An increasing number of users spend a significant amount of time playing computer games; consequently, these games assume increasing importance both in terms of their effects on society, and as social spheres in their own right which are characterized by specific social, cultural, economic, legal, and political forms and issues. In addition, computer games make the news on an increasingly frequent basis, often in the context of discussions about the relationship between computer games and violence, the addictive effects of computer games, or the supposedly negative effect of computer games on the socialization of children and adolescents. In light of these observations, it is perhaps no surprise that computer games have attracted the attention of a growing number of scholars in a variety of academic disciplines, including economics, education, literature, law, and computer science (see, inter alia, Castronova 2005; Gee 2004; Aarseth 1997; Balkin and Noveck 2006; Smed and Hakonen 2006). However, the emerging field of game studies has so far attracted little interest from political scientists. This is surprising because many of the issues outlined above raise a number of important questions for public policy. More generally, computer games potentially have significant implications for the study of issues

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that have been of central interest to political science as a discipline, such as political socialization, sovereignty, collective identities, or globalization. Focusing on globalization, this chapter will suggest that the study of computer games – in particular, massively multiplayer role-playing online games (mmos) – may offer valuable insights into the fate of the nation-state. The chapter will offer some preliminary observations that would seem to suggest that an examination of mmos may strengthen the case against a particular theory of globalization, hyperglobalism. These observations warrant a more sustained study of mmos with an eye to their theoretical implications. In sketching the outlines of that argument, the chapter will begin by briefly recapitulating the broad contours of the globalization debate between hyperglobalists, skeptics, and transformationalists. It will then turn its attention to some of the windows the study of mmos may open on this debate. T H E G LO B A L I Z AT I O N D E B AT E

Scholars commonly distinguish between three broad approaches to the social scientific study of globalization: the hyper-globalist, the skeptical, and the transformationalist (see, inter alia, Held, et al. 1999; Michael 2003). Proponents of these approaches differ fundamentally on the nature of globalization, its causes, and its effects. For instance, there is no agreement on whether globalization is a new phenomenon, or whether it is simply a reiteration of similar processes that occurred in earlier historical periods. To the extent that globalization scholars can be said to share a common definition of the concept, the latter is perhaps best summed up in a quote by Giddens (1990, 64) as “the intensification of worldwide social relations which link distant localities in such a way that local happenings are shaped by events occurring many miles away and vice versa.” In the view of hyper-globalists such as Ohmae (1995; 1999; 2005), globalization is not just a new phenomenon, but also one that is unprecedented. According to Ohmae, the extent, speed, and transformative quality of global linkages that increasingly characterize today’s society have no parallel in earlier eras of human existence. Globalization poses a fundamental challenge to established forms of social and political organization, including the form of political organization that has occupied pride of place in the Western political imagination

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for several centuries: the nation-state. Hyper-globalists consider the demise of the nation-state if not an already accomplished fact then a certainty soon to be realized. In the wake of the nation-state, hyperglobalists herald the emergence of a global civil society and a borderless economy. They view this process not only as ultimately beneficial, but as inevitable: there is little that political elites or other social actors can do to halt the demise of the nation-state in the face of overwhelming pressures emanating from globalization. This is because globalization originates outside, and operates independently from, the nation-state. Globalization is driven by the dynamics of capitalism and technological innovation, neither of which governments can control or contain. In contrast, Hirst and Grahame (2000), as well as other skeptics, disagree that globalization is a historically unprecedented phenomenon. Scholars in the skeptical tradition have suggested that the world is, in fact, less interdependent now than it was during the belle époque of the 1890s. Moreover, to the extent that there are growing transnational linkages in the social, economic, or cultural spheres, these linkages reflect a process of regionalization rather than genuine globalization: what we are witnessing is not the emergence of a global economic and political system, but of distinct regional blocs. The intensification of linkages does not occur evenly across the globe, but between specific regions – especially Europe, North America, and Japan. Large parts of the globe, such as Africa, are excluded from the intensification of these linkages. These newly emerging regional blocs do not displace the nation-state; rather, the nation-state continues to play a pivotal role in the governance of contemporary societies. Far from identifying globalization as a process that is driven exclusively by economic and technological factors and is imposed on the nation-state from the outside, skeptics argue that the nation-state has a hand in shaping current processes of (regional) integration as well. Greater integration, then, is not something that simply happens to the nationstate, but something that is fostered by nation-states in the pursuit of their own interests. Transformationalists occupy an intermediate position between hyper-globalists and skeptics (see, inter alia, Held et al. 1999; Held and McGrew 2007; Rosenau 1997). Contrary to skeptics, the transformationalist tradition does consider globalization a new phenomenon, since the extensity, intensity, and velocity of global interconnections has reached historically unprecedented levels. However, transforma-

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tionalists disagree with hyper-globalists on the causes of this development. Rather than interpreting it as the result of economic and technological changes alone, transformationalists locate the drive towards globalization in a variety of factors, including actions by political decision-makers. In a similar vein, transformationalists do not see the nation-state as a phenomenon headed towards the dustbin of history. According to this school of thought, the nation-state is not in decline but in a process of profound transformation. It is not that globalization renders the nation-state obsolete, but that the nation-state’s powers, functions, and modes of operation are changing and adapting. While this may seem closer to the skeptics’ point of view, transformationalists do, in contrast to skeptics, emphasize that the nation-state has been joined on the political scene by a range of other relevant actors; as far as political authority is concerned, the nation-state is, as it were, no longer the only game in town – if it ever was to begin with. Finally, transformationalists suggest that the effects of globalization are context-dependent and potentially contradictory; thus, rather than conceiving globalization as a process of ever-increasing global unification, transformationalists maintain that globalization fosters both integration and fragmentation. G A M E S W I T H O U T F RO N T I E R S ?

Before discussing the potential implications of mmos for contemporary globalization debates it may be helpful to offer a brief definition of the genre. In a nutshell, mmos are computer games that take place in virtual worlds hosted on the internet. Players assume the role of fictitious in-game characters who experience various challenges and adventures in these virtual worlds. These worlds are persistent, i.e., they keep running regardless of whether a particular player is playing the game at a given moment or not. mmos differ considerably in size: some mmos only count a few dozen players, while others have a player-base of several million. By way of an example, World of Warcraft, the most successful Western, English-language, subscription based mmo, boasted about 10 million subscriptions in 2012. Typically, playing an mmo is a social rather than a solitary experience: players will join different types of groups as they negotiate and interact with the game world. These groups can range from small, ad hoc groups gathered for a specific task, to large, permanent alliances comprising several hundred players.

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It is the central contention of this chapter that mmos have a number of potential implications for contemporary globalization theory. The study of mmos alone can, of course, not provide a definitive answer to the question of which, if any, of the three approaches to globalization is broadly correct. It can, however, contribute to the globalization debate by shedding light on some questions that have been central to this debate. In particular, mmos can serve as a test-case for hyper-globalism. Given that mmos operate on the internet (often portrayed as the hallmark medium of globalization that fosters high-speed global interaction and facilitates the intensification of global linkages), provide a potential platform for transnational social interaction, and offer an environment that invites or at least allows participants to abstract from their social roles and identities in the “real world,” mmos do, in a sense, provide a best case scenario for hyper-globalism. If the study of mmos bears out the core assumptions of hyper-globalism, this would lend additional credence to that approach. If these assumptions are not supported by an examination of mmos, on the other hand, then serious doubts would be cast on the overall validity of hyper-globalism. In order to provide some preliminary reflections on this issue, it will be useful to examine mmos with an eye to some of their political, economic, and socio-cultural dimensions. P O L I T I C A L D I M E NS I O NS

As regards the political dimension, it is interesting to note that – with the partial exception of legal scholarship (see, inter alia, Lastowka and Hunter 2004) – the nation-state is remarkably absent from the literature on mmos. This includes scholarship on the production and reproduction of collective identities and social relations, as well as recent literature which explicitly tackles questions of sovereignty and governance in online games (Burke 2004; Humphreys 2008; but see Verkuil 2007, for a commentary on the implications of virtual worlds for traditional models of sovereignty). In some ways, the nation-state’s absence in discussions of mmos may reflect a belief that, by virtue of their location on the internet, mmos are communities apart from the nation-state and exempt from government control. This would certainly resonate with the position of some cyberspace pioneers, such as John Perry Barlow, who regard the internet as an anarchical space. Barlow’s “declaration of the independence of cyberspace,” penned in 1996, expresses these views as follows:

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Governments of the Industrial World, you weary giants of flesh and steel, I come from Cyberspace, the new home of Mind. On behalf of the future, I ask you of the past to leave us alone. You are not welcome among us. You have no sovereignty where we gather. […] I declare the global social space we are building to be naturally independent of the tyrannies you seek to impose on us. You have no moral right to rule us nor do you possess any methods of enforcement we have true reason to fear. In fact, mmos are subject to control by the nation-state on a number of levels. For instance, states regulate, monitor, and control the provision of internet services and internet access (Goldsmith and Wu 2006). While this control may not be complete, it is sufficient to ensure that individual users cannot, as a rule, rely on the internet as a medium that allows them to challenge the boundaries of the territorial states. Rather, restrictions imposed by the state curtail and structure individual access to and usage of the internet. A similar logic applies to corporate actors, such as isps, service providers such as Google or Amazon, or local internet cafes. None of these actors are exempt from oversight by the state – oversight that can take a number of forms and intervene at a number of stages in the business cycle. In addition, states can exercise control over significant aspects of the infrastructure, financial and otherwise, that players and game providers require. States can monitor and regulate credit card companies and the conduct of business via credit payments. As corporations, game providers are subject to the same rules and regulations as other actors in a given country, in addition to legislation that may be of specific importance to the game industry. State regulations have an impact on game content as well. For example, Funcom’s 2008 mmo Age of Conan: Hyborian Adventures was released in a different version in Germany. This version toned down some of the game’s violent aspects in order to satisfy regulations of the Unterhaltungssoftware Selbstkontrolle (usk), Germany’s voluntary monitoring organisation of entertainment software (Merkel 2008). ECONOMIC DIMENSIONS

As regards some of the economic dimensions of mmos, it is worth noting – if perhaps obvious – that access to games of this kind is not distributed evenly across the globe and that there are significant

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Internet users by region, 2010

Region

Internet users (in millions)

Internet users per 100 inhabitants

Africa Arab states Asia and Pacific CIS Europe The Americas

90 85 875 106 412 462

11.3 24.1 22.5 38.2 66.9 49.7

Source: International Telecommunication Union 2011.

differences in global usage patterns. In part, this reflects the fact that the internet itself, as one of the central infrastructures that underpins the operation of mmos, does not penetrate different areas of the globe to the same extent. Thus, while roughly 67 percent of individuals living in Europe and 50 percent of those living in the Americas had access to the internet in 2010, the same was true of only 23 percent of individuals in Asian households and just over 11 percent of individuals in Africa (see Table 8.1). To a significant extent, uneven access to mmos is, of course, also the result of the uneven distribution of economic resources across the globe. Residents of prosperous societies will typically be in a better position to afford internet subscriptions or usage fees, game subscriptions, the purchase of in-game items, and the like. While close to half of all internet subscribers currently hail from Europe and North America, it is notoriously difficult to obtain comprehensive figures for the usage and regional distribution of mmos. There are a number of reasons for this, including the size and highly dynamic nature of the mmo market (there are frequent releases of new mmos and ongoing turnover in available games), the range of different business models employed by mmos (e.g., many mmos are not subscription-based but are financed through online advertisements, prepaid time credits, user charges, player purchases of in-game items, or player purchases of game expansions), the lack of consistent and comprehensive provision of subscription data by game providers, and the fact that users can often maintain more than one account in the same online game. Keeping these rather significant caveats in mind, available data for subscription-based mmos seem to indicate a distribution pattern that differs noticeably from the pattern of internet ac-

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cess. In particular, an overwhelming majority of subscriptions to this category of mmos – 73 percent of 30 million accounts – were located in the Asia-Pacific region in 2006 (Kuchera 2007). Thus, mmosubscriptions are distributed highly unevenly across the globe. Likewise, the architecture of mmos themselves is not typically unified on the global level. mmos like Lineage II have dedicated game servers for different areas of the globe (such as the North American or European game market). In addition, the physical location of those servers is not spread out evenly across the globe. For example, as of 2009, servers for the long-running RuneScape mmo were located in only 15 countries; with the exception of Mexico and Brazil, all of these countries were in the Global North. Moreover, Mexico and Brazil only accounted for two RuneScape servers out of 165; in contrast, there were 82 RuneScape servers in the usa, 18 in Canada, and 15 in the UK. There are some regional differences in motivations for playing mmos as well. A significant number of players from countries in the Global South earn a wage from playing mmos (bbc 2008; Dibbell 2007). Essentially, these players fulfill a number of tasks that many other players consider menial, tedious, or repetitive, and sell the ingame commodities they gain as a result of fulfilling these tasks for actual nation-state currency in venues such as Ebay. Typically, these players do not operate independently, but as part of a larger business. It should be emphasized that not all, and not even the majority of players from countries such as China participate in mmos for economic reasons; rather, the point to be made here is that the percentage of players that do so is significantly higher in some countries than in others. C U LT U R A L D I M E NS I O NS

Finally, mmos are an interesting area of inquiry with regard to sociocultural dimensions of globalization. For instance, it has been argued that mmos are a predominantly Western genre, since they tend to follow thematic patterns derived from Western traditions and folklore. In particular, the overwhelming majority of mmos has a fantasy theme (see Woodcock 2008). Typically, these fantasy themes are based more or less loosely on the literary contributions of Tolkien, which are, in turn, based on British folklore. In addition, many games that are offered by non-Western game providers to primarily non-Western audi-

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ences feature Western themes, since the usa is one of the largest markets for mmos and game providers consequently often try to ensure that their games will be competitive in the US market. For example, the first step in playing mmos usually involves “character creation,” i.e., the creation of an avatar (the player’s in-game representation). During character creation, players commonly need to assign a race and one or more professions to their avatar. In many mmos, the available choices are confined by the traditions of Western high fantasy, which has tended to operate within a setting broadly modeled after the European Middle Ages. World of Warcraft, which currently dominates the subscription market among Western mmos, is fairly typical in this regard: when creating their avatar, players have a choice of ten “classes” (Death Knight, Druid, Hunter, Mage, Paladin, Priest, Rogue, Shaman, Warlock, Warrior) and twelve races (Draenei, Dwarves, Gnomes, Humans, Night Elves, Worgen, Blood Elves, Orcs, Tauren, Trolls, Goblins, Forsaken). These choices reflect, and resonate with, familiar tropes in North American and Western European speculative fiction. At the same time, it is worth pointing out that some of the largest mmos (“largest” referring to the number of players) are non-Western: not only are they offered by non-Western game providers, they are offered to a primarily non-Western audience and make no use of Western tropes. Rather, they draw on local cultural traditions. Given that the vast majority of mmo subscribers reside in the Asia-Pacific region, this is perhaps no surprise. Fantasy Journey Westward, an mmo offered by Chinese company Netease, is one example: this game is based on themes drawn from Chinese literature and mythology, in particular the classic sixteenth century novel Journey to the West. It is one of the most popular mmos in the People’s Republic, posting 1.8 million peak concurrent users in 2008 (Pearl Research 2009). Fantasy Journey Westward made international headlines in the summer of 2006 when some players staged massive in-game protests that drew up to 80,000 participants and lasted several days. The protests were caused in part by rumours that Netease had been purchased by a Japanese company and had been changing in-game features in ways that denigrated Chinese culture. “The rumors claimed the Japanese company had made changes to the game, turning traditional Chinese stone lions into pigs and adding an image of the Japan’s Rising Sun flag to a virtual building in the game” (Lemon 2006). Emerging just days before July 7 – which marks the anniversary of China’s invasion

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by Japan in 1937 – these rumours spread at a time of heightened national sensitivity. In response to the protests, Netease denied the accusations, pointing out that the supposed in-game portrayal of the Rising Sun was actually inspired by wall-paintings commonly found in government offices during China’s Tang dynasty and was, as such, intended to add authenticity to the game. MMOS AND THE LIMITS OF HYPER - G LO B A L I S M

As noted above, mmos are a rapidly expanding, and equally rapidly changing, phenomenon. In the absence of detailed case studies, any statements about the implications of mmos for current globalization debates can only be considered preliminary. Keeping that rather significant caveat in mind, it nonetheless appears that three conclusions can be drawn from the preceding analysis. First, a sustained study of mmos can contribute valuable insights to debates about globalization. Second, mmos underline the fundamentally contradictory nature of globalization. As such, they shed doubt on accounts of globalization that describe the latter as a wholesale regime shift from a Westphalian order to a new, borderless global political economy. Finally, and in consequence, the insights we can glean from studying mmos appear to undermine the tenets of hyper-globalism. More specifically, mmos shed doubt on the erosion of the nationstate. Contrary to hyper-globalism’s insistence on the demise of the modern state, the state’s capacity to regulate mmos appears quite robust. States can intervene in the production, distribution, and consumption of mmos in a number of ways; these range from regulations concerning the economic and technological infrastructure that underpins mmos, to state policies affecting game content and individual usage of mmos. Since they are subject to considerable state control, it would be difficult to conceive the emergence and development of mmos as phenomena that are driven exclusively by economic and technological factors. Pace hyper-globalism, which tends to minimize the amount of power and control political actors can exercise over globalization, the state evidently does play a key role in structuring these phenomena. Incidents such as the massive in-game protests that were set off, in part, by the alleged denigration of Chinese culture in the Fantasy Journey Westward would also suggest that mmos do not simply allow (or encourage) players to transcend “real life” identities. Instead, they offer a space where such identities – including national identities – may

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also be re-asserted and re-negotiated. Similarly, mmos are not simply the vanguard of global cultural homogenization. While many mmos are based on themes that are derived from Western (and more specifically, Anglo-American) cultural tropes, there is a considerable number of highly popular and commercially successful mmos that explicitly draw on non-Western traditions. On a related note, some mmos seem to appeal to audiences that are relatively clearly delimited in terms of language, culture, or nationality. Together with the uneven global distribution of mmo subscriptions, this suggests that mmos may not necessarily – and not in all respects – foster the emergence of the global civil society anticipated by hyper-globalists. CONCLUSION

mmos can potentially offer a valuable avenue of inquiry into the nature of globalization. As the preceding observations suggest, the emergence and increasing popularity of mmos appears to have contradictory implications as regards the globalization of game production, distribution, and consumption. They also suggest that mmos may not simply transcend the nation-state, but instead offer a new sphere for state regulation and intervention. Given that mmos arguably present a best case scenario for hyper-globalism, this would seem to suggest that skeptic and transformationalist accounts offer a more convincing analysis of globalization. While an examination of mmos in the context of globalization can add to the globalization debate, it can simultaneously add to and enhance our understanding of mmos themselves. Pursuing the questions outlined earlier in the chapter (about what mmos tell us about the purported erosion of the nation-state, cultural homogenization, and collective identities) serves to place mmos in a broader socio-historical context. Doing so suggests that our assessment of online games will be greatly enriched if we see them as fundamentally and inescapably tied up with ongoing social, cultural, economic, and political transformations.

REFERENCES

Aarseth, Espen J. 1997. Cybertext: Perspectives on Ergodic Literature. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

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Balkin, Jack M. and Beth S. Noveck, eds. 2006. The State of Play: Law, Games, and Virtual Worlds. New York: New York University Press. Barlow, John Perry. 1996. “A Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace.” Electronic Frontier Foundation. Accessed 15 May 2009. http://homes.eff.org/~barlow/Declaration-Final.html. British Broadcasting Corporation. “Poor Earning Virtual Gaming Gold.” BBC News, August 22. Accessed 10 October 2008. http://news.bbc.co.uk /2/hi/technology/7575902.stm. Burke, Timothy. 2004. “Play of State: Sovereignty and Governance in mmogs.” Swarthmore. Accessed 2 March 2007. http://www.swarthmore.edu /SocSci/tburke1/The%20MMOG%20State.pdf. Dibbell, Julian. 2007. “The Life of the Chinese Gold Farmer.” The New York Times, June 17. Accessed 30 October 2008. http://www.nytimes.com /2007/06/17/magazine/17lootfarmers- t.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all. Castronova, Edward. 2005. Synthetic Worlds: The Business and Culture of Online Games. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Funcom. 2008. Age of Conan: Hyborian Adventures. Accessed 14 May 2009. http://www.ageofconan.com. Gee, James Paul. 2004. What Video Games Have to Teach Us About Learning and Literacy. New edition. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Giddens, Anthony. 1990. The Consequences of Modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Goldsmith, Jack L. and Tim Wu. 2006. Who Controls the Internet?: Illusions of a Borderless World. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Held, David, et al. 1999. Global Transformations: Politics, Economics and Culture. Cambridge: Polity Press. Held, David and Anthony McGrew, eds. 2007. Globalization Theory: Approaches and Controversies. Cambridge: Polity Press. Hirst, Paul and Grahame Thompson. 2000. Globalization in Question: The International Economy and the Possibilities of Governance. Second edition. Cambridge: Polity Press. Humphreys, Sal. 2008. “Ruling the Virtual World: Governance in Massively Multiplayer Online Games.” European Journal of Cultural Studies 11 (2): 149–71. International Telecommunication Union. 2011. “Key ict indicators for the itu/bdt regions (totals and penetration rates).” Accessed 5 July 2012. http://www.itu.int/ITU-D/ict/statistics/at_glance/keytelecom.html. Kuchera, Ben. 2007. “MMORPGs Revenues to Explode Over Next Few Years.” ars technica. Accessed 15 January 2009. http://arstechnica.com/gaming/news /2007/09/report-mmorpgs-revenues-to-explode-over-next-few-years.ars.

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Lastowka, Greg and Dan Hunter. 2004. “The Laws of the Virtual Worlds.” California Law Review 92 (1): 3–73. Lemon, Sumner. 2006. “Chinese Take Anti-Japan Protest Online.” Network World, August 11. Accessed 16 May 2009. http://www.networkworld.com /news/2006/071106-worldbeat-chinese-take-anti-japan-protest.html. Merkel, Christian. 2008. “Age of Conan: Details zur Zensur in Deutschland.” GameStar, February 6. Accessed 30 October 2008. http://www.gamestar.de /news/pc/rollenspiel/online/1477478/age_of_conan.html. Michael, Bryane. 2003. “Theorising the Politics of Globalisation: A Critique of Held et al.’s ‘transformationalism’.” Journal of Economic and Social Research 5 (1): 3–17. Ohmae, Kenichi. 1995. The End of the Nation-state: The Rise of Regional Economies. London: Harper Collins. – 1999. The Borderless World: Power and Strategy in the Interlinked Economy, revised edition. London: Harper Collins. – 2005. The Next Global Stage: Challenges and Opportunities in Our Borderless World. Philadelphia: Wharton School Publishing. Pearl Research. 2009. April 2009 newsletter. Accessed 16 May 2009. http://www.pearlresearch.com/newsl/0409.html. Radd, David. 2012. “Game Revenues to Grow to $70 billion by 2017 – DFC.” GamesIndustry International, June 8. Accessed 5 July 2012. http://www.gamesindustry.biz/articles/2012-06-08-game-revenues-to-growto-USD70-billion-by-2017-dfc. Rosenau, James N. 1997. Along the Domestic-foreign Frontier: Exploring Governance in a Turbulent World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Smed, Jouni and Harri Hakonen. 2006. Algorithms and Networking for Computer Games. Chichester: John Wiley. Verkuil, Paul R. 2007. “The Values and Limits of Substitutional Sovereignty.” innovations (Summer): 68–72. Woodcock, Bruce S. 2008. “mmog subscriptions market share by genre – April 2008.” Accessed 16 May 2009. http://www.mmogchart.com/Chart8.html.

Introduction

PART TH REE

Negotiating Collective Identity

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preface

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9 Politics, Identity, and the Economy in Quebec Cinema: Film Narratives and the Movie Industry C H R I STI A N P O I R I E R

Cinema is a major component of popular culture.1 Indeed, in addition to television, movie-going and movie rental rank among the population’s top cultural activities. Feature films are an important element in the formation, reproduction, and contestation of a nation’s imagined community (Anderson 1983). In Canada, the dominance of Hollywood movies is a long and enduring aspect of the Canadian cultural landscape. The situation in Quebec, where Quebec-made movies are very popular, is somewhat different. In 2007, Quebec movies reached a box-office share of 10.2%, compared to 4.1% for all of Canada including Quebec, while U.S. feature films recorded a box-office share of 76.3%.2 In 2005, Quebec feature films recorded a box-office share of 18.1%. Hollywood movies exert a marked influence on Quebec cinema, with Quebec film-makers, producers, and distributors sometimes adopting the techniques in their own films. In fact, these tensions between culture and economics (understood here as commercial success) lie at the very heart of Quebec’s movie industry. Most importantly, what we mean by politics, both in terms of content (the movies) and context (the industry and its policies), has been undergoing some major reconfigurations. If we only very briefly address these questions of context, complexity must be placed at the forefront of our research. Moreover, we must adopt a wider definition of what we mean by politics. This is especially the case if we want to assess the various meanings associated with this term, as well as the formulation of film policies, including the negotiation between poli-

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tics, identity, and the economy. This endeavour is a prerequisite if we want to go beyond the enduring debate contrasting legitimate (or high) culture with popular (or low) culture. A redefinition of politics, in our view, is one of the keys to better addressing the complexity of cinema, both in its classical (and/or independent) and popular dimensions. This paper is divided into two parts. The first examines how we can better understand the links between films and politics, and it suggests a definition of the latter. The second part briefly illustrates some concrete aspects of this approach by focusing on Quebec cinema. More generally, the paper discusses and critically assesses some of the major theoretical insights associated with the study of film, cultural industries, and popular culture. C I NE M A A N D P O L I T I C S : T H E C O M P L E X R E L AT IO N S H I P

The study of the relationship between cinema and politics is a longstanding intellectual tradition, especially in the field of film studies. For example, analyses of the use of propaganda in films during wartime have long been quite common. Political scientists have analyzed these relationships, but they did not begin to do so until much later. The association of cinema with popular culture might help explain this historical neglect by political scientists of film as a legitimate field of research. However, both the widening of the subjects covered by political science and the broadening of the concept of politics and what we define as political have made possible a rigorous study of film from a political science perspective. The blurring of the boundaries between disciplines from the 1970s onward, especially between political science, sociology, and cultural studies, has also played a pivotal role in these trends. Two broad analytical perspectives can be identified (Poirier, 2007a).3 On one hand, some approaches use a “classical” conceptualization of politics, conceived in terms of governmental activity and the politics of power. On the other hand, we can identify a broader definition of what is political, including, for instance, questions of identity. The first approach considers politics only as portrayed in overtlypolitical films, such as Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004) by Michael Moore. These films, of course, cannot be ignored, but popular and commercial movies must also be analyzed, since they can convey some important representations of politics and society. The classical approach

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is very helpful in that it precisely delimits its object of study, concentrating explicitly on the political scene, its participants, institutions, and modes of domination. For instance, several scholars have proposed some extremely interesting approaches to propaganda films (Furhammar and Isaksson 1971; Merton and Lazarsfeld 1951; Wood 1990). The problem arises when, as in Christian Zimmer (1974), the only movies considered legitimate for analysis are overtly political films. In such cases it is assumed that commercial cinema, whether domestic or from Hollywood, is only the expression of dominant ideologies and therefore not worthy of scientific consideration. Moreover, in line with the analysis of the Frankfurt School (Adorno 1991), the public is seen as being necessarily alienated by this entertainment machine. We believe that cinema, including its commercial forms, is far more complex and is, in fact, a locus of conflicts and power struggles, in terms of production, content, and reception. The second approach emerges most especially from the combination of neo-Marxist critique and the development of cultural studies, as demonstrated in the work of Raymond Williams (2001a). His intellectual endeavour includes a complete redefinition of classical Marxist theory, especially with regard to the determination of superstructure (culture) by the base (the economy), and the recognition of the important role played by popular culture in contemporary societies, challenging the historical distinction between high and low culture: “Culture is ordinary,” says Williams. His study of films (Williams 2001b) shattered the association made by the Frankfurt School between popular movies and alienation. Moreover, cultural studies opened up the political box by including identity questions in its frame of analysis. Social classes (Marxism) or liberal politics (liberalism and the idea of a free and unrestricted interplay between political players) are thus not the only way to understand movies and society. In this context, dominant ideologies always meet with some form of resistance. The complexity of cultural industries, including cinema, the multiplicity of players involved (scriptwriters, film-makers, producers, distributors, theatres, etc.), the various conditions of production and financing, and the freedom of interpretation left to the audience make it clear that cinema, including the most commercial cinema, appears more as a site of ideological conflict and varying discursive propositions than as a unified ideological field. According to Douglas Kellner (1993), “it is often the ideological images and figures of popular cultural texts which constitute the politi-

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cal imaginary through which individuals view the world and interpret political processes, events, and personalities” (57). In other words, “Film is intensely political and ideological. […] This means not only reading film in a socio-political context, but seeing how the internal constituents of a film also either encode relations of power and domination, serving to advance the interests of dominant groups at the expense of others, or oppose hegemonic ideologies, institutions, and practices” (Kellner 1993, 55). These premises are especially well documented and analyzed in Camera Politica: The Politics and Ideology of Contemporary Hollywood Film (Kellner and Ryan 1988). In this context, “right-wing” and war films like Rambo (Ted Kotcheff 1982) or Top Gun (Tony Scott 1986) can be interpreted, not so much as the triumph of US conservative ideology, as a response to the growing contestation of this very ideology. Other more “liberal” perspectives, nonetheless very critical, have also underlined the importance of politics in movies and the various figures portrayed. Films are part of the general communication process through which politics and ideologies are mediated, circulated, and contested (Nimmo and Combs 1990). According to Combs (1993), “Even those many films which are not official propaganda nor about a political subject can offer us clues about the political ethos, or ‘character,’ of a period” (4). This means that films without explicit political content (and many popular films fit into this category4) can present some important political dimensions. To John Hartley (1992), movies are a site where individual identity, collective references, and symbolic schemes interact with each other in a dynamic and often implicit way. In the same spirit, Phillip L. Gianos (1998) demonstrates how contemporary American films, contrary to many assumptions, do not avoid politics, but rather personalize it in different forms such as, for example, love stories, satires, and comedies. Gary Crowdus (1994) goes so far as to say that “All films are political” (xi). Other scholars, like Rosenbaum (1997), have embraced a more broad definition of politics. Indeed, while both Rosenbaum and Crowdus avoid overextending the definition of politics, they broaden it to include identity questions, relationships between men and women, interracial relations, etc. According to Bernard Crick, politics is an activity that allows for the regulation and conciliation of conflicts arising from differing interests present in society. Therefore “Politics is to be seen neither as a set of fixed principles to be realized in the near future, nor yet as a set

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of traditional habits to be preserved, but as an activity, a sociological activity which has the anthropological function of preserving a community grown too complicated for either tradition alone or pure arbitrary rule to preserve it without the undue use of coercion” (Crick 2000, 24–5). Politics, as it is understood by Christian Thuderoz (2000), fulfills a double function: it allows for the expression of various interests in society while contributing to the regulation – always provisional and evolutionary – of this very diversity. It is not an “essence” but an activity (Leftwich 2004), and any attempt to transcend politics only gives way to dictatorial and totalitarian regimes or to severe democratic problems (Schwartz 1995). In the same spirit, Mark E. Warren (1999) insists that the domain of politics is comprised of power relationships associated with conflict dimensions. The consequences of this approach are crucial. First, it means that, contrary to some radical postmodern assumptions, politics is not everything; only the conjunction of power (in the broadest sense) and conflict gives a political quality to a social phenomenon. Second, politics is much larger than what classical political science used to suggest: it is not limited to constitutional and institutional arrangements, including representative governments and the state. In this regard, new social movements that emerged in the 1970s clearly demonstrated that identity questions, involved in both conflict and power relationships, are central elements of politics. Politics can thus be defined (Hudon and Poirier 2011, 53) as the set of practices and representations that individuals, groups, and institutions develop in many spheres of action, and that implies interests, conflicts, and power relationships. Power struggles are thus very present in society and reflect a continuing battle between dominant ideologies and alternative ones. Cultural forms, including popular culture and cinema, are the concrete reflections of these dynamics, as well as contributions to them. Also, identity questions, in all their multiplicity, are an integral part of this definition. Furthermore, in line with the approaches of cultural studies and political science, analyses of film should include not only the text (that is, the content) but also the production and distribution phases that form the complex relationships and different stages involved in the creation and dissemination of the work. These include, especially in Quebec and Canada, feature-film policies. Two major aspects must be assessed: government’s policies and its regulation of the cinema field,

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and the role played by various organizations and interest groups representing the multiple players involved – namely, the movie-makers, the producers, the distributors, the theatres, and the many organizations associated with the diffusion of movies (video clubs, television, cable, satellite, the Internet, etc.).5 Both the practices (actions) and the discourses of these participants should be analyzed. Moreover, reception by the audience, both in terms of success and interpretation, should also be assessed. Jean Pivasset (1971) was one of the first scholars to address these aspects, at least from a political science perspective. As is the case with our approach, politics in his work refers to both explicit political references and underlying ones, that is, every dimension of social life that individuals qualify as politics. Movie policies have also been analyzed, as is the case with Giuliana Muscio (1996), who focuses on movies and the cinema industry in 1930s Hollywood. Q UE BE C C I NE M A A ND P O L I T I C S : C O M P LE X IT I ES I N C U LT U R E A ND T H E N ATI O N

The general evolution of the representations of politics in Quebec movies is particularly revealing. Analyzing “auteur” as well as “commercial” films, we have sketched in our research (Poirier 2004a) the complex and variable representations of politics, from the status of Quebec in Canada to political values and ideologies. We have also examined the various identity narratives present in Quebec cinema. These narratives are defined in line with the work of Paul Ricoeur (1983; 1985a; 1985b): a structured set of themes, words, and images elaborated by an individual or a group which, in so doing, more or less explicitly interprets its situation in terms of the past, the present, and the future. Many movies made during the 1960s and early 1970s aimed at giving a “voice to the people,” in line with the spirit of the Quiet Revolution. This was a period of affirmation for the Quebec people (moving from French Canadian to Québécois) and its culture (including language), and one of contesting Anglophone domination of the economy. Politics was seen as a genuine tool to achieve these tasks. Overtly political films (Le révolutionnaire, Jean Pierre Lefebvre, 1965; Le mépris n’aura qu’un temps, Arthur Lamothe, 1970; Un pays sans bon sens ou wake up, mes bons amis, Pierre Perrault, 1970; On est au coton, Denys Arcand, 1971; 24 heures ou plus, Gilles Groulx, 1972) coexist with others (À tout prendre, Claude Jutra, 1963; Le chat dans le sac, Gilles Groulx, 1964) that use more indirect

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references to the political situation but are nonetheless permeated with the context of that period. Moreover, some movies, like those of Gilles Groulx, demonstrate that the Quiet Revolution was not moving enough towards a full affirmation of Quebec’s identity and independence, both from the federal political system and from the capitalist system. Les ordres, by Michel Brault (1974), a movie about the October 1970 crisis, is a salient production of that era. However, other less “nationalist” but still very political questions, such as women’s issues, are underlined in other films (La vraie nature de Bernadette, Gilles Carle, 1972; Mourir à tue-tête, Anne Claire Poirier, 1979). Generally speaking, even if typically “nationalist” questions are still present in Quebec film making (see, for example, some of the movies of Pierre Falardeau, such as 15 février 1839, 2001), there has been a diversification of political themes in line with the growing complexity of identity questions: gender, male-female relationships (Ricardo Trogi, Québec-Montréal, 2002), gay and lesbian (Xavier Dolan, Les amours imaginaires, 2010), youth (Manon Barbeau, Les enfants de Refus global, 1998), immigration and ethno-cultural diversity (Michka Saäl, La position de l’escargot, 1998), aboriginal people (Robert Morin, Windigo, 1994), the environment (Richard Desjardins and Robert Monderie, L’erreur boréale, 1999), globalization and the neoliberal agenda (Magnus Isacsson, Vue du sommet, 2002), to name but a few. The exploration of many different political levels is also at the forefront: not only the national (here Quebec) but also the local, the regional, and the international. A movie like Incendies by Denis Villeneuve (2010, finalist for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film), about the conflict in the Middle East, bears witness to these trends. Again, this is not to say that more collective identity questions (the Quebec question) have not been recently addressed. Collective identity questions have been looked at especially in the aftermath of the two referendums on Quebec’s sovereignty in 1980 (Denys Arcand, Le confort et l’indifférence, 1981) and 1995 (Stéphane Drolet, Référendum, prise 2, 1996). It is only that they are considered less pertinent around the end of the twentieth and the beginning of the twenty-first century. Complexity must guide our analysis: the national is still present today in some productions, and many of the current issues were already being scrutinized, in their own way and with perhaps less emphasis, during the 1960s and 1970s. Our study of the evolution of identity narratives also illustrates how even the most commercial features address some of the most impor-

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tant narratives present in Quebec cinema. Generally speaking, we have identified two broad narratives: a narrative about the lack of accomplishment of the Quebec subject, often (but not always) associated with a blurred political future and the absence of sovereignty. On the other hand, we can identify a narrative that focuses more on the identity ambivalence of the Quebec people, a minority in North America but a majority in its own territory, a people displaying some strong nationalist leanings but still somewhat attached to the federal political structure, etc. What is also particularly interesting is that both narratives can be found in the same movie or, with various accents, in the general cinematic trajectory of a specific film-maker. National and identity questions are still very much present, but in a more indirect way. Instead of tackling the subject directly, these movies deal with other issues but, in so doing, generate a wide range of cultural references that are intimately associated with the Quebec people. For example, many popular movies, like Les Boys (Louis Saïa 1997) or Bon Cop, Bad cop (Érik Canuel 2006), indirectly address identity questions that are closely linked to the very definition of, or the task of defining and questioning, the Quebec nation (or at least some aspects of it). Les Boys is about a group of garage hockey players questioning their masculinity in varying degrees, their relationships with women, and their solidarity links. We can see here the importance of the individual and his or her close relationships. The “nation” thus seems to be far away. However, some dialogues refer to the first referendum on sovereignty. Most importantly, various allusions are typically made to the Quebec context. Bon Cop, Bad Cop was, like Les Boys, commercially very successful, grossing $8,973,867 with an audience of 1,320,394 spectators.6 For the sake of comparison, in the same period, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Mike Newell 2005) earned $7,389,390, The Da Vinci Code (Ron Howard 2006) earned $7,153,710, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest (Gore Verbinski 2006) earned $6,791,787, and Spider-Man 3 (Sam Raimi 2007) earned $5,942,014.7 Bon Cop, Bad Cop is largely inspired by Hollywood film techniques and recipes (action, explosions, a team of very different cops as in Lethal Weapon [Richard Donner 1987], a few implicit sexual ingredients, etc.) but still addresses some very specific Quebec issues, such as: the relationship with the rest of Canada and the different languages, values, and cultures; identity questioning of the dominant male character, etc. As Bruno Cornellier (2008) demonstrates, the nation is in the process reaffirmed and transmitted.

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More recently, De père en flic by Émile Gaudreault (2009) earned $8,814,3098 with an attendance of 1,242,275 people.9 In 2009, this movie grossed about 40 percent of all market share generated by Quebec films.10 The film does not address specific political issues. However, it tackles some very precise identity questions closely associated with Quebec’s social situation, namely the relationships between fathers and sons and the transmission of personal and societal values. As we demonstrated elsewhere (Poirier 2004a), this issue is extremely important in Quebec’s movie representations, and it therefore has some important political implications. Moreover, as in Bon Cop, Bad Cop, “national” dimensions are addressed, creating a sense of belonging to the larger collective Quebec identity through the use of humour ,11 sometimes only by showing a discrepancy between the discourses and practices of “Us” (Quebec) and “Them” (the rest of Canada). Popular cinema thus represents the nation while using typical Hollywood techniques to increase and maximize audiences: the most explicit commercial targets are therefore linked with more domestic and indirect elements. The abundant use of local movie stars in Quebec films, many of them being featured in many projects every year, is also an illustration of how the industry strives to create a strong sense of identification between the audience and these local stars.12 From this perspective, politics is linked to the micro level of power relationships, not just the macro level of state politics, and is associated with various narratives, including the most commercial ones. Not specifically addressing the nation, these movies nevertheless contribute to its production/reproduction with its references to identity themes involving a larger representation of politics. Popular films are therefore as worthy of the attention of scholarship as more overtly political films. The structural, political, and economic features of the movie industry must also be explored, most especially the relationships between the various players involved (Quebec and Canada governments, interest groups, etc.) as well as movie policies (Poirier, 2004b). The latter present similar features to movies per se, showing a complexity of politics mixing cultural and national components with, for instance, economy and profit objectives. The will to increase the share of “national” successes in the face of Hollywood’s machinery demonstrates these ambiguities: creating a “national” cinema means building both identity aspects and markets aiming at maximizing audiences. Our analysis of Quebec’s movie industry demonstrates these trends. Table 9.1 presents the main narratives articulated by the various players in-

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Table 9.1

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Main and alternative narratives in the Quebec movie industry

Type of political actor

Main narrative

Alternative narrative

Film-makers

Identity

Commercial

Producers Distributors

Commercial

Identity

Hollywood studios Theatres

Commercial

X

Governments

Identity Commercial

X

volved in the industry. Based on a discourse analysis, it identifies both the main narrative and the secondary or more alternative narratives. As we can see, film-makers have historically put forward the importance of identity (especially the collective identity) and the contribution of cinema to the cultural fabric of Quebec’s society. Commercial dynamics and the will to reach the people have also become more and more important. Furthermore, as we have seen above, some film-makers use both narratives in their discourses. This is in contrast to producers and distributors who are more on the commercial side. However – and this is especially true of producers – they still demonstrate from time to time the importance of cultural aspects, most importantly to legitimize a major intervention at the financing stage from the provincial and federal governments. Hollywood studios and their representatives in Canada, as well as the major theatre chains, are explicitly on the business side of the movie industry. Finally, both governments exhibit in their policies and discourses a mixture of identity and commercial considerations. On the one hand, every policy and program aims at building a strong national identity, whether interpreted as the Canadian or the Quebec identity. There is indeed, although perhaps less so since the Conservatives took power at the federal level in 2006, a competition between the two levels of government in building a Canadian or a Québécois identity. Cinema is thus used as a tool to create and sustain this very identity, including cultural diversity, in the face of the perceived threat of Americanization-Hollywoodization, as well as to project it beyond the Canadian borders. On the other hand, both governments aim at “building an audience” and have implemented various policies over the years to increase the production and marketing budgets for films.

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This perspective also portrays people not as merely citizens of a given nation, but as consumers (see also Edwardson 2008). This was especially the case for the federal government during the 2000s, with performance-based envelopes that encouraged these types of productions, automatically rewarding the producers of films that achieved success (Poirier 2007b). The result was an increasing concentration of public subsidies in a small number of projects with high commercial potential. It thus posed a threat to a diverse cinematic landscape, while using, as in Bon Cop, Bad Cop, the very same techniques as the Hollywood industry. In fact, more and more genre films, like comedies or action movies, were being produced, with more or less the same recipes.13 Ottawa finally revised its policy, allowing for a better equilibrium between cultural and financial motives. However, for both governments there still exists a tension that sometimes expresses itself in the form of a full contradiction between these dimensions. This contradiction was particularly evident in 2005, when both the Quebec and federal governments pushed strongly for the adoption of unesco’s Convention of the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions. Likewise, there has been a tendency in the industry towards concentration, from production to distribution and exhibition. This means that a few players enjoy a powerful position and can play a pivotal role in the success of a film. However, the industry still comprises a huge number of very small companies, often having a more “alternative” agenda. Both concentration and fragmentation are present, as well as tendencies toward both domination and resistance. CONCLUSION : P O LI T IC S , C U LT U RA L I ND U ST R I E S , A N D P O P U L A R C U LTU R E

This paper has tried to demonstrate how politics can be analyzed in popular cultural studies, specifically cinema. In so doing, we have opted for a broad definition of politics, assessing classical representations, larger ones comprising identity and multiple themes, including but not limited to the nation, and the larger policy context in terms of government’s interventions and discourses as well as those proposed by various interest groups. This approach to politics has led us to understand that not only complexity but contradictions can be found and, indeed, abound in film content as well as in film policies. In fact, the tension between culture and the economy lies at the heart of the political. This means that national factors do play a role, including the adoption, locally, of

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Hollywood techniques. But domination is never straightforward. Even if there are some elements linked to very strong structural features (the vogue of comedy films, etc.), agency and representations of the nation and politics are still being presented. One important concept here is that of the relative autonomy of culture, politics, and the economy with respect to each other. Monsieur Lazhar by Philippe Falardeau (2011 Academy Award nominee for Best Foreign Language Film) is illustrative of that autonomy; it narrates the encounter of Bachir Lazhar, an Algerian refugee who lost his wife and children for political reasons and became a school teacher, and the Quebec children who lost their own teacher, who committed suicide. Moreover, many smaller or auteur films get made every year (Stéphane Lafleur, Continental, un film sans fusil, 2007; Denis Côté, Curling, 2010), which suggests that forms of resistance have a chance at being produced. The major problem here seems to involve the distribution of these smaller films, which encounter major difficulties in reaching audiences larger than a few hundred or a few thousand people. Here, especially, aspects of the domination of the film circuit by some key players have an impact. This discussion of the presence of homogeneity and differentiation, of continuities and changes, demonstrates that Quebec cinema lies at the heart of complex cultural industries, belonging both to the arts and to the industry. These tensions and contradictions, which also make Quebec cinema popular, can be linked to some of the contemporary literature about the movie industry (Feigenbaum 2007; Wang and Yueh-yu Yeh 2005) and cultural industries (Hesmondhalgh 2007; Lacroix and Tremblay 1997). Finally, we have seen that the notion of popular culture is particularly complex. In fact, the literature on this concept is quite heterogeneous, often torn between the two opposing sides of populism and elitism. Also, to some, popular culture refers to the “genuine” culture articulated through history by the people of a society, while to others popular culture is linked to the many dimensions associated with “popular” media. We should go beyond opposing and radically divergent views, including contrasting popular and elite cultures or contrasting popular (seen as genuine) and mass cultures. Popular culture moreover refers both to collective and individual elements, including, most notably, identity. We hope that this paper, starting with politics, has shown the relevance of this topic and more particularly of cinema for research in the political and social sciences.

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NOTES

1 We would like to thank the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and the Fonds de recherche du Québec – Société et culture for their financial assistance. 2 These numbers are taken from Observatoire de la culture et des communications du Québec. 2008. Statistiques sur l’industrie du film et de la production télévisuelle indépendante. Édition 2008 Révisée, 77. 3 These approaches have been outlined for analytical purposes and clarity. Indeed, many research trends combine some aspects of one or the other. 4 There are, of course, some exceptions. See, for instance, the films of Oliver Stone. 5 Technicians and film critics could also be included. 6 These numbers are taken from Observatoire de la culture et des communications du Québec. 2008. Statistiques sur l’industrie du film et de la production télévisuelle indépendante. Édition 2008 Révisée, 82. 7 Some of these movies, however, grossed additional revenues during the first weeks of January 2008. It is still a very clear indication of the great popularity of some Quebec features. 8 These numbers are taken from Observatoire de la culture et des communications du Québec. 2010. Statistiques sur l’industrie du film et de la production télévisuelle indépendante. Édition 2010, 89. These figures only concern the movie theatre scene. The release of the dvd and the distribution of the movie through other channels (cable, television, etc.) have surely boosted these numbers. 9 The most successful film in the history of Quebec cinema, in terms of attendance, is Un homme et son péché (Charles Binamé, 2002), with 1,341,602 spectators. It is worth noting that this movie deals with a typically Quebec or even French-Canadian story, referring to the work of writer Claude-Henri Grignon about the impossible love relationship between a man and a woman in rural Quebec at the beginning of the twentieth century, the latter being forced to marry an older and avaricious person. First a novel in the 1930s, Un homme et son péché has since been translated into radio, television, and cinema (twice). The story also deals with the collapse of the community and the questioning of the French-Canadian figure, supposedly not able to accomplish important things and torn between the need to build something stable (a home, agriculture, etc.) and his aspiration for territorial adventures. 10 According to Lepage-Boily 2010. 11 This may help to explain why such comedies are extremely popular within Quebec but not outside.

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12 The various sectors of the cultural industries, whether cinema, television, radio, or stand-up comedy, are closely linked to each other in Quebec. This means that the same actors can be found in all of these channels. 13 In 2007–2008, comedy accounted for close to 40 percent of movies produced in Quebec. See Téléfilm Canada. Rapport annuel 2007–2008, 47. REFERENCES

Adorno, Theodor W. 1991. The Culture Industry: Selected Essays on Mass Culture. London: Routledge. Anderson, Benedict. 1983. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. Combs, James, ed. 1993. Movies and Politics. The Dynamic Relationship. New York: Garland Publishing. Cornellier, Bruno. 2008. “Éloge du nombre: Cinéma national, industries culturelles et (re)configurations du populaire.” Nouvelles “vues” sur le cinéma québécois 9: 1–31. Crick, Bernard. 2000. In Defence of Politics. New York: Continuum. Crowdus, Gary, ed. 1994. The Political Companion to American Film. Chicago: Lakeview Press. Edwardson, Ryan. 2008. Canadian Content: Culture and the Quest for Nationhood. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Feigenbaum, Harvey B. 2007. “Hegemony or Diversity in Film and Television?: The United States, Europe and Japan.” The Pacific Review 20(3): 371–96. Furhammar, Leif, and Folke Isaksson. 1971. Politics and Film. New York: Praeger Publishers. Gianos, Phillip L. 1998. Politics and Politicians in American Film. Westport and London: Praeger. Hartley, John. 1992. The Politics of Pictures: The Creation of the Public in the Age of Popular Media. London and New York: Routledge. Hesmondhalgh, David. 2007. The Cultural Industries. Second edition. London: sage Publications. Hudon, Raymond and Christian Poirier. 2011. La politique, jeux et enjeux: Action en société, action publique, et pratiques démocratiques. Quebec City: Les Presses de l’Université Laval, Coll. Sociologie Contemporaine. Kellner, Douglas. 1993. “Film, Politics, and Ideology. Toward a Multiperspectival Film Theory.” In Movies and Politics: The Dynamic Relationship, edited by James E. Combs, 55–92. New York: Garland Publishing. Kellner, Douglas, and Michael Ryan. 1988. Camera Politica: The Politics and

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Ideology of Contemporary Hollywood Film. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Lacroix, Jean-Guy and Gaëtan Tremblay. 1997. “The Emergence of Cultural Industries into the Foreground of Industrialization and Commodification: Elements of Context.” Current Sociology 45(4): 11–37. Leftwich, Adrian, ed. 2004. What Is Politics?: The Activity and Its Study. Cambridge: Polity Press. Lepage-Boily, Elizabeth. 2010. “De père en flic: le film le plus payant de 2009.” Cinoche.com, January 6. Accessed 9 July 2012. http://www.cinoche .com/actualites/de-pere-en-flic-est-le-film-le-plus-payant-au-quebec-en 2009/index.html. Merton, Robert K. and Paul F. Lazarsfeld. 1951. “Studies in Radio and Film Propaganda.” In Social Theory and Social Structure, edited by Robert K. Merton. Glencoe: The Free Press. Muscio, Giuliana. 2006. Hollywood’s New Deal. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, Coll. Cultures and the Moving Image. Nimmo, Dan and James Combs. 1990. Mediated Political Realities. New York: Longman. Pivasset, Christian. 1971. Essai sur la signification politique du cinéma: L’exemple français, de la Libération aux événements de mai 1968. Paris: Éditions Cujas, Coll. Vie politique et politique internationale. Poirier, Christian. 2004a. Le cinéma québécois: À la recherche d’une identité? Tome 1: L’imaginaire filmique. Quebec City: Presses de l’Université du Québec. – 2004b. Le cinéma québécois: À la recherche d’une identité? Tome 2: Les politiques cinématographiques. Quebec City: Presses de l’Université du Québec. – 2007a. “Cinéma et politique: perspectives pour une analyse filmique du politique.” In Cinéma anglophone et politique: Vers un renouveau du sens, edited by Trudy Bolter, 21–43. Paris: L’Harmattan, Coll. Champs Visuels. – 2007b. “Politiques cinématographiques et groupes d’intérêt: De la relation ambivalente du cinéma québécois avec ses institutions.” Nouvelles “vues” sur le cinéma québécois 3: 1–18. Ricoeur, Paul. 1983. Temps et récit: Tome 1: L’intrigue et le récit historique. Paris: Le Seuil. – 1985a. Temps et récit: Tome 2: La configuration dans le récit de fiction. Paris: Le Seuil. – 1985b. Temps et récit: Tome 3: Le temps raconté. Paris: Le Seuil. Rosenbaum, Jonathan. 1997. Movies as Politics. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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Schwartz, Joseph M. 1995. The Permanence of the Political: A Democratic Critique of the Radical Impulse to Transcend Politics. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Thuderoz, Christian. 2000. Négociations: Essai de sociologie du lien social. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, Coll. Le Sociologue. Wang, Georgette and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh. 2005. “Globalization and Hybridization in Cultural Products: The Cases of Mulan and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 8(2): 175–93. Warren, Mark E. 1999. “What Is Political?” Journal of Theoretical Politics 11(2): 207–31. Williams, Raymond. 2001a. “Culture Is Ordinary.” In The Raymond Williams Reader, edited by John Higgins, 10–24. Oxford: Blackwell. – 2001b. “Film and the Dramatic Tradition.” In The Raymond Williams Reader, edited by John Higgins, 25–41. Oxford: Blackwell. Wood, Richard, ed. 1990. Film and Propaganda in America: A Documented History. New York: Greenwood Press. Zimmer, Christian.1974. Cinéma et politique. Paris: Seghers, Coll. Cinéma 2000.

Introduction

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10 The Portrayal of English and French Political Culture in Canadian Film GINA S . C OMEAU

Political culture can be simultaneously sustained and re-enforced by the icons, myths, and symbols embodied in various cultural representations. Given the importance of political culture in understanding political action, it is surprising how few Canadian political scientists have studied the links between political and popular culture. Canadian political culture is often studied from an historical, constitutional/institutional, value survey and/or a political socialization perspective (Wiseman 2007). The studies that do examine the links between popular and political culture are often concerned with the influence of American culture on Canadian values and attitudes (Manning 1993). Fletcher (1998) has shown that popular culture created for French and English audiences, particularly in French and English language media representations, is quite distinctive. It often reflects societal differences between the two groups. In a similar vein, this chapter is interested in the portrayal of English and French political culture in Canadian films. It examines the differences between political culture created for English and French audiences, as well as those created for both. This involves an analysis of French and English Canadian films, a comparison of how key issues and values are framed, and which icons, myths, and symbols are promoted for both audiences. Within these representations of English and French Canadian political cultures, there is an underlying struggle to both define and negotiate identity, by including and excluding what it means to be “Canadian,” that illustrates how films are additional spaces where identities can be negotiated.

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This chapter examines three Canadian films: Bon Cop, Bad Cop (2006); Seducing Dr. Lewis (2004); and Men with Brooms (2002). The first film, Bon Cop, Bad Cop, is a comedy thriller about two police officers, one from Quebec and the other from Ontario, who must work together to solve a murder case. The film depicts the tensions between English and French-speaking Canadians, and was nominated for 11 Genie Awards. It won three Genie Awards (Best Motion Picture, Golden Reel Award, and Achievement in Overall Sound), a Jutra Award, and a Canadian Comedy Award. It is described it as “a true Canadian success” and one of the highest grossing Canadian films (Monk 2006). The second film, Seducing Dr. Lewis, is a French comedy produced in Quebec which had success in both languages. It was nominated for eleven Genie Awards and won the Achievement in Cinematography Award as well as seven Jutras. It depicts the efforts of a small fictional community – St. Marie la Moderne – to attract a Montreal physician. The community has a high unemployment rate with the majority of its residents collecting welfare checks. A manufacturing company is willing to open a small plant if the community can prove it has a physician. The community then engages in a number of deceptive tactics to seduce Dr. Lewis, a Montreal plastic surgeon, to sign a five year contract. For many residents, the plant offers hope and a chance to revive the economically depressed village. It is a story of tragedy and liberation, one of two common narratives in Quebec cinema since the late 1960s (Poirier 2005). The third film, Men with Brooms, is a comedy produced in Ontario. The film illustrates Canadians’ passion for curling. The Long Bay Curling Club Team is revived to honour its deceased coach’s dream of winning the Golden Broom. The film is set in a fictitious small town in Ontario and follows the team’s journey. The film was nominated for two Genie Awards and is illustrative of English-speaking Canadian humour which has a tendency towards self-deprecation (Atwood 1982) and often includes comedic references to the Canadian-American border or demarcates itself from the United States (Andrews 2000). These three films were selected for this study for several reasons. First, they all represent Canadian cinema, having been filmed and produced in Canada, by Canadians, with Canadians as the primary target audience. Men with Brooms targeted English-speaking Canadians, Seducing Dr. Lewis targeted French-speaking Canadians, and Bon Cop, Bad Cop targeted both English and French-speaking Canadians. Although the films targeted English, French, or bilingual Canadians,

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each film was translated into the other official language. Bon Cop, Bad Cop was filmed as a bilingual film and also included a fully English or French audio option. The selected films also met Canadian content requirements. Second, they are described as representing Frenchspeaking Canadians, English-speaking Canadians, or both groups. Third, the three were deemed successful by Canadian standards, generating substantial revenues. Fourth, the use of humour is an important element in all three films. Lastly, the films were either translated or included subtitles in the other official language and were available in both official languages. It was important to select films identified as Canadian given that Canadian cinema is an important vehicle for expressing Canadian identity (Holman and Thacker 2007, 139). The films depict life in Canada, and their primary target audience was made up of Canadians, though they were later distributed internationally (Serendipity Point Films 2001). Men with Brooms producer Robert Lantos wanted to produce a popular movie for Canadians and approached Paul Gross with the idea of producing a film that Gross would direct if it spoke to Canadians. Lantos felt vindicated by the movie’s success. In a press release he is cited as saying, “At long last the myth that Canadians have no enthusiasm for Canadian movies has been shattered. This means more to me than a Palme d’Or in Cannes. I feel jubilated and vindicated” (Serendipity Point Films 2002). In addition to being made on Canadian soil, the three films discussed here included Canadian actors and were representative of different Canadian cultures. Canadian content was not diluted to make it appeal to an American market. While diluting Canadian content is often a characteristic of Quebec films, it is less true of English Canadian cinema. Indeed, at times the portrayal of Canadians and Canadian identity borders on the absurd. The three films often use humour in the portrayal of Canadians and together they depict a range of Canadian stereotypes. The use of humour to depict Canadians and to engage with Canadian identity is not new and has been used in many Canadian films and television shows. Artiles (2010) argues that humour is an important aspect of Strange Brew, for instance, a parody of Hamlet: “they use humour as an effective and fresh way to engage the same existential questions that underlie the play to aptly address the nature of Canadian identity” (209). Similarly, humour is used to depict Canadian identity and culture in the three films examined here, albeit in a different manner than depicted in Strange Brew. Humour,

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in fact, can also be used as an effective form of social criticism (Vipin 2008, 16). As Holman and Thacker (2007) note, popular culture is useful in explaining how societies view themselves. It plays an important role in reinforcing the values, myths, and symbols of a society’s political culture. In Canada, popular culture has tended to emphasize its differences with the U.S., or in the case of Quebec, from the rest of Canada. Similarly, Monk argues: In general, film performs a similar function in Quebec as it does in Canada as a whole: the preservation of a unique culture in the face of a much larger and more powerful culture apparatus. For Canada, this threat comes from the United States, and more specifically, from Hollywood. For Quebec the threat is a singular Canadian national culture. Quebec national cinema acts as a counterpoint to Canadian national cinema in its attempt to disrupt the federal government’s discourse of unity and singularity. (Monk 2006: 179) This chapter is interested in understanding how the political culture of each group is presented and whether there are any unifying elements between the films. Of particular interest is the comparative framing of issues and attitudes towards the role of government, discipline, and authority as well as the values, icons, and symbols promoted in these three films. The study relied on qualitative research methods to explore the links between popular and political culture. In order to understand how political culture is reflected in Canadian cinema, a review of the literature on Canadian political culture was undertaken to define political culture and the indicators commonly used to delineate Canadian political culture. Indicators such as attitudes towards government, values, and symbols were then used to code the content of the films. The literature was also used to identify key elements of the national and regional political cultures. To decipher how political culture is reflected and reinforced in popular culture, a visual and textual analysis of the films was undertaken. This included viewing the films several times and transcribing them, identifying passages related to political culture (e.g., attitudes towards authority), and using visual analysis methods to identify icons and symbols used throughout the films. Once the films were transcribed, they were viewed again to

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gain a better understanding of how certain values/attitudes reflected and re-enforced English and French political cultures. Subsequently, a comparison of the three films was undertaken to identify both similarities and differences between them. The following sections on the role of government, discipline and authority, values, icons and symbols, and distinctly Canadian features examine how these three films present Quebec (French) and Ontario (English) political cultures. A comparison of the films enables a better understanding of how Canadian popular culture reflects, sustains, and/or challenges certain political values and attitudes for English and French-speaking Canadians. Do the values/attitudes reflect and re-enforce English and French political cultures? What similarities emerge between the two? Upon examining the issues/attitudes, as well as the icons, myths, and symbols present in the films, it was also important to look at the reception of these by English and French reviewers (Fletcher 1998). As we will see, in some films, certain aspects of political culture are more strongly represented. TH E ROLE OF GOVERNMENT , AU TH O R I T Y , A N D D I SC IP L I N E

The role government plays in society is an important element of political culture (Nevitte 2002). This includes ideas about what the relationship should be between government and citizens, the rights and responsibilities of citizens, as well as the obligations and the limits of governmental authority. In Seducing Dr. Lewis, the government provides a social safety net in times of need. It has a role in helping communities that are struggling economically, while supporting the right of citizens to stay in their communities. The majority of citizens in St. Marie la Moderne are recipients of social assistance. Although governmental assistance is viewed as necessary, it is portrayed as something dirty. At the end of the film, the principal character, Germain, explains what it is like to need help from the government: “Did you ever line up for a welfare check? You get more than money, you get shame! You get a full dose of shame. The money lasts two weeks, the shame’s good for a month” (Seducing Dr. Lewis). So while governmental assistance is important and required, it comes at a price: one’s dignity. This idea supports the view that a citizen’s worth is tied to his/her productivity. While many feel that their worth is tied to their productivity, they also feel that poverty and unemployment are factors external to the individual, a view that is more

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common among French Canadians than among English Canadians (Nevitte 2002: 123). In such cases, it is the government’s responsibility to provide assistance in the form of Employment Insurance benefits, for instance. The government can also step in to entice communities by opening plants in economically depressed areas. The potentially negative impact of such acts, however, is addressed in Seducing Dr. Lewis when Germain expresses disgust that the mayor has offered a tax exemption to the company and that another municipality has offered the company $50,000.00. Bon Cop, Bad Cop addresses the limits of governmental authority. In a number of instances, the cops are seen pushing the boundaries of the law in order to find a suspect. While the Ontario police officer is more stringent in respecting these limits, he supports the Quebec officer on several occasions when the Quebec officer oversteps the boundaries and does not respect the rights of citizens. There are times when the Quebec police officer does not respect legal rights (section 7–14) outlined in the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms (Canada 1982). The differences are illustrative of Quebec and Ontario’s distinct regional political cultures. Authors such as Wiseman (2007) and Dyck (1996), to name a few, have argued that Quebec and Ontario have distinct political cultures reflecting different values and attitudes towards politics. Ontarians have tended to value order, stability, and hierarchy, and they identify themselves first and foremost as Canadians (Dyck 1996), whereas Quebeckers, since the 1960s, have become more democratic, at times even radical and egalitarian, with a stronger attachment to Quebec than Canada (Wiseman 2007). Similarly, in Seducing Dr. Lewis, a police officer who happens to be the former Mayor of St. Marie la Moderne arrests a plastic surgeon possessing cocaine. Instead of reporting Dr. Lewis, he sends him to St. Marie for a month. The characters in both films often bend the laws, often without consequence or with very little consequence, with the ends justifying the means. Thus it is sometimes acceptable to overstep the limits when there is a justifiable end, such as helping the community, or for the greater good. Provincial differences are made apparent in Men with Brooms and Bon Cop, Bad Cop in how citizens react to police officers. In Ontario, there is a greater deference to police officers and to authority in general. In Men with Brooms, individuals are very respectful when addressing officers, and the English cop is respectful when he addresses his superior officers. In Bon Cop, Bad Cop, the Ontario police officers

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appear to follow procedures more rigidly than the Quebec police officers, and in doing so illustrate a need for social order as well as a respect for the law and hierarchies (Wiseman 2007). This is evident in the treatment of the crime scenes. In the film, the Ontario police officers behave in a much more orderly fashion. Even their style of dress is more formal than their Quebec counterparts. In contrast, the Quebec cop breaks the law on numerous occasions, committing a number of traffic violations, not respecting a detainee’s rights, parking in a handicapped zone, and breaking and entering, to name only a few. So while the bending of the law is found in all three films, it is much more pronounced and accepted in the Quebec films. While these are not extreme violations, they are in opposition to the more cautious behaviour of the Ontarian. The Ontario police officer is presented as reflecting the traditional Ontarian political values of elitism, stability, order, and restraint (Wiseman 2007). There is one reference in Bon Cop, Bad Cop to respecting the language rights outlined in the Charter. However, even at this point the Quebec police officer, Bouchard, suggests that in Quebec the appropriate language is French regardless of the individual’s language, whereas the Ontario police officer, Ward, refers to the right to be served in one’s mother tongue: ward: Rule 12: you let me interrogate the witnesses. I do the talking. bouchard: Whatever, but in French. ward: Depends on the maternal language of the person we’re talking to, doesn’t it? bouchard: In Quebec, we work in French. ward: Fine. That leaves the rest of Canada under my jurisdiction, with the possible exception of some of New Brunswick. (Bon Cop, Bad Cop) This dialogue illustrates the importance of the French language in Quebec, as demonstrated in the battle over Bill 101 and the provincial government’s drive to promote the French language (Pelletier 2008: 76–8). VA LU E S

Neil Nevitte argues that there is currently a shift underway to a higher level of civil permissiveness in Canadian values. He refers to five key

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categories to understand the level of civil permissiveness: claiming government benefits to which you are not entitled; avoiding a fare on public transport; cheating on taxes if you have the chance to do so; keeping money that you have found; and lying in your own interest (Nevitte 2002: 95). The films analyzed depict both provincial (Ontario and Quebec) and Canadian values and, in doing so, reinforce provincial and national values. The values represented in the three films are a reflection of provincial political values outlined in the Canadian values survey research detailed in Nevitte’s (2002) study. The study demonstrates that Quebec has a higher level of civil permissiveness than Ontario, and this is reflected in Seducing Dr. Lewis. In one instance, a resident is seen claiming benefits to which he is not entitled by cashing the welfare check of a deceased man. While the postal worker and the bank manager both protest this, they nonetheless permit Germain to obtain government benefits not intended for him. The other examples include keeping money you have found and lying in your own interest. The lies told to the doctor are deemed forgivable as they are for the greater good. In Men with Brooms, the main character, Cutter, is haunted by feelings of guilt about having lied in a previous curling match and not declared a touched stone. His guilt in some way reflects opinion poll data suggesting that English-speaking Canadians have lower levels of civil permissiveness (Nevitte 2002). Cutter is able to redeem himself in the end by declaring a touched stone and replaying a shot to win the game. The referee even questions Cutter’s decision to come clean as the community needs a win. However, it is by coming clean that he redeems himself and earns the respect of his opponent. The Quebec films also present a far less egalitarian view of women than does Men with Brooms. As Marshall (2000) notes, the representation of women in Quebec film has long been critiqued. Despite many political, social, and economic gains in Quebec, the representations of women in Quebec cinema have failed to represent these gains. According to Sullivan (2006), there are key differences between independent films and popular films, with the former representing these gains and the latter tending to represent women as sexual objects, supporting characters, or as maternal caregivers. In the two Quebec films examined here, women are not featured in positions of power, with the exception of one woman who works in a bank. Instead, women are typically waitresses, or postal workers, or are featured doing the domestic chores. This reflects the differing economic status held by

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women in Ontario and Quebec. Research has demonstrated that in Ontario women enjoy a higher economic status and fare better in a number of economic indicators, such as participation in the labour force, average income, and the number of university degrees. However, Quebec has a slightly higher number of women employed in managerial and professional occupations, which is not reflected in these films (O’Neill 2006: 468). In Bon Cop, Bad Cop, women are sometimes featured topless, and they tend to work as receptionists or as waitresses. The police officers are men, of course, as is the doctor in Seducing Dr. Lewis, and in both films it is the men who go out and drink beer. The opposite is seen in Men with Brooms, even though the movie is about a male curling team; there is a female police officer in the film, as well as a female astronaut. Women are also seen in the bars and are consumers of sports, despite the fact that curling is presented as a male-dominated sport. This is reflective of sports movie culture, particularly hockey movies where national tensions are highlighted and traditional gender roles are often clearly delineated (Beaty 2006). I C O NS A ND SY M B O L S

Men with Brooms features a number of symbols and icons. It is proudly Canadian. It portrays the life of a mining town and the town’s obsession with curling. The curling rock is presented as a cultural icon, something the Americans just don’t understand. The film thus plays on the sort of cross-border differences that are found frequently in English-speaking Canadian humour (Andrews 2000). The beaver, a national symbol featured on the Canadian nickel, is featured throughout the film. Beaver crossings are shown on numerous occasions. There is even an incident in which the actors are made to wait for beavers to cross. In another instance, there is a documentary on beavers playing in the background. The members of the curling team all have beaver tattoos on their chests, and their deceased coach’s daughter has a beaver tattoo. The beaver is featured as a sign of unity amongst the team members. The frequent portrayal of the beaver offers a comedic element to the film and reflects the tendency towards self-satire in Canadian popular culture (Gilbert 1993, 183). Vipal (2008) argues that depicting Canadians through satirical images is at times a form of social and political criticism. In interviews, the cast have expressed the view that these satirical representations are part of Canadian humour.

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Canadian companies, such as Moosehead, JVC Canada, and Tim Horton’s, are featured prominently in Men with Brooms. All companies are listed as sponsors at the end of the film. Companies are not so evidently promoted in the two Quebec films, perhaps because of the funding programs offered in Quebec. While all three films received governmental assistance, Men with Brooms received only federal financing, whereas the other two films received financing from both the federal government and the Quebec provincial government. Another important Canadian symbol featured in Men with Brooms is the national anthem, which is featured in the opening credits of the dvd version. The importance of the monarchy for many English-speaking Canadians is mocked by the Quebec cop in the following dialogue: ward: You Québécois are all the same. You got some lunatic who’s gone nuts over a hockey team that doesn’t exist anymore. And you with Suzie, je me souviens. You’re living in the past. You got to get over it. bouchard: Yeah, well, at least we’re alive, not like you and your freakin’ queen and her fucked-up children. (Bon Cop, Bad Cop) The Quebec cop mocks the monarchy in retaliation to the Ontario cop’s taunting comments about Quebec living in the past. The notion that Quebec needs to get over its history in order to move forward illustrates the political attitudes of some English-speaking Canadians towards Quebec. In Seducing Dr. Lewis, icons and symbols are less evident, particularly as they relate to Canada. There is a tendency in Quebec films to use content, such as “political expressions,” to speak to its audience rather than specific symbols, especially when targeting a French-speaking audience (Garrity 2003, 416). One briefly sees a Canada Post sign, but this is not even featured on the post office. The Quebec emblem on the social security check is more prominently displayed. In Bon Cop, Bad Cop, the Ontario and Quebec border sign is featured prominently with a dead body lying on top of it. Key Quebec phrases (“je me souviens,” “Vive le Quebec libre!”) and important historical events (the Plains of Abraham, the Patriotes) are mentioned at various points throughout the movie. The presence of these references is reflective of the film’s satiric style, a key element of Canadian popular culture that often tends to be politicized (Manning 1993).

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DISTINCTLY CANADIAN

While the three films tend to reflect the distinctiveness of Quebec and Ontario cultures, there are some similarities between the three films: the importance of sports, self-satiric representation, and migration. As Nevitte explains, Canadians have a tendency to take pride in their sporting achievements. They promote their “sporting achievements and their culture as a sense of pride” (2002: 64). Canadians project this value slightly more than their American counterparts. A sense of pride in sporting achievements and the importance of sports to Canadian citizens are reflected in all three films. It is at the center of Bon Cop, Bad Cop, which revolves around hockey. A murder is committed to avenge the sale of a Quebec hockey team sold to the United States. In many scenes, hockey games are playing in the background. In this film, comedy is used to criticize and challenge the upper class narrative of Canadian identity (e.g., see Artiles 2010: 226). Moreover, as in Men with Brooms, border humour is used to criticize the economic and political influence of the United States. The rivalry between Ontario and Quebec is reflected on the ice with the Montreal Patriots and the Toronto Loyalists. While the film uses fictional teams, the movie depicts many nhl events. One example is the relocation of an nhl Canadian hockey team, the Quebec Nordiques, from Quebec City to the United States. Another example is the reference to “the great one,” Canadian hockey player Wayne Gretzky, relocating to Los Angeles to play for the L.A. Kings. A final example is the portrayal of a character resembling Don Cherry, a hockey commentator and host of Hockey Night in Canada renowned for his rants and flamboyant style. Throughout the movie, we see both French- and English-speaking Canadians watching the hockey game, with the French supporting the Montreal Patriots and the English supporting the Toronto Loyalists. The killer is persuaded that he is doing a noble deed and will save one of our two national sports, though there is no reference to Canada’s other national sport. The tattooed killer states on national television, “You are trying to stop me in my heroic attempt to save our national sport” (Bon Cop, Bad Cop). In his mind, these murders are justifiable because of the loss of Canadian players and teams to the United States. Hockey is panCanadian, as reflected in Bon Cop, Bad Cop; however, language and region influence which team one supports. In Seducing Dr. Lewis, hockey is a form of culture consumed by the residents of St. Marie la Moderne. Residents are distraught when they

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have to watch a cricket game instead of a hockey game as a ploy to seduce Dr. Lewis. The bar patrons immediately change the channel when Dr. Lewis goes to the washroom. Watching the hockey game is something the guys do together in the bar at the end of the day. As in many other Canadian films about hockey, issues of class and masculinity are prominent in the film (Artiles 2010). The same enthusiasm for sports is reflected in Men with Brooms, with the difference that curling rather than hockey is the passion. As noted earlier, hockey is the national passion and an “emblem of Canadian popular culture,” but curling is also viewed as an important sport for Canadians. It is held in higher esteem than many other sports, such as soccer or tennis. In Men with Brooms, curling is both consumed and performed. Curling is consumed by spectators at home, in bars, or in person at the curling rink. It is an activity that allows one to demonstrate one’s national pride. Many spectators are seen sporting national symbols such as the maple leaf, or wearing distinctively Canadian attire. City residents are even seen betting on curling events at the local coffee shop. The key difference between spectatorship in Seducing Dr. Lewis and Men with Brooms is that in the latter film women also take part in watching the event. In Seducing Dr. Lewis, women are neither featured as participants or spectators of sport nor are they present in the bar scenes. The only notable exception is in a scene in which villagers go from the bar to the Bingo hall. Women and children are seen in the bar watching the hockey game as part of a ploy to fool company inspectors into thinking there are more residents living in St. Marie la Moderne. In the English film, women are featured in all scenes where sport is consumed. A second distinctive Canadian element is the use of self-satire. Selfdeprecation is a key element of Canadian humour (Atwood 1982). The three films ridicule different aspects of regional and national culture. The self is represented through the use of satirical images (Gilbert 1993), which in turn shed light on political, economic, and social structures (Artiles 2010). Self-deprecating humour is particularly evident in Bon Cop, Bad Cop and in Men with Brooms. For example, in the former, the characters are both ridiculed for aspects of their political cultures. In the case of the Ontario police officer, he is teased for his attachment to order, hierarchy, and the monarchy, whereas the attachment to past political events is mocked in several scenes relating to the Québecois. The self-satiric aspect is not limited to values and at-

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titudes but is also evident in the treatment of popular icons and symbols, such as the beaver in Men with Brooms. These treatments are reflective of Canadian humour in popular culture. According to Paul Gross, there is something inherently funny about the beaver and the important role that it plays in Canadian iconography (Serendipity Point Films 2002). A third distinctive Canadian element shared by all three films is the loss of residents to urban centres or to the United States. In both Men with Brooms and Bon Cop, Bad Cop, residents are shown to have left for the US and big cities. In Seducing Dr. Lewis, the loss is to urban centres. In both Men with Brooms and Seducing Dr. Lewis, the local economies are dependent on resource industries, and both towns have suffered from the exodus of its citizens. Although this element is more prominent in St. Marie la Moderne, the town of Long Bay, in Men with Brooms, is greatly affected by the loss of the main character, Chris Cutter, played by Paul Gross. Cutter’s ex also leaves the city to become an astronaut in the American Space Agency. CONCLUSION

Although the three films examined here tend to reinforce traditional Ontario and Quebec political culture, they also show some evidence of certain value changes. There are some notable exceptions, of course; the depiction of women in these films, for instance, does not reflect a shifting of values. This is particularly evident in the Quebec films, which feature women in more marginal positions or as sexual objects, a tendency that is characteristic of Quebec popular cinema (Sullivan 2006). The films also fail to reflect the ethnic diversity of the Canadian population. Men with Brooms and Seducing Dr. Lewis are set in fictional small towns with homogenous populations, but such is not the case with Bon Cop, Bad Cop, which is filmed in Montreal and Toronto, two metropolitan cities renowned for their diversity. The different provincial political cultures are reflected in all three films, particularly as it relates to authority and discipline. The films thus reinforce existing political cultures. Bon Cop, Bad Cop reinforces the tradition of Quebec film to challenge the notion that Canadian national identity is unified or homogeneous (Monk 2006). However, there are some cultural similarities between the films, such as their representations of Canadians’ love of sports as both consumers and performers. The promotion of sports as an important cultural ele-

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ment for Canadians is featured prominently in all three films. Hockey is a major part of Canadian popular culture (Gauthier 2002). This is evidenced in two of the three films, with Men with Brooms promoting curling, which for some is the “ultimate Canadian sport” (Ferguson and Ferguson 2007: 120). The reception of these representations was different for English and French audiences. French-speaking Canadians are much more receptive to cinema as popular culture than are English-speaking Canadians. Although Men with Brooms was well received by English-speaking Canadians, the majority seemed more interested in Hollywood blockbusters. The inverse was true in Quebec, where Bon Cop, Bad Cop outsold Hollywood blockbusters on opening week-ends (Kelly 2006). Canadian popular culture as represented in Canadian cinema reinforces Canadian political cultures. The three films examined here support this argument. They do so by presenting specific visions of the role of the state, authority, and discipline, and by the promotion of specific values as well as icons and symbols. They promote both individual provincial cultures and they reflect a certain number of common themes. The films discussed here present different provincial visions of what it means to be Canadian. In the sense that these films are spaces that produce, diffuse, and frame identities, they highlight the importance of studying the links between popular and political culture.

REFERENCES

Andrews, Jennifer. 2000. “Humouring the Border at the End of the Millennium: Constructing an English Canadian Humour Tradition for the Twentieth Century and Beyond.” Essays on Canadian Writing 71: 140–50. Artiles, Erica. 2010. “The Paragon of Animals, eh? Humor and Identity in Strange Brew.” Humor 23(2): 201–28. Atwood, Margaret. 1982. “What’s so Funny? Notes on Canadian Humour.” In Second Words: Selected Critical Prose, 175–89. Toronto: Anansi. Beaty, Bart. 2006. “Not Playing, Working: Class, Masculinity, and Nation in the Canadian Hockey Film.” In Working on Screen: Representations of the Working Class in Canadian Cinema, edited by Malik Khouri and Darrell Varga, 113–33. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Canada. 1982. Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Ottawa. Dyck, Rand. 1996. Provincial Politics in Canada: Towards the Turn of the Century, third edition. Scarborough: Prentice Hall Canada.

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Ferguson, Will, and Ian Ferguson. 2007. How to Be a Canadian. Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre. Fletcher, Frederick J. 1998. “Media and Political Identity: Canada and Quebec in the Era of Globalization.” Canadian Journal of Communication 23 (3). Accessed 20 July 2012. http://www.cjc-online.ca/index.php/journal/article/view/1049/955. Garrity, Henry. 2003. “Book Review Essay: Searching for Identity in Canadian Film … Again.” The American Review of Canadian Studies. 33(3): 415–18. Gauthier, Jennifer. 2002. Split screen: National Cinema, Cultural Policy and Identity in Canada. PhD diss., George Mason University. Gilbert, Reid. 1993. “Mounties, Muggings, and Moose: Canadian Icons in a Landscape of American Violence.” In The Beaver Bites Back? American Popular Culture in Canada, edited by D. Flaherty and Frank E. Manning, 178–96. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Holman, Andrew, and Robert Thacker. 2007. “Literary and Popular Culture.” In Canadian Studies in the New Millennium, edited by Patrick James, 125–64. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Kelly, Brendan. 2006. “Bon Cop Arrests Opposition.” The Gazette, September 26, section A3. Manning, Frank E. 1993. “Canadian Popular Culture and the American Other.“ In The Beaver Bites Back? American Popular Culture in Canada, edited by D. Flaherty and Frank E. Manning, 3–28. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Marshall, Bill. 2000. Quebec National Cinema. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Monk, Katherine. 2006. “Bilingual Film a True Canadian Success.” The Vancouver Sun, December 16, section F19. Nevitte, Neil. 2002. Value Change and Governance in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. O’Neill, Brenda. 2006. “Women’s Status Across the Canadian Provinces, 1999–2002: Exploring Differences and Possible Explanations.” In Provinces: Canadian Provincial Politics, second edition, edited by Christopher Dunn, 467–76. Peterborough: Broadview Press. Pelletier, Réjean. 2008 Le Québec et le fédéralisme Canadian: Un regard critique. Laval: Les Presses de l’Université Laval. Poirier, Christian. 2005. “Le «renouveau» du cinéma québécois.” Cités. 23: 165–82. Serendipity Point Films. www.serendipitypoint.com/film/Men-with-Brooms. Sullivan, Rebecca. 2006. “Sex, Labour, and Nationalism in Valérie.” In Work-

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ing on Screen: Representations of the Working Class in Canadian Cinema, edited by Malik Khouri and Darrell Varga, 95–112. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Vipin, Kumar. 2008. “Politics of Laughter: An Introduction to the 1990s Malayalam Popular Comic Film.” South Asian Popular Culture 6(1): 13–28. Wiseman, Nelson. 2007. In Search of Canadian Political Culture. Vancouver: UBC Press. DISCOGRAPHY

Bon Cop, Bad Cop. 2006. dvd. Directed by Érik Canuel. Alliance Atlantis Vivafilm. Seducing Dr. Lewis. 2004. dvd. Directed by Roger Frappier and Luc Vandal. Max Films. Men with Brooms. 2002. dvd. Directed by Paul Gross. Alliance Atlantis and Serendipity Point Films.

Introduction

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11 The Contribution of La Nuit sur l’Étang to the Construction of a Franco-Ontarian Identity AURÉLIE LACASSAGNE 1

La Nuit sur l’Étang is an annual cultural event that has taken place in Sudbury since 1973. Its name refers to the pejorative nickname “frogs” assigned to French speakers by the British: frogs live in swamps (étang). Thus, the name of the event represents a strong political affirmation of selfhood. One can say that, more than just a cultural event, La Nuit – as it is affectionately known – is a political event because it has been constructed as such and because it has remained both a political symbol and a myth. La Nuit is constitutive of a very specific group’s identification: the Franco-Ontarians. As a cultural event, as well as a space for the production of music, La Nuit can be considered “emblematically (external identity) and … catalytically to promote group cohesiveness and belonging (internal identity)” (O’Flynn 2007, 24). The goal of this chapter is to examine the role played by La Nuit in the social construction of Franco-Ontarian identity. The main contention is that the creation of a specific Franco-Ontarian culture (with its cultural institutions, including La Nuit as well as a bounded corpus of literature, music, and poetry, often intertwined) was instrumental in the formation of a “We-identity.” The first part of this chapter is dedicated to a study of the emergence of La Nuit within a specific cultural and political context. This context was defined primarily by the Quebec nationalist movement that deprived FrenchCanadians in Ontario of their identity and cultural markers. The second part explores how, since its inception, La Nuit has developed as a political event directed both at the Anglophone majority (we are

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here, we exist, we are culturally prosperous), as well as at the minority group itself (let’s celebrate our language, culture, and identity). Finally, the last part tries to uncover how the analysis of La Nuit enables us to see that the Franco-Ontarian identity, as any other identity, is a place of struggle and conflict about the social (and spatial) boundaries of the We. T H E E M E RG E NC E O F L A NU I T A ND T H E C RE AT I O N O F A C O U NT E R - C U LTU R E

La Nuit sur l’Étang was organized for the first time by a group of francophone students from Laurentian University, led by Gaston Tremblay and Réjean Grenier. It featured several young artists, most of whom were members of a loosely formed cultural movement that became known as cano (Coopérative des artistes du Nouvel-Ontario). Emerging in 1970 and based around Laurentian University, cano attracted French-speaking students from across Northern Ontario who found in each other a sense of identity. That identity was based on their geographic origin, Northern Ontario, their identification with American counter-culture, and their sense of “not belonging” to the emerging Québécois culture and identity. La Nuit soon became a flag bearer for the development of new Franco-Ontarian culture and identity. From the cooperative emerged other crucial institutions such as the publishing house Prise de parole, the Galerie du Nouvel-Ontario (gno), and the Théatre du Nouvel-Ontario (tno). The members of this group wanted to produce art and adopt attitudes radically different from the existing “culture,” which was strongly controlled by the Catholic Church, at that time the only major French-Canadian institution. In this sense, one could speak of La Nuit as a cultural and political movement similar to the Quiet Revolution in Quebec, with the important distinction that, paradoxically, the Franco-Ontarian movement was also a reaction to the Quiet Revolution. The Political and Cultural Context Created by the Quebec Nationalist Movement To understand what happened with La Nuit sur l’Étang in Sudbury, one needs to first understand what happened within the FrenchCanadian national community at that time. The Estates general of French Canada (a gathering of representatives of all French Canada to

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discuss the issues and future of the French-Canadian nation), held between 1966 and 1969, marked the end of the very concept of “French-Canadian” (Gervais 2003, 107–91; Bock 2001, 19–37). As Gervais (2003, 190) states: A social group defines its identity first and foremost by its discourse; then, by the representations it has of itself. During the times of French Canada, a coherent discourse, based on catholic nationalism, and clear representations, had identified French-Canadians. The Estates General showed that, within the nationalist sphere of influence, we were witnessing a strictly Quebecois “discourse” and “representations” that from now on were to define their identity. Some elites from Quebec decided to adopt a territorially-based definition of a new nation: Quebec. Francophones outside of the province of Quebec were thus deprived of their identity and needed to formulate a new one. Except for French-Canadians from the Maritime Provinces who had always called themselves Acadians, French-Canadians from the other provinces also ended up basing their new identities on territory. Thus, today one speaks of Franco-Ontarians, Franco-Manitobans, Fransaskois, etc. However, the terminology “Franco-Ontarian” preceded the Estates General and the rise of Quebec identity. For instance, 1929 saw the creation of the Union des Cultivateurs Franco-Ontariens, but this organization was affiliated with the Union Catholique des Cultivateurs du Québec. In a similar fashion, in 1949, the Association de la Jeunesse Franco-Ontarienne was created, but it favored a “strong traditional French-Canadian nationalism (Bock and Gervais 2004, 161). The terminology “Franco-Ontarian” was used to define a territorial group within an established group, the French-Canadians. However, the newly defined group’s only representative political organization never embraced this terminology: the acfo (Association CanadienneFrançaise de l’Ontario) did not change its name (the acfeo – Association Canadienne-Française d’Éducation de l’Ontario was created in 1910 and transformed into the acfo in 1969). Moreover, this necessary process of re-identification was not due to the action of the Church, which, in large part, opposed such divisions. In Ontario, the re-identification process was initiated mainly in Sudbury by professors and students from Laurentian University, as signified by the very names of the new cultural institutions mentioned above (gno and tno), Nouvel-Ontario being the name given to Northeastern Ontario by its first

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French-speaking settlers at the turn of the century. Accordingly, one needs to recognize that the movement started within the cultural milieu and then moved to a political level. In other words, there was first the emergence of a Franco-Ontarian culture (with its institutions) that led to the formulation of an identity and of political claims. Events in Quebec unfolded in the same order. According to Jacques Aubé (1990, 44), “it is right after the Second World War, in the favorable context of decolonization, that re-appeared, for the first time since the adventure of the Patriots, the forewarning signs of a radical and secular nationalism in Canadian song (at this time, it is not yet called Quebec song).” Aubé (1990) underlines that this movement created by these chansonniers was “the beginning of what will become the ‘Quiet Revolution’” (45). Thus, in the 1960s in Quebec, one sees the emergence of a strictly and exclusively defined Quebec song that contributes to the creation of “a symbolic nation based on a social identity” (Robert 1975, 274). The development of Franco-Ontarian culture and, later, identity should therefore be understood partially as a reaction to what was happening in Quebec. The goal of cano was first and foremost to be French in an English environment, but also to be different from artists in Quebec or in France. To create a new identity, one needs first to create symbols, rallying points enabling this identity to develop. La Nuit sur l’Étang is one of these symbols; every year, hundreds of people gather for a night of French music, poetry, theatre, and other cultural manifestations. La Nuit has always drawn hundreds of participants. In 1983, 1500 people gathered to celebrate its tenth anniversary, and for its twenty-fifth anniversary another 1500 people attended La Nuit in the Sudbury Arena (Pichette 2001, 85 and 89).2 In 2010, the 600 tickets available were sold within few weeks. At the same time, at the beginning of the 1970s, cano and other Franco-Ontarian artists contextualized their creative work in a more general movement of counter culture. This is similar to what happened in Quebec with Robert Charlebois, who marked the end of an era and the beginning of “patriotic rock.” Quebec singers, playwrights, directors, social workers, and intellectuals also gathered into a heteroclite circle, and they also created cooperatives that finally became the backbone of the nationalist movement (see Aubé 1990, 72–9). La Nuit, in 1973, represents in the Franco-Ontarian collective imagination a similar symbolic place to the Superfrancofête of August 1974, which took place on the Plains of Abraham in Quebec City and was

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attended by more than 100 000 people from throughout the Francophone world, including the three musical giants – Charlebois, Vigneault, and Leclerc. A “Serene Revolution” Allowing a “Possible Future” Pierre Bélanger (one of the original figures of cano) called the revolution in Nouvel-Ontario the “serene revolution” (“la revolution sereine”). As Gaston Tremblay points out, this serene revolution “shows the worries of Franco-Ontarians facing the ‘Quiet’ revolution of the Quebeckers. As a minority, they are less interested in questioning the basis of society, they are more interested in the survival of their specificity. Confident, they are devoted to a regional cultural revolution rather than a political revolution of national scope” (2003, 16–17). Somehow, as Tremblay notes, this process was easier than the one in Quebec because of the institutional and cultural vacuum in the region: “it is in this vacuum that we see the development, at the beginning of the 70s in the Nouvel-Ontario, of a network of typically Franco-Ontarian cultural institutions: le Théâtre du Nouvel-Ontario, La Nuit sur l’étang, la Galerie du Nouvel-Ontario, and the publishing house Prise de parole” (Tremblay 2003, 20). The group of artists collectively known as cano invented a “possible future” for an identity-deprived people. In his poem “Au Nord de notre vie” (which became the lyrics of a song by the music group cano), Robert Dickson speaks about this “possible future” based on text (both written and oral), music, and friendship. The FrancoOntarians’ future would defy assimilation if they were to create their music, their theatre, their poetry, and their literature, and if they were to be a group of friends having fun during cultural events like La Nuit. This desire to regroup emerges from the fact that the NouvelOntario (geographically Northeastern Ontario) is big and people need to gather to create this sense of closeness: an identity and a place,“We” and “here.” These two intrinsically linked elements are expressed in Dickson’s poem (Dickson 1978a, 26): Au nord de notre vie ici où la distance use les cœurs pleins de la tendresse minerai de la terre de pierre de forêts et de froid

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nous têtus souterrains et solitaires lâchons nos cris rauques et rocheux aux quatre vents de l’avenir possible.3 L A NU I T A ND I T S D E V E LO P M E N T: B E C OM IN G A M A J O R P O L I T I C A L E V EN T

Since its initiation, La Nuit has grown as the major cultural event of the year for the Francophones of all Northern Ontario. But it is more than just a concert; it is also a political event in several respects. Kiosks and Flags La Nuit is a place for several organizations to hold kiosks. In particular, the Sudbury chapter of the Association Canadienne-Française de l’Ontario (acfo), the political organization whose role is to defend, develop, and promote francophone services and rights within the province, has a kiosk where one can find flags and others objects with Franco-Ontarian symbols and a great variety of brochures on acfo activities. The fact that the cultural organization Les Concerts La Nuit sur l’Étang has for a number of years allowed acfo to man a kiosk during the event is an indication of the will to make it something more than just a cultural gathering. Similarly, the Franco-Ontarian flag, which was first flown at the University of Sudbury in 1975, is very much present leading up to and during the festival. The posters announcing La Nuit usually carry this strong, symbolic identity marker of the community, and many flags can be found in the hall-ways and around the stage where the show takes place. Many people in attendance will fly the flag during the concert, and it appears in the official programs of each Nuit. “Notre Place” and “Viens Nous Voir” At the end of each Nuit, all the artists who performed that night join members of the board of the organizing team on stage to sing “Notre Place.” Over the years, this song has become the unofficial Franco-Ontarian anthem. Every September 25th – Flag Day for Franco-Ontari-

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ans – students in French schools in Ontario gather, stand, and sing “Notre Place” as the white and green flag is raised. Some schools even sing this song every day during Francophone week along with the official Canadian anthem. As in the Dickson poem quoted above, a strong sense of space and We-identity can be found in this “anthem,” as its title suggests. The song’s lyrics name several towns and villages of Ontario, illustrating again the importance of geography, of space in the conceptualization of the Franco-Ontarian identity. Indeed, this identity cannot necessarily be constructed historically or against a specific Other. Historically, the identity had been French-Canadian. The Other can therefore not be other Francophone communities (Quebeckers, Franco-Manitobans, Acadians, etc.) as they share the crucial marker of language. Nor, for several reasons, can the Other be the Anglophone majority. Firstly, and again in the spatial sense, being born in Ontario matters. Secondly, a Franco-Ontarian is often also an Anglophone, having inherited two languages, two cultures, and often two identities. He is an “Invisible Man” as described so brilliantly in Patrice Desbiens’ poetry (2008). Thus the appropriation of a geographic space plays a fundamental function in the construction of the Franco-Ontarian identity. Most of the literature, poetry, visual arts, and music produced in French Ontario reflect this very particular importance of space (see, for instance, Bedart and Lahaie 2008). The lyrics of “Notre Place” also deal with the idea of fighting to exist, of having a place within society, to ensure a future. The song strongly emphasizes the idea of solidarity, of acting collectively to reach these goals. Pour ne plus avoir notre langue dans notre poche Je vais chanter, je vais chanter, Que tu viennes de Pointe-aux-Roches ou d’Orléans Je vais chanter, je vais chanter, Pour mettre les accents là où il le faut Il faut célébrer Notre place Aujourd’hui pour demain Notre place Pour un avenir meilleur Notre place Oui donnons-nous la main

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Notre place Ça vient du fond du cœur (Extract from “Notre Place,” by Paul Demers)4 The markers of temporality are also present in the song. The first line is a clear reference to a past when Francophones could not speak French and had to “put their tongue in their pockets.” In this respect, the song alludes to the political and social acceptance of French as represented by the French Language Services Act passed by the Government of Ontario in 1989. In an interview, Paul Demers explained that this song was written as a command performance for a gala organized to celebrate the adoption of the French Language Services Act. As he points out, “this song is making its way into the community. Somehow it does not belong to me anymore; it is a song for all the Franco-Ontarian community that adopted it as a child” (Titus 2006). The lyrics also pertain to the future of the community and invite solidarity to create a better future; they refer to the Act, which does not only acknowledge the role played historically by Francophones in Ontario, but also organizes their current rights as a linguistic minority and encourages its preservation for the future generations. In 1991, acfo adopted a strategic plan for the future of these services and the development of Francophone communities (acfo 1992). This plan was entitled “Notre place … aujourd’hui pour demain,” a clear reference to the song by Demers. Thus, the cultural is also political. Conversely, “Viens nous voir,” a song written by cano, has since the tenth Nuit marked the opening of the event. While its lyrics appear less political, the song nonetheless is an important anchor to the past for the Franco-Ontarian identity and helps transform this individual identity into a collective one. The lyrics make explicit reference to the “good old times” and clearly refer to the story-telling tradition of French-Canadians. As well, the lyrics invite people to join the “gang.” The implicit subtext is an invitation to any francophone to join the group, to not lose his/her identity, especially his/her linguistic identity. But the song goes further and can be read as an invitation to anyone (“il y a à manger pour tous” – there is food for everyone), which highlights the inclusive character of the Franco-Ontarian identity. This is reinforced by the invitation to tell a story (“viens raconter une histoire”) and not the story, suggesting that anyone can participate in the writing of the Franco-Ontarian story.

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Viens t’assoir à ma table Il y a à manger pour tous Viens raconter une histoire Du bon vieux temps (Extract from “Viens nous voir,” written by Marcel Aymar, cano)5 La Nuit as a Political Act It may be said that the political aspect of this cultural festival of music has existed since the first Nuit in 1973. Indeed, the first event – organized on 16 March 1973 – was held to celebrate the end of a three-day colloquium, “Congrès Franco-Parole.” This congress was initiated by the then francophone Vice-President of the Student General Association at Laurentian, Réjean Grenier, and by the students who circled around the French-language student newspaper, Réaction. Their organizing meetings were facilitated by Fernand Dorais, a Jesuit professor of French literature at Laurentian University from 1968 to 1995, who inspired a whole generation of artists and local activists of the Francophone cause in Sudbury. Gaston Tremblay, then editor of Réaction, described the event as “a colloquium of several days that will explore all relevant subjects, interesting for Francophones who, in a sort of constitutive assembly, will discuss these propositions and formulate recommendations that would guide the collective claim of Francophones on the campus” (Tremblay, cited in Pichette 2001, 20). The first Nuit was thus held at the end of a congress whose purpose was nothing less than to be a constitutive assembly. It was born out of a precise political context: a minority deprived of its identity by the “cousins of Quebec” who wanted to take their future in their hands. If the idea of festivity is present – it is a place to have fun – the first Nuit also represented a definite political move, an “excuse” to make the Invisible Man, to use Desbiens’ portrait of the Franco-Ontarian (2008), a visible citizen who affirms his identity. Popular culture is the medium par excellence to express FrancoOntarian identity. Fernand Dorais (1984, 75) was very clear on the premise that the Franco-Ontariannité exists first and foremost through its “socio-cultural texture.” Historically, French-Canadian culture was transmitted around the chimney through storytelling, as well as through parties (with music and dancing) usually organized by the

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Church. But, in the 1970s, the creativity and the emergence of specifically Franco-Ontarian cultural forms were a prerequisite for a new identity to be formed. At the first Nuit, there was not only music, but also poetry, visual arts, and theatre through which young Francophones could express themselves, their identity crisis, their solutions, and their will to exist and live in French. La Nuit has become primarily a musical event, but the March 2010 Nuit returned to the origins of the festival and integrated poetry readings. Similarly, the first shows featured only FrancoOntarian artists, but over time francophone artists from outside Ontario were invited to join the party – “the Franco-Ontarian Woodstock,” as Robert Paquette puts it (Pichette 2001, 31). After some difficulties in the 1970s, the 10th Nuit, in 1983, marked a turning point in the history of the festival, as well as in the history of Franco-Ontarian identity and culture. It reconnected with the original Nuit of 1973 and was a major political event, especially with the “non-invitation” of Quebecois artists, the number of people who attended (one thousand), and the political speeches made on stage that night. One of the animators of the night said that the 10th Nuit was “the first proof of a cultural life in Ontario” and that it would play a crucial role in FrancoOntarian identity construction (Pichette 2001, 65). A N I DEN T I T Y I S A LWAYS C O NT E ST E D : H OW P OP ULA R C U LT UR E P L AYS W I T H T H E S O C IA L B O U N DAR I E S O F I D E NT I T Y

The nexus between culture and identity is paramount for FrancoOntarians. Franco-Ontarian identity is anything but self-evident, as is so well depicted in Desbiens’ collection of poems L’homme invisible / The Invisible Man (2008). As Roger Bernard (1996) puts it, “we are not born Franco-Ontarian, we become Franco-Ontarian” (19). Becoming Franco-Ontarian is a matter of adopting a culture (and a language), as exemplified by Robert Dickson. Dickson is considered one of the major Franco-Ontarian poets. He was deeply involved in the cano movement and eventually with cano, the band. He wrote some of their lyrics and was a devoted reader of lyrics written by André Paiement. He was also instrumental in cano the cooperative with his “Cuisine de la poésie” (the Poetry Kitchen). For years, the cano artists gathered at his home, in his kitchen, to produce music, visual arts, poems, and other literary oeuvres. The Poetry

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Kitchen (Dickson 1978b, 13), like La Nuit, represents a physical place for the production of a Franco-Ontarian popular culture. Dickson, however, was born in southern Ontario in an Anglophone family. He made the choice to write in French. He was not born Franco-Ontarian; he consciously decided to become Franco-Ontarian. The sense of space, the will to construct a geography for this FrancoOntarian identity, represents a major characteristic – if not an obsession – in Franco-Ontarian culture (whether in the lyrics of songs, theatre plays, visual arts). For this reason, it is important to understand the ongoing controversy on the limits/borders of the Franco-Ontarian space (see Gilbert 1991). Social scientists who specialize in FrancoOntarian identity use at least two terminologies: “Nouvel-Ontario” and “Ontario français,” with the latter being the most widely used. “Nouvel-Ontario” defines a smaller region, “an area roughly bounded by Sudbury, North Bay, Hearst, Thunder Bay, and Sault Ste. Marie,” according to Mcleod Arnopoulos (1982, 3), but it is also often defined as Northeastern Ontario (in which case the region of Thunder Bay is excluded). The southern limit of the region has been the object of many discussions. Does Nouvel-Ontario stop at the outskirts of Greater Sudbury? Does it include the region of Penetanguishene, i.e., historical Huronia? And if the Francophones of Southern Ontario are not part of the Nouvel-Ontario, does this mean that they cannot qualify as Franco-Ontarians? In other words, as with any other identity, the Franco-Ontarian identity is a contested notion and the analysis of popular culture allows one to uncover some of the tensions with the construction of a Self. An analysis of La Nuit, both through its attendance and its organization, also reveals the problematic spatial construction of the “FrancoOntarian identity.” In terms of attendance, the tradition, from the very first Nuit, has been to organize a system of buses to bring young people from outside Sudbury to attend the “party.” Most years, these buses come from North Bay, Sturgeon Falls, Hearst, Kapuskasing, and Timmins. In some instances, buses have been organized from Toronto or Ottawa, but these young spectators are almost always seen as “invites.” In other words, at the biggest party of the year, this symbol of FrancoOntarian culture and identity is somehow “reserved” to a restricted spatial perception of the “Nouvel-Ontario.” In terms of the organization, Les Concerts la Nuit sur l’Étang has an official mandate for the whole province. In 2008, a representative from the Arts Council of Ontario – one of La Nuit’s main funding agencies – made this fact

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clear to the members of the organization’s board. He complained that there was no board member from outside the region of Sudbury and that the organization was not holding any event outside of that region. His complaint further indicates that Franco-Ontarian culture and identity is mainly defined in “Sudburian” terms, and that it may not extend much outside of this specific region.6 This fight over spatial terminology (Nouvel Ontario or French Ontario) is linked to another terminology issue to define the group: Francophone or Franco-Ontarian?7 For instance, a quick look at the website of “Club 2000 Niagara” – a key organization supporting the economic development of Francophones in the region of the Niagara Peninsula, which includes 13,200 Francophones or 3.8 percent of the regional population – reveals that the term “Franco-Ontarian” is completely absent. They instead use the term “Francophone,” which Gaétan Gervais (2003) defines as “a reductive term that narrows minorities to linguistic entities, without reference to history, geography, or culture” (11). It is also important to mention that many “Franco-Ontarians” still define themselves as “French-Canadians” (Gervais 2003, 205 and 211), and sometimes as simply “French.” The textbook L’Ontario français: Des Pays-d’en-haut à nos jours, coauthored by Gaétan Gervais and Michel Bock, constitutes the main pedagogical resource for history professors teaching the grade 12 course in French-Ontarian history. In this book, the identity question is raised in the following terms: To what extent can the reference to a common past continue to serve as a foundation of Franco-Ontarian identity, considering the increasingly important contribution of ethno-cultural minorities to the development of French Ontario? Some even reject the terms French-Canadian and Franco-Ontarian to speak of the community under the pretext that they would be too exclusive and would have meaning just for the francophone population “de souche.” Sometimes, the term “francophone” is preferred because it would be more neutral, according to some, as it designates, according to its main definition, only the individuals who speak French, without reference to their ethnic or cultural origin. […] The need to open to “alterité / openness” and to recognize that identity belongings, in French Ontario, are numerous, is without any doubt. Yet, some questions remain. Must these efforts of inte-

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gration mean inevitably the reduction of Franco-Ontarian identity to its sole linguistic dimension to the detriment of what one can call an “historical consciousness” of the community as a whole? Can a small and disperse community like the Franco-Ontarian community do without a “collective memory,” if it wants to give a meaning to its claims and development projects? (Bock and Gervais 2004, 254–5) These remarks demonstrate that if the Franco-Ontarian identity can be said to be inclusive, it remains, nevertheless, problematic and the object of a construction of social boundaries by several actors. In this respect, what is done in the cultural realm has a fundamental impact on the way Franco-Ontarian identity evolves. In the last two years, conscious of the contributions of these “ethno-cultural groups” or neo-Franco-Ontarians, the members of the board of Les Concerts La Nuit sur l’Étang have discussed inviting a musical band originally from Africa or the Caribbean that is now established in Ontario to participate in La Nuit. This is seen as a necessary step in the development of an inclusive Franco-Ontarian identity and culture. While this has not yet happened, the idea is there and the awareness exists. CONCLUSION

La Nuit sur l’Étang is widely recognized as a key event in the construction of the Franco-Ontarian culture (see for instance: Gervais 2003, 206; Frenette 1998, 191; McLeod Arnopoulos 1982, 3). As with the Festival du Voyageur in Winnipeg, la Nuit represents a way for a Francophone minority to develop its own identity, to not be left over as forgotten French-Canadians, and to become Franco-Manitobains or Franco-Ontarians. In other words, La Nuit allows for the construction and appropriation of a collective identity instead of allowing others to assign that identity. La Nuit has become a myth and a symbol, necessary for the self-identification and cohesiveness of the group. However, La Nuit also serves as a political message to the Anglophone majority that French-speakers do exist. The survival of the group is linked to the survival of this myth, and the flourishing of this minority group is linked to the development of its culture and cultural institutions such as La Nuit. This chapter has attempted to show that a study of a cultural and political event, such as La Nuit, enables one to

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uncover the contested nature of the Franco-Ontarian identity. As O’Flynn (2007, 19) states: “the interface between national identity and music is constantly in a state of flux.” Put differently, the FrancoOntarian culture and identity are not fixed; they are constantly reframed under the pressure of various actors: the members of the cultural group themselves, Anglophones, Québécois, and other French speakers. The development of Franco-Ontarian identity reflects the reality that culture in Canada is never far from politics and that culture can be used to include or exclude.

NOTES

1 The author would like to thank Bob Segsworth for his early corrections on the draft text and Réjean Grenier for his corrections, comments, discussions, stories, and enthusiasm. The chapter contains a number of quotations that have been translated from French to English; unless otherwise noted, these translations are the author’s. 2 Although these figures do not seem very impressive, they have to be seen in their demographic context: 1,500 attendants out of 80,000 francophones in Northern Ontarian makes 1 person out of 53. The Quebec Superfrancofête with 100,000 people out of a population of 5 millions makes 1 person out of 50. 3 “In the north of our lives / here / where distances exhaust the hearts full / of tenderness ore of the / earth of rocks of forests of cold / we / stubborn underground and solitary / let out our rocky and raucous cries / to the four winds / of the possible future.” 4 “To stop putting our tongue in our pocket / I will sing, I will to sing, / You can come from Pointe-aux-Roches or Orléans / I will sing, I will sing, / To put the accents where they’re needed / We must celebrate / Our Place / Today for tomorrow / Our Place / For a better future / Our place, / Yes let’s hold hands / Our place / It comes from the bottom of the heart.” 5 “Come and sit at my table / There is food for everyone / Come and tell a story / About the old good times.” 6 On that note, Gervais (2003, 214–15) underlines the decline of Ottawa and the success of Sudbury in assuming Franco-Ontarian leadership. 7 In 1979, a professor at Ottawa University, Yolande Grisé (1982), even proposed the term “Ontarois.” This concept has never caught on, with the notable exception of the literature in social work published in the Ottawa-based journal Reflets: revue ontaroise d’intervention sociale et communautaire and the seminal

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book by Roger Bernard, De Québécois à Ontarois (1996). For more on the question of terms used to name “these people,” see Bock (2001). REFERENCES

acfo. 1992. Notre place...aujourd’hui pour demain, Vanier: acfo. Aubé, Jacques. 1990. Chanson et politique au Québec, 1960–1980. Montreal: Triptyque. Bedard, Mario, and Christiane Lahaie. 2008. “Géographie et littérature: Entre le topos et la chôra.” Cahier de géographie du Québec 52 (147): 391–7. Bernard, Roger. 1996. De Québécois à Ontarois. Hearst: Le Nordir. Bock, Michel. 2001. Comment un peuple oublie son nom. Sudbury: Prise de Parole & Institut franco-ontarien. Bock, Michel, and Gaétan Gervais. 2004. L’Ontario français: Des Pays-d’en-haut à nos jours. Ottawa: Centre franco-ontarien de ressources pédagogiques. Desbiens, Patrice. 2008. L’homme invisible / the Invisible Man suivi de Les Cascadeurs de l’amour. New edition. Sudbury: Prise de Parole (in collaboration with bcf). Dickson, Robert. 1978a. Une bonne trentaine. Erin, on: Porcupine’s Quill. – 1978b. Or«é»alité. Sudbury: Prise de parole. Dorais, Fernand. 1984. Entre Montréal … et Sudbury. Pré-textes pour une francophonie ontarienne. Sudbury: Prise de Parole. Frenette, Yves. 1998. Brève histoire des Canadiens français. Montréal: Boréal. Gervais, Gaétan. 2003. Des gens de resolution: Le passage du “Canada français” à l’“Ontario français.” Sudbury: Institut franco-ontarien & Prise de Parole. Gilbert, Anne. 1991. “L’Ontario français comme région : un regard non assimilationniste sur une minorité, son espace et ses réseaux.” Cahiers de géographie du Québec 35 (96): 501–12. Grisé, Yolande. 1982. “Ontarois: Une prise de parole.” Revue du NouvelOntario no.4: 81–88. McLeod Arnopoulos, Sheila. 1982. Voices from French Ontario. Kingston and Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. O’Flynn, John. 2007. “National Identity and Music in Transition: Issues of Authenticity in a Global Setting.” In Music, National Identity and the Politics of Location: Between the Global and the Local. Edited by Ian Biddle and Vanessa Knights. Aldershot: Ashgate. Pichette, Marie-Hélène. 2001. Musique populaire et identité franco-ontariennes: La Nuit sur l’étang. Sudbury: Prise de Parole.

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Robert, J.C. 1975. Du Canada français au Québec libre, histoire d’un mouvement indépendantiste. Paris: Flammarion. Titus. 2006. “Paul Demers, chantre de ‘Notre Place,’ interview.” Accessed 26 October 2009. http://lemondedetitus.blogs.letelegramme.com/archive /2006/07/26/paul-demers-chantre-de-notre-place.html. Tremblay, Gaston. 2003. L’Écho de nos voix, Sudbury: Prise de Parole.

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12 Culture and Politics Revisited: The Political Science of Popular Culture TIM NIEGUTH

James Cameron’s Avatar, a visually stunning science fiction spectacle, was released in 2009 to great commercial success. By 2010, the movie had garnered almost 2.8 billion US dollars at box offices across the globe, vaulting past Titanic – also directed by Cameron – to become the highest grossing movie of all times (The Numbers 1997–2013). Avatar takes place in 2154 ce, in a future marked by severe social, environmental, and energy crises. In a bid to solve these crises, humanity has begun to expand beyond Earth to exploit the natural resources of other worlds. One of these worlds is Pandora, a moon in the Alpha Centauri system. Pandora harbours extensive deposits of unobtanium, a mineral resource key to solving humanity’s energy problems. Humanity’s desire to exploit unobtanium leads it on a collision course with the Na’vi, a humanoid hunter-gatherer society indigenous to Pandora. During the course of the movie, human-Na’vi tensions give rise to open warfare. Avatar’s protagonist is Jake Sully, a former soldier who now serves as the operator of an avatar. In the context of the movie, avatars are bio-engineered human-Na’vi hybrids that are remote-controlled by a human operator; they are used to interact with the Na’vi and to explore their world, since Pandora’s atmosphere is toxic to humans. Jake gets involved in a corporate scheme to displace a clan of Na’vi whose settlement is located atop a rich source of unobtanium. This scheme ultimately leads to a military clash between the Na’vi and Earth’s largest corporation, the Research Development Administration (rda), which enjoys exclusive mining rights on Pandora. Jake, who has be-

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come immersed in Na’vi society and has developed a deep appreciation for its culture and traditions, decides to side with the Na’vi. During the campaign, he provides crucial military and spiritual leadership that enables the Na’vi to defeat the rda’s technologically far superior forces. Avatar has prompted a lively debate about the movie’s political message, giving rise to diverse and often diametrically opposed interpretations (see Baum 2010, Burstrem n.d., Narminio and Kapell 2011, Loshitzky 2012, and Plaufcan 2010, among others). For example, some observers have argued that the movie provides a searing critique of capitalism, militarism, and colonialism. They point out that Avatar portrays rda and some of its key personnel as self-interested, violent, and ecologically destructive, while painting Na’vi society as community-minded, peaceful, and attuned to its natural environment. Other commentators have disagreed vehemently, suggesting that Avatar, far from projecting progressive values, actually transports a regressive message. Several critics, for instance, have taken exception to the movie’s reliance on a “white saviour” figure who leads the indigenous population to victory over the forces of colonialism (see Newitz 2009, Brooks 2010, Sirota 2013). WH Y P O L I T I C A L S C I E NC E ?

While interpretations of Avatar may differ wildly, all of them point to the connection between popular culture and politics: the movie clearly touches on the politics of race, class, gender, faith, and imperialism (to name but a few) in ways that provoke passionate responses from pundits, scholars, and other members of the public. Avatar thus both reflects and intervenes in ongoing debates about issues that are of central importance in contemporary politics. Avatar is, of course, no exception in this regard. One could make similar statements about many other popular culture artifacts, including television shows, pop music, and video games. Popular culture industries and their output are implicated in a wide range of political phenomena, including processes as fundamental as the reproduction or contestation of collective identities, the legitimation or critique of existing political institutions, and the transmission or disruption of particular political ideas. Popular culture, then, clearly matters to politics. In consequence, the study of popular culture can offer valuable insights to political sci-

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ence. But is the reverse also true? Put differently, does the academic discipline of political science have anything particular to offer the study of popular culture? At first blush, one might be tempted to conclude that the answer to that question is negative. After all, even (or perhaps especially) those themes that might be seen as the very core of political science – power and politics – have been thoroughly investigated by cultural, labour, and media studies, as well as other fields that have traditionally dominated the study of popular culture. However, acknowledging this fact does not mean that political scientists have nothing new to offer to our understanding of popular culture. What political scientists can bring to the table is a take on popular culture that is informed by the sensibilities and analytical traditions of their discipline. In particular, the study of popular culture can benefit from the theoretical and methodological pluralism of political science, its distinctive contributions to particular subject matters, and its specific traditions of cultural inquiry. As a discipline, political science is characterized by deep perspectival diversity. Since the so-called “Behavioral Revolution” of the 1950s, political scientists have subscribed to a wide range of sometimes competing, sometimes complementary theoretical frameworks – including neo-institutionalism, rational choice, political economy, political culture, pluralism, feminism, and constructivism. Reflecting on the diversity of the discipline, Gabriel Almond famously argued that “the various schools and sects of political science now sit at separate tables, each with its own conception of proper political science” (Almond 1990, 13). This is not to say that all of these schools have been equally influential. In fact, some of them have been markedly more prominent at particular junctures and in particular socio-political contexts. It is probably fair to argue, for example, that political science is currently dominated by rational choice and neo-institutionalist theory, while approaches such as feminism are relegated to the margins of the discipline. However, no single approach has so far managed to attain hegemonic status within political science, let alone to completely eclipse the other approaches. In part, the diversity of political science reflects the fact that the discipline has been very open to influences from other fields of study. As one observer puts it: One way to think of political science is to conceive of it as a discipline whose subject matter is its own but whose ontology and

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methodology have been cobbled together from other disciplines. Political scientists tend to be not just that but also something else, based on their preferred approach to studying politics. They are also psychologists, or historians, or economists, or sociologists, or mathematicians, or philosophers. As the most recent official assessment summarizes, the discipline is a ‘capacious, often cacophonous undertaking,’ a situation that is either depressing or exhilarating depending on one’s tolerance of intellectual dissonance. (Prindle 2012, 21) Rather than a source of analytical weakness, the perspectival diversity of political science, as well as its openness to the insights of other fields, is one of the discipline’s greatest assets. This diversity of perspectives allows political science to tackle the relationship between popular culture and politics from a range of theoretical and methodological angles that may not be as well-represented in other disciplines. The field of labour studies, for example, has been largely dominated by political economy. The relative disciplinary coherence resulting from the dominance of one particular theoretical orientation has allowed labour studies to generate powerful analyses of the culture industries and their implication in social power relations. By the same token, though, the “cacophonous” nature of political science offers an opportunity to further enrich these analyses by pursuing lines of inquiry, applying concepts, and utilizing methods that may not be central to political economy. To briefly elaborate on this point, class relations are clearly one of the most central categories of social practice in industrialized democracies such as Canada. Several chapters in this volume accordingly speak to issues of social class and economic inequality (perhaps most notably chapter 3). However, while social class is crucially important to the operation of power in modern societies, it is not the only factor that structures power relations and subject positions; gender, ethnicity, and language are equally important, as are racialization and Aboriginal/ settler cleavages. While these identities, power relations, and political processes intersect with the political economy of capitalism in important ways, they follow dynamics of their own that cannot be reduced solely to the logic of late capitalism. The preceding chapters chart some of these dynamics in the context of gender (chapters 2 and 4), ethnicity (11), national identity (5, 6, 9, 10), and the nation-state (7, 8).

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If the perspectival diversity of political science can enrich our understanding of popular culture, the same is true of the discipline’s particular contributions to the study of culture and politics. For example (and as discussed at some length in the introductory chapter to this volume), political science has produced several distinct traditions of cultural inquiry. Among others, this includes studies in the “civic culture” tradition (Almond and Verba 1963), research on the emergence of post-materialist values in contemporary society (Inglehart 1977), the fragment thesis on the origin and development of political cultures in settler societies (Hartz 1955, 1964), and debates on the accommodation of ethno-cultural diversity in the modern nation-state (Kymlicka 1995, Tully 1995, Carens 2000). These traditions can yield important insights into the relationship between politics and popular culture. For example, there is substantial research on regional, gender, ethnic, and class differences in political values, attitudes, and beliefs within a given society (see Elkins and Simeon 1980, Henderson 2004, and McGrane and Berdahl 2013 for regional differences in Canadian political culture). Building on this literature can enhance our understanding of the ways in which popular culture draws on, reproduces, or challenges social fault-lines and power relations within different countries. In addition, political scientists have conducted important research on a wide range of subjects that affect the production, content, and interpretation of popular culture. Among others, these subjects include globalization, political representation, ethnic conflict, security, empire, and political rule. For instance, chapter 8 in this volume directs our attention to competing accounts of globalization; these accounts have been heavily influenced by political scientists (see Hirst and Thompson 1996, Held 1999, Gills and Thompson 2006). Applying these accounts to mmos can yield fruitful results not only for the globalization debate (lending support to some accounts of globalization and raising doubts about others), but also for the study of online games – their cultural content, political context, and economic organization. Similarly, political scientists have conducted extensive research on the causes for the under-representation of women in formal politics (see, inter alia, Norris and Inglehart 2001, Bashevkin 2009, Fox and Lawless 2010, and Trimble, Arscott, and Tremblay 2013). These causes include a variety of structural, institutional, social, and cultural factors, ranging from traditional gender roles to electoral systems,

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party ideologies, and gendered portrayals of politics. As chapter 4 shows, drawing on this body of political science literature can serve to enhance our understanding of the gender politics embedded in popular culture. AU TH O R I T Y , THE STATE , A ND C O L L E C T I V E I D E N T IT Y

The chapters collected in this volume illustrate some of the potential contributions of political science to the study of popular culture. For example, social order, authority, and resistance have been some of the key issues in political science research. Chapters 2 and 3 in this collection examine the role of popular culture in the reproduction and contestation of existing social orders. Wilton’s chapter suggests that Thomas and Friends, a popular children’s tv show, projects an ideal of the “good citizen” that discourages individual initiative and promotes the acceptance of existing power relations, including unequal gender relations. The show describes social change as a largely negative phenomenon that threatens the established order. Arguably, the hostile response to Wilton’s work on Thomas and Friends by some members of the public (discussed in some detail in Wilton’s chapter and the introduction to this volume) can itself be explained, in part, as an attempt to restore order, i.e., as an effort to discipline a political scientist who had violated the boundaries of “proper” political science. It is worth noting that the critics did not simply disagree with Wilton’s findings; rather, they seemed unwilling to concede that Thomas and Friends may be a worthwhile object of study in the first place. This may indicate a more general reluctance to critically examine the realities of everyday life for their potential political implications. This reluctance potentially affects not just the study of popular culture, but also its production, dissemination, and consumption. As Butovsky and Fowler argue in chapter 3, broader social, economic, and political conditions have a significant impact on popular culture. In particular, their chapter suggests that Winnipeg band The Weakerthans operates in a societal context where large parts of the public are politically disengaged and reject radical changes to the economic system. While The Weakerthans are politically left, their lyrics consequently refrain from advocating radical change. Rather, they criticize the failings of the contemporary socio-economic system by painting a bleak canvas of daily life in late capitalist society.

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Battlestar Galactica likewise offers a sustained reflection on some of the social dislocations of contemporary society, including those associated with the persistence of gender inequality. Broadcast on American television from 2004 to 2009, the series was a reboot of an earlier science fiction show aired in 1978 and 1980. In contrast to the earlier show, the reimagined series assigned central roles to several female characters – one of them being Laura Roslin, president of the Twelve Colonies and thus the highest-ranking civilian official in the series. The development of Roslin’s presidency offers intriguing insights into the nature of political leadership. As Raney shows in chapter 4, notions of political leadership are deeply gendered in the world of Battlestar Galactica, and they are gendered in ways that closely reflect dominant attitudes and practices in our own society. In consequence, the series raises critical questions about dominant views of political leadership. At the same time, Raney suggests that Roslin’s presidency offers a model of leadership that can serve to unsettle these views. Like chapter 4, Saunders’s chapter on the politics surrounding the commemoration of Louis Riel examines the connections between popular culture and political leadership. However, rather than scrutinizing the gendered nature of leadership in today’s society, Saunders explores the role of political leaders in delineating collective identities and political objectives, focusing on the symbolic use of past leaders who have achieved iconic status within their communities. In particular, she investigates the strategic importance of Louis Riel to present-day Métis leaders in Canada. Her chapter demonstrates that conflicting portrayals of Riel play an important role in their efforts to define Métis identity and the political goals of Métis communities. While order and authority have been central issues in political science, the same can be said of the nation-state: as a discipline, political science has had a keen interest in the nature, origins, and ongoing development of the modern state, as well as linkages between the state apparatus and various social groups. As several chapters in this volume have demonstrated, the study of popular culture can make a useful contribution to our understanding of the nationstate. Deveau’s chapter, for example, draws attention to the use of nationalism in the legitimation of the state and some of its agencies. The chapter does so by examining the contribution of the cbc,

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Canada’s public broadcasting company, to Canadian nation-building. Deveau shows that tv comedies produced by the cbc rely on, and in turn reproduce, a shared sense of Canadian identity. In particular, they position irony, parody, and satire as the hallmarks of a Canadian sense of humour. These characteristics supposedly set Canadian humour apart from its US-American counterpart. In promoting these types of tv comedy, the cbc propagates a common sense of Canadian national identity, which in turn serves to legitimate the cbc’s own existence. Deveau’s analysis thus offers an intriguing glimpse of the connection between institutional selfinterest and the development of collective identities. Melançon’s chapter leads us to question whether national identities and nation-state borders are desirable. Arguing from the standpoint of a cosmopolitan ethics, Melançon suggests that popular culture – in this case, the songs of French pop group Tarmac – can foster greater awareness of different cultures and closer cross-national linkages. Tarmac’s lyrics aim to challenge parochial attitudes and attempt to promote a sense of transnational kinship by laying claim to a sense of identification with a range of European cities (including, for example, Barcelona, Paris, and Vienna). In doing so, Tarmac invokes an ideal of European citizenship that bypasses national borders. In Melançon’s view, this form of integration from below, resting on a sense of real solidarity between citizens in different parts of the continent, can avoid the pitfalls of a European integration project driven by nationstates. While chapter 7 questions the desirability of nation-state borders, Nieguth’s chapter suggests that they will continue to shape political processes for the foreseeable future. It arrives at this conclusion through an examination of economic, cultural, and political dimensions of massively multi-player online role playing games (mmos). mmos provide a fast-expanding venue for the direct interaction of groups and individuals from different social, cultural, and national backgrounds. If we are indeed witnessing the emergence of a borderless world, we might therefore expect mmos to foreshadow this development. However, Nieguth suggests that mmos in fact reflect and reproduce existing geo-political boundaries, collective identities, and inequalities, rather than transcending them. This sheds further doubt on the supposed “end of the nation-state” predicted by some strands of globalization theory.

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The chapters collected in the last part of this volume explore different facets of the relationship between popular culture and collective identities. In doing so, they pay particular attention to the role of popular culture in portraying different social groups, as well as its role in producing and projecting ethnic and national identities. The chapters focus on the institutional underpinnings of Canadian nationalism, cultural differences between Quebec and the rest of the country, the dissemination of Quebec nationalism, and the ethnogenesis of French Canadians outside Quebec. In chapter 9, for example, Poirier explores the linkages between film, politics, and collective identities. Using as a starting point Benedict Anderson’s celebrated definition of the nation as an “imagined community,” Poirier shows – among other things – that questions of national and other collective identities have been central to Quebec cinema for much of its existence. His analysis suggests that concerns with identity have become more muted in recent years, but continue to play an important role in Quebec film. Where Poirier’s chapter offers valuable insights into the contribution of popular culture to the formation of overarching collective identities, Comeau’s chapter points to its role in perpetuating, but also resisting, deep socio-political fault lines within a state. Thus, her chapter shows how three recent films (Bon Cop, Bad Cop, Seducing Dr. Lewis, and Men with Brooms) reflect and reproduce differences between the political cultures of Quebec and Ontario. In particular, Comeau highlights the films’ portrayal of different attitudes towards the state and their differential invocation of Canadian political symbols. At the same time, Comeau argues that the films share a number of unifying themes and attitudes, such as the use of self-deprecating humour (a type of humour that is often seen as “typically Canadian”), their emphasis on sports, and their neglect of ethnic diversity. Finally, Lacassagne’s chapter examines another important facet of Canada’s ethnic, national, linguistic, and religious diversity: FrancoOntarian ethno-genesis. Her chapter focuses on the role of La Nuit sur l’Étang, an annual francophone music festival held in Sudbury, Ontario, in this process. As Lacassagne shows, this festival has served as a crucial site – both literally and figuratively – in the emergence of a distinctive collective identity for Franco-Ontarians. Lacassagne’s analysis of La Nuit also illustrates the complexities involved in defining and maintaining group boundaries.

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Tim Nieguth

P OP U LA R C U LT U RE , P O L I T I C S , A ND P O L I T I C AL SC IE N CE

In many ways, popular culture is closely tied to politics. At the most overt level, this link is expressed in the political instrumentalization of popular culture: politicians frequently use popular culture to connect with the wider public, frame political issues, and express their programme. It would be difficult, for example, to assess some of former US president George W. Bush’s political rhetoric without an appreciation of the impact Western movies and fiction have had on the popular imagination of American audiences. Perhaps less obviously, popular culture is political in the sense that it reflects societal values, attitudes, identities, and fault lines. Movies such as Bon Cop, Bad Cop, for instance, point to regional and national differences in Canadian political culture. However, popular culture does not simply mirror or reinforce existing socio-political realities. Rather, it also presents an opportunity to critically examine these realities. Thus, a tv-show such as Battlestar Galactica invites viewers to consider whether its portrayal of the relationships between politics and religion, race, gender, or class tells us something meaningful about the nature of those relationships in the context of actual, contemporary societies. While popular culture can serve to mirror or challenge socio-political realities, it also plays an active role in constituting these realities in the first place. For example, popular culture contributes to ongoing societal debates about the boundaries of the nation, core national values, and the role of one’s national community in global society (see, inter alia, Edensor 2002). In his study of superhero politics in North America, Dittmer forcefully argues that popular culture contributes to the construction of socio-political reality: “The pop-cultural dimensions of politics (e.g., superheroes) are neither the result of political meta-beliefs (such as American exceptionalism) nor the condensation of economic ideology. Rather, superheroes are co-constitutive elements of both American identity and the U.S. government’s foreign policy practices” (2013, loc. 39). The concrete impact of popular culture on socio-political realities can, of course, be difficult to measure. For example, the lyrics of a band like The Weakerthans may criticize the realities of contemporary service economies, but their precise effects on these realities is not easy to determine. This does not mean that there are no such effects or that attempts to understand these effects are futile. One of

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the ways to unpack the political effects of popular culture is through the type of close readings of popular culture that are standard practice in fields such as cultural, media, or labour studies. At the same time, political science can further enrich these readings through the discipline’s theoretical, conceptual, and methodological tools. Thus, political scientists can learn a great deal from popular culture, just as analyses of popular culture stand to benefit from engaging with political science.

REFERENCES

Almond, Gabriel. 1990. A Discipline Divided: Schools and Sects in Political Science. Newbury Park: Sage. Almond, Gabriel and Sidney Verba. 1963. The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Bashevkin, Sylvia. 2009. Women, Power, Politics: The Hidden Story of Canada’s Unfinished Democracy. Don Mills: Oxford University Press. Baum, Bruce. 2010. “Hollywood on Race in the Age of Obama: Invictus, Precious, and Avatar.” New Political Science 32(4): 627–36. Brooks, David. 2010. “The Messiah Complex.” New York Times. Accessed 12 September 2013. http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/08/opinion/08brooks.html. Burstrem, Jessica. n.d. “Religion, Gender, and Military Policies in Avatar.” Jura Gentium Cinema. Accessed 2 September 2013. http://www.jgcinema.com/single.php?sl=a-avatar-cameron-civilizationcolonization-war. Carens, Joseph. 2000. Culture, Citizenship, and Community: A Contextual Exploration of Justice as Evenhandedness. New York: Oxford University Press. Dittmer, Jason. 2013. Captain America and the Nationalist Superhero: Metaphors, Narratives, and Geopolitics. Kindle edition. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Edensor, Tim. 2002. National Identity, Popular Culture and Everyday Life. Oxford: Berg. Elkins, David and Richard Simeon, eds. 1980. Small Worlds: Provinces and Parties in Canadian Political Life. Toronto: Methuen. Fox, Richard and Jennifer Lawless. 2010. “If Only They’d Ask: Gender, Recruitment, and Political Ambition.” Journal of Politics 72(2): 310–26.

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Gills, Barry and William Thompson, eds. 2006. Globalization and Global History. London: Routledge. Hartz, Louis. 1955. The Liberal Tradition in America: An Interpretation of American Political Thought since the Revolution. New York: Harcourt Brace. – 1964. The Founding of New Societies: Studies in the History of the United States, Latin America, South Africa, Canada, and Australia. New York: Harcourt Brace. Held, David et al. 1999. Global Transformations: Politics, Economics and Culture. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Henderson, Ailsa. 2004. “Regional Political Cultures in Canada.” Canadian Journal of Political Science 37(3): 595–615. Hirst, Paul and Grahame Thompson. 1996. Globalisation in Question: The International Economy and the Possibilities of Governance. Cambridge: Blackwell. Inglehart, Ronald.1977. The Silent Revolution: Changing Values and Political Styles Among Western Publics. Princeton: Princeton University Press Kymlicka, Will. 1995. Multicultural Citizenship: A Liberal Theory of Minority Rights. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Loshitzky, Yosefa. 2012. “Popular Cinema as Popular Resistance: Avatar in the Palestinian (Imagi)nation.” Third Text 26(2): 151–63. McGrane, David and Loleen Berdahl. 2013. “‘Small Worlds’ No More: Reconsidering Provincial Political Cultures in Canada.” Regional and Federal Studies 23(4): 479–93. Narminio, Elisa and Matthew Wilhelm Kapell. 2011. “Between Aliens and Avatar: Mapping the Shifting Terrain of the Struggle for Women’s Rights.” In The Films of James Cameron: Critical Essays, edited by Matthew Wilhelm Kapell and Stephen McVeigh.146–166. Jefferson, nc: McFarland and Company. Newitz, Annalee. 2009. “When Will White People Stop Making Movies Like ‘Avatar’?” io9. Accessed 12 September 2013. http://io9.com/5422666/whenwill-white-people-stop-making-movies-like-avatar. Norris, Pippa and Ronald Inglehart. 2001. “Cultural Obstacles to Equal Representation.” Journal of Democracy 12(3): 126–40. Plaufcan, Melissa. 2010. “Avatar.” Journal of Feminist Family Therapy 22(3): 313–17. Prindle, David. 2012. “Importing Concepts from Biology into Political Science: The Case of Punctuated Equilibrium.” Policy Studies Journal 40(1): 21–43. Sirota, David. 2013. “Oscar loves a white savior.” Salon. Accessed 12 September 2013http://www.salon.com/2013/02/21/oscar_loves_a_white_savior.

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The Numbers. 1997–2013. “Avatar.” Accessed 2 September 2013http://www.the-numbers.com/movies/2009/AVATR.php. Trimble, Linda, Jane Arscott and Manon Tremblay, eds. 2013. Stalled: The Representation of Women in Canadian Governments. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Tully, James. 1995. Strange Multiplicity: Constitutionalism in an Age of Diversity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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7 Contributors

jonah butovsky is an associate professor of sociology and labour studies at Brock University. He has written articles on the New Democratic Party, migrant agricultural workers in Ontario, and on media representations of labour unions. gina s. comeau is an assistant professor in the Department of Political Science at Laurentian University. Her research centres on the role of civil society organizations in public policy formulation with a particular emphasis in the sport policy sector. danielle j. deveau is a doctoral candidate in the School of Communication at Simon Fraser University. Her research interests include Canadian broadcasting, Canadian popular culture, cultural citizenship, comedy, urban festivals, and carnival. timothy fowler is a PhD student in political science at Carleton University. He has written on the New Democratic Party, the political economy of Canadian rock music, and the portrayal of labour and strikes in television science fiction. aurélie lacassagne is an associate professor in the Department of Political Science at Laurentian University. She works mainly on popular culture and on francophone immigration to Canada outside Quebec. jérôme melançon teaches political thought and Canadian politics at the University of Alberta’s Augustana Faculty. He has published on Merleau-Ponty, Pierre Bourdieu, and Miguel Abensour.

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Contributors

tim nieguth is an associate professor of political science at Laurentian University’s Barrie campus. His research interests centre on nationalism, secession, representative democracy, and everyday culture. christian poirier is professor of political and social sciences at the Institut national de la recherche scientifique, Centre Urbanisation, Culture et Société. His research interests include cinema, cultural industries and organizations, institutions, and policies. tracey raney is an associate professor in the Department of Politics and Public Administration at Ryerson University. Her research interests include Canadian national identity, social identities, social norms, political culture, and women and politics. kelly l. saunders is an associate professor in the Department of Political Science at Brandon University. Her current research projects involve issues related to Métis self-governance and political identity, and the role of women in Métis politics. shauna wilton is an associate professor of political studies at the University of Alberta’s Augustana Faculty. Her research centres on nationalism, gender, immigration, and state culture in Canada, Sweden, and the Netherlands.

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7 Index

accommodation, 7, 185 alienation, 40–1, 45, 133 Almond, Gabriel, 5–7, 183, 185 anarchism, 27, 46–7, 110–11 Anderson, Benedict, 131, 189 authority, 21, 25–8, 31–3, 52, 187–8; and gender, 53–5, 59–60, 62; and legitimacy, 26–8, 53; and political culture, 151–3; and satire, 91 Avatar, 181–2 Battlestar Galactica, 51, 55 Bon Cop, Bad Cop, 148; and gender, 155; and humour, 158–9; and language rights, 153; and nationalism, 139, 156; and regional diversity, 152–3 Brassens, Georges, 103–5 bureaucracy, 43 Cameron, James, 181 Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, 85, 87–9; and Canadian national identity, 85–7, 88–9 Canadian identity, 86–7; and American culture, 6, 86–7, 91, 139–41,

148, 155; and biculturalism, 131, 147; and European roots, 97; and the film industry, 147–8; and humour, 149–50, 157–9; and national symbols, 93, 155–6; and sport, 157–8 capitalism, 118, 184; and class, 8, 38–9, 43, 45; and the service sector, 38–9, 41, 45 Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies, 9 citizenship, 31–2, 186, 188 class, 20, 31, 43, 184; and occupational identity, 8, 38–9; and political discourse, 44–5; and popular music, 38–9, 43, 45 collective action, 43–4 colonialism, 6, 98–101, 182, 185 commemoration, 66–9, 75, 174–5 conservatism, 43, 45, 134, 140 consumption, 19–20, 23, 86, 141, 158 content analysis, 39–40 contestation, 8, 11, 70–7, 110–11, 133–4, 142 corporations, 43, 181–2; and collec-

198

tive identity, 10–11, 85–7, 92, 156; and state regulation, 87–9, 121 cosmopolitanism, 102, 188 cultural appropriation, 66–9, 109–10 cultural studies, 9, 133–34, 135–36 culture industries, 133, 182, 184 Demers, Paul, 169–70 democracy, 135; and class, 8, 184; and political culture, 5, 7 Desbiens, Patrice, 169, 171–2 Dickson, Robert, 167–8, 172–3 discourse analysis, 24–5 equality, 7, 31, 62, 99, 154–5 ethnic diversity, 6–7, 140, 159; and assimilation, 68, 167; and multiculturalism, 68, 98–9 European integration, 97–8 executive branch, 3–4, 55–8, 71, 90 Fairclough, Norman, 25 Fantasy Journey Westward, 124–5 feminism, 32, 53–5, 61–2 film industry, 131, 139–40; and national identity, 136–9, 147–8, 155–6; and political ideology, 133–4; and representation of politics, 132–3 formative events approach, 5–7 Foucault, Michel, 46–7, 111 fragment thesis, 5–7, 185 fragmentation, 39, 141 Franco-Ontarians, 165–6; and assimilation, 167–9; and cultural institutions, 164–7, 171–2; and place, 167–9, 173–5; and Quebec nationalism, 164–7

Index

Frankfurt School, 133 gender, 53; cultural representations of, 28–9, 154–5, 158; and political participation, 32, 53–5; and the public/private divide, 54, 59–61; and reason, 32, 53 globalization, 110, 117–19 Gramsci, Antonio, 8 group rights, 7, 70–1, 74, 98, 153, 170 Hall, Stuart, 9 Harper, Stephen, 3–4 Hartz, Louis, 5–7, 185 hierarchy, 20–1, 25–8, 29, 152–3 Hollywood, 131, 133, 139–41 human rights, 110–11 identity, 113, 133–5, 137–40, 165; and collective action, 39, 101–2; and place, 103–5, 167–9, 173–5; and social construction, 11, 53, 140, 165–7, 172–5 imperialism, 98–101, 110 individual rights, 151–2 Inglehart, Ronald, 185 judicial branch, 70–1 Jyllands-Posten, 3 Kymlicka, Will, 7, 185 labour studies, 8, 184 language rights, 98, 153, 170 La Nuit sur l’Étang, 163–4 leadership, 52–3; and gender, 51, 53–5, 61–3; and leaders as symbols, 65–6, 187; and personality, 51–2

Index

legislative branch, 53, 70, 76 liberalism, 7, 99, 133 Lipset, Seymour Martin, 5–7 Louise Attaque, 97, 109 majority culture, 66, 69, 72, 98–9, 163–4, 169 Marxism, 40, 43–4, 132–4 Men with Brooms, 148; and gender, 155; and humour, 158–9; and nationalism, 155–6; and regional diversity, 152–3; and representations of government, 153 Métis, 69–71; and Louis Riel, 72–4 micro-politics, 111, 139 military, 55–7, 181–2 misogyny, 10 Mouffe, Chantal, 31 nationalism, 87, 164–5; and culture industries, 10, 136–9, 155–6, 165; and humour, 89–91, 92–3, 139; and sport, 3–4, 88–9, 157–9; and state legitimation, 187–8; and symbols, 10, 72–4, 93, 155–6 neo-liberalism, 47 Nevitte, Neil, 153–4, 157 Newman, Saul, 110–11 Northern Ontario, 164, 173–4 Olympic games, 3–4 Patočka, Jan, 99–101 place, 103–5, 167–9, 172–5 political culture, 4–7, 147, 150, 185 political ideology, 6, 11, 33, 132–6 political regimes, 135 political science, 4–7, 33; and disciplinary boundaries, 8–9, 132,

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183–4; and popular culture, 7–11, 33, 116–17, 132, 182–6 political socialization, 12, 20, 23–4 post-materialism, 153–4, 185 poverty, 41–2, 151–2 privilege, 109 public opinion, 10–11, 154, 186 public policy, 70, 98, 140–1, 190 public sphere, 7, 21–2, 32, 54, 59–61 Quebecois identity, 131, 136–40, 164–7 racism, 47, 68, 72; and anti-racism, 48, 103 reason, 32, 53, 99–101 regionalism, 14, 90, 152–5 Riel, Louis, 67; and cultural appropriation of, 68–9, 76–7; and depictions of, 67–9, 72–3; and Métis identity, 65–6, 72–4 Royal Canadian Air Farce, 89–90 Samson, John K., 37, 40, 45–7 satire, 89–93, 158–9 science fiction, 51, 55, 62–3 Seducing Dr. Lewis, 148; and gender, 155; and nationalism, 156; and representations of government, 152 social cleavages, 4, 43, 69, 184–5 social movements, 46, 48–9, 70–3, 134 socialism, 43, 48 solidarity, 8, 40, 43–4, 103, 169–70, 188 sovereignty, 110, 120–1; and Quebec nationalism, 137–8

200

sport, 88–9, 155, 157–8 state power, 110; and exercise of, 120–1, 135–6; and individual rights, 100, 152; and legitimation of, 7, 182, 187–8 Tarmac, 97–8, 103–4 Tassin, Étienne, 101–2 Taylor, Charles, 7 Thomas and Friends, 21–2 Thompson, E.P., 8 tolerance, 20, 33 Truc, Gérôme, 102–3 Tully, James, 7 unemployment, 41, 148, 151–2 United States, 6, 131, 133–4, 140

Index

universalism, 99–100 urbanization, 41–2, 159 Verba, Sidney, 5–7, 185 video games, 119; and consumption, 116, 121–3; and cultural hegemony, 123–5; and globalization, 120–1, 125–6 voting rights, 20 Weakerthans, The, 37 welfare state, the, 148, 151–2, 154 Westergaard, Kurt, 3 Williams, Raymond, 133 World of Warcraft, 119, 124 Young, Iris Marion, 32