Author: howdypress

  • `Uncanny Returns

    Jean Comaroff 

    Forthcoming in “Alternative Rationalities and Esoteric Practices.” (eds) Raquel  Romberg, Andea Nehring, Brill.  

    l. 

    Liberal modern personhood presumes a coherent, indivisible subject. Yet there is  plentiful evidence to suggest that selfhood in modern times is often experienced as  inchoate: as split, doubled, even overtaken by the haunting presence of intimate others,  benevolent or benign. Steeling the individual against instability and fracture has been the enduring task of the grand normalizing institutions of public care and correction, of  schools, hospitals, prisons. It has also been the mandate of the more intimate, domestic processes that cultivate the “second nature” of affective individualism (Elias 1939;  Foucault 1978). Salient, too, has been the privatization of religion, its focus on an ever  more personalized notion of faith and salvation in an otherwise dispirited world.  But for all this, the reach and specification of liberal modern personhood has  always been uneven, both at the margins of European society and in its heartlands.  This has not merely been a matter of an inequality of civil rights, self-determination, or  the value of human worth along the lines of gender, class, age, or religion. At base, the  cogency of individual personhood has always been haunted by what it is not: by various  “standardized nightmares” (Wilson 1951), be it of the doppelganger, the zombie, the  schizophrenic. Or by multiple personality,” which Ian Hacking (1991:844) once referred  to as an accepted “way to be crazy” in “industrial/romantic, Protestant society.” 

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    Foundational social theorists have also questioned the centrality of the autonomous,  self-generating subject in Western liberal visions of modernity. Durkheim (2005:36)  famously argued for an idea of Homo Duplex: “far from us being straightforward,” he  wrote, “our internal life has something like a double centre of gravity. On the one hand there is our individuality, and, more especially, our body that is its foundation; on the  other, everything that, within us, expresses something other than ourselves.” For  Durkheim, this other was society, something transcendent, affective, sacred. While he  located his most detailed examples of this dynamic in nonwestern society, his model  was generic to all collective being — not least to Western industrial society which, rather  than being secular, was founded on a new religion he called the “cult of the individual” (Durkheim 1995:215–216, 429–430).  

     Freud (1919) was no less concerned with the dividedness of human experience,  although his vision was, in the first instance, intrapsychic. Of relevance to my concerns  here is his writing on the cultural dynamics of personhood, the class of “obtuse”  experiences concerning the “doubling, dividing, and interchanging self” he termed the  unheimlich or uncanny. Less a pathological state than an instantly recognizable  presentiment of unpleasantness and eeriness, it connotes a feeling of not knowing  where one is, as it were. The language of location is telling here, for Freud saw the  “uncanny” as a fold in time; a kind of evolutionary holdover. The unheimlich is not so  much a form of modern magic (a la Durkheim) than the return of things that have been  defamiliarized, repressed by the logic of civilization. As such, it offers an estranged  recognition (Clery 1995) of a more primitive state of being. 

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     To be sure, his treatise on the uncanny is itself uncomfortable — he makes plain  his dis-ease with the grab bag of things that that seem to inspire this “creeping” sense  of dread, this clutch of phenomena at once familiar and alien, less easy to name than to  associate with a shared ‘structure of feeling’(1919:1). Raymond Williams (1977:133)  famously deployed “structure of feeling” in a more avowedly intersubjective sense, to  mean “affective elements of consciousness and relationships…thought as felt and  feeling as thought.” For him, this was “social experience which is still in process,” often  not yet aware of itself as social. His usage here seems apt in capturing the quality of  haunted happenings at stake in my story. It also serves as bridge between Freud and  Durkheim: where Freud explained such mysteries as psycho-cultural regression,  Durkheim might see them as inherent in the moral dimension of social being.  How effective, then, is the idea of the uncanny in accounting for the continuing  presence of the enchanted and the esoteric in our own, late modern times? I seek to  pursue this question by revisiting a particular South African case, a postcolonial ghost  story, if you will. It concerns the return from the dead of a renowned popular musician,  who goes back to his rural home in KwaZulu-Natal to recover his voice and reclaim his  fame and fortune.1 The events are set in what is commonly glossed as a “plural” social  and cultural setting, a context in which the subjects and objects of the liberal and the  modern coexist with what might appear to be more traditional, enchanted beliefs. But is  the spookiness at the heart of my tale merely a reflex of an autochthonous past or does  it signal something more complex about the current world in general?  

    1 For another treatment of this case, developed in relation to a different set of questions, see Comaroff  and Comaroff (2016).

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     Avery Gordon (2008) has argued persuasively that haunting is less an  engagement with the past than a “contest over the future, over what is to come next.” The musician who returned from the dead, we shall see, was intently focused on what  came next. But who was he? Revenant, wraith, or impostor? Who is qualified to explain  his all-too-worldly desires? In probing these questions, we find ourselves moving  beyond a pluralist social and cultural frame to confront an even larger issue: are we all,  everywhere, in some way “postcolonial” now, all struggling to makes sense of “what  comes next” in a world at once familiar and strange; in an uneasy present — a mélange  of old and new, the modern and something other? 

    II. 

    In late December 2009, one of South Africa’s legendary Zulu musicians passed away  quite suddenly. Like a troubadour, one soulful reporter noted, “he died at the side of the  road”2 – in this case, the main highway between Johannesburg and his home in Nqutu,  in rural KwaZulu-Natal. Some said he died of AIDS. But others claimed that he was the  victim of the occult ill-will of a rival artist.3 The doubling of the protagonist’s persona  

    2 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the Two uMgqumenis,” Sihle Mthembu, Mail & Guardian, 26 January  2018; https://mg.co.za/article/2018-01-26-00-lazarus-rising-strange-case-of-the-two-umgqumenis/,  accessed 29 August 2023. 

    3 “Four Wives Split over Man Posing as Late Singer,” Slindile Maluleka, Daily News/Pressreader, 17  February 2012; https://www.pressreader.com/south-africa/daily-news-south 

    africa/20120217/281736971365711, accessed 6 May 2015.

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    haunts his story from the start. In the copious media coverage of the case, he is  referred to by one of two different names: Khulekani Kwakhe Khumalo, which follows the convention of identifying a man with reference to his father’s clan, or as Khulekani  Kwakhe Mseleku, the son of his maternal lineage. Salient to the unfolding drama is the  fact that Khulekani was raised by his matrikin, who insist that the bridewealth that would  have legitimated his parents’ union — and made him a Khumalo — had never been paid. This was disputed by his patrikin, who would seek to lay claim to his heritage. To most  Black South Africans, however, he was known as “Mgqumeni,” his moniker as a  maskandi, a singer-songwriter of maskanda, a Zulu crossover genre that mixes traditional praise poetry with popular urban musical forms.  

    Maskandi give voice to the experience of life and work in modern times, above  all, to the migrant journey made by young rural men to cities in search of a livelihood (Olsen 2009). The singers are held to draw inspiration from their ancestors; Mgqumeni  attributed his gift to his mother’s brother, Mahawukela, a popular musician who had  toured with the legendary maskanda crew of Izingane Zoma,4 although what set the  young singer apart was his own, markedly distinctive style. Mgqumeni’s songs were  strongly autobiographical, dwelling on loss, exploitation, and longing, all intoned in a  keening, high pitched voice that connected with the mood of his adoring followers.5 Like  U.S. rap musicians, maskandi are intensely competitive. Khulekani had a notoriously bitter rivalry with another celebrity in the genre, Mtshengiseni “Indidane” Gcwensa, and  

    4 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the Two uMgqumenis.” 

    5 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the Two uMgqumenis.”.

    in some of his mature, uncannily prophetic songs, speculated on Gcwensa’s efforts to  bewitch him.  

    Mgqumeni was buried with due ceremony amidst national lament in 2010, his  funeral attended by high profile politicians, artists, and media celebrities. But in late  January, 2012 he returned home to Nqutu, to the home of his of his paternal kin, the  Khumalos, rather than to the Mselekus, the maternal kin among whom he was raised. A sudden announcement that same day on a popular local radio station, Ukhozi FM informed listeners that they were about to be treated to an interview with a person who  claimed he was Mgqumeni, risen from the dead. “I never actually died,” the man explained. “I was actually held hostage by zombies.”6 The announcment went viral on  social media, which reported that the singer’s paternal family were in a state of shock and delight. Surprised, too, were Mgqumeni’s four common law wives, polygamy being a recognized cultural practice under South African law. Ukhosi FM reported that the  returnee would be “shown to the public for the first time” on February 5, at his father’s  compound in Nqutu.7 

    The “return” of Khumalo was a seismic event. An avalanche of fans — some  estimated that the crowd was 30,000 strong — descended on the modest homestead  from across southern Africa. The media reported that police in riot trucks resorted to the  

    6 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the Two uMgqumenis.”. 

    7 “Fans Flock to Home of ‘Resurrected’ Musician,” Canaan Mdletshe, Times Live, 6 February 2012;  https://www.timeslive.co.za/news/south-africa/2012-02-06-fans-flock-to-home-of-resurrected-musician/, accessed 15 April 2015.

    use of a water cannon in the effort to manage the “frenzy” and “hysteria” of the crowd as  they struggled to catch a glimpse of their resurrected idol.8 When, finally, he appeared,  a woman shouted ‘Hhuye!” (It’s him) and the audience went wild.9 “I am Mgqumeni,” he  declared, speaking into a loudspeaker from the turret of a police vehicle and evoking a  thunderous cheer. “I know that some of you might not believe, but yes, it’s true — it’s  me.”10 He went on to say that he had been held captive by occult means, turned into an umkhovu, a zombie, or witch’s accomplice, and made to toil endlessly on a diet of mud. He had eventually managed to escape, and made his way home to his kin. “My face has  changed because of the lifestyle I was living,”11 he said. The Khumalo family elders told  reporters that they were very unhappy about the condition he was in, using this to  explain why, despite requests from the crowd, the prodigal refused to sing. He soon  would, however; and in the meantime, he recited the clan names of his father’s people,  affirming his patrilineal heritage in traditional Zulu idiom. 

    What was it that drew thousands of people to the deep outback of KwaZulu Natal, across the often-treacherous roads of this dramatic mountainous landscape?  South African commentators were fascinated by the feverish expectation of the  

    8 Maskandi Artist Back from the Dead,” Bongani Mthethwa, Sunday World, 5 February 2012;  www.sundayworld.co.za/news/2012/02/05/maskandi-artist-back-from-the-dead, accessed 6 July 2012. 

    9 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the Two uMgqumenis.’ 

    10 “There is a Frenzy among Masikhandi Fans Following the Mysterious Return of Mgqumeni.”YouTube  SABC, 5 February 2012;  

    https://www.google.com/search?q=Mgumeni%2C+maskandi+artist+back+from+the+dead+youtube+video &sca_esv=567351978&rlz=1C1GCEB_enUS991US991&sxsrf=AM9HkKlN75fxDLs1-1-9, accessed 5  June 2023. 

    11 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the Two uMgqumenis.”

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    multitude, which seemed entranced by the possibility that the charismatic singer might  walk among then once more. Some observers sought to play down the exotic elements  of the story. This was less a matter of the credulity of “traditional” Africa, wrote Adli  Jacobs, than a universal fascination with the idea of reincarnation; the belief that “Elvis  Presley ha[d] not yet left the building.” A “yearning for the return,” he said, “sits deep in  our collective psyche.”12 Freud (1919:17), recall, argued that a locus classicus of a  feeling of uncanniness was the supposed occurrence in real time of things we no longer  believe in – like the appearance of the dead “before our eyes on the scene of their  former activities.” The creepiness that descends on us, he suggested, prompts the  impetus to “test reality” in the face of the possibility that the “magical” could be true; like  the dispassionate young woman, a teacher, with whom I spoke in Mgqumeni’s home  village in 2015, who became animated when I mentioned his name. “It all happened right  here“ she declared. “Many of us believe that he really could have returned. After all,  such things can happen. We have seen it in the Bible.” 

    But many were skeptical. “Con artist or modern-day Lazarus?” mused a primetime TV commentator.13 While a large number of fans seemed persuaded that  they were witnessing a miraculous resurrection, others scrutinized the body of the born again bard more suspiciously. The man before them lacked his trademark dreadlocks,  they protested. He had had lost a substantial amount of weight and sported an  

    12 “Elvis is Still in the Building: The Return of Mgqumeni Khumalo and the Difficulty we have in Letting  Go,” Adli Jacobs, Medium, 4 January 2015; https://medium.com/@adlijacobs/elvis-is-still-in-the-building ff8400d644de, accessed 26 August 2023. 

    13 “There is a Frenzy among Masikhandi Fans Following the Mysterious Return of Mgqumeni.”

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    unfamiliar gold tooth.14 In the days following his return, the media stoked intense  speculation about who the returnee really was. His brief appearance on local radio had  sparked a flurry of calls questioning the unfamiliar tone of his voice and the faster pace  of his speech.15 Meanwhile, his kin became quite sharply divided on the matter of his  identity. While spokesmen for the Khumalos claimed to have recognized him instantly, a  maternal kinsman, Bongani Mncube, called the prodigal a “well-rehearsed criminal.” He  himself had grown up with Mgqumeni among the Mselekus, he insisted, and knew him like the “palm of [his own] hand.” He vowed that he would “go to the highest court in the  land” to prove that this man was a fraud. “We [i.e. the matrikin] are not prepared to  accept him. If he thinks he can fool us he is messing around with the wrong people.”16 

    Those who were best able to verify the singer’s identity, presumably, were his four conjugal partners. It was they, surely, who knew him most intimately, body and  soul. Surprisingly, these women were divided, split 2-2. Like others who claimed  privileged familiarity with Mgqumeni’s person, they invoked putatively distinctive  physical features, albeit in strikingly different ways. But clearly, identification in such  situations is less a matter of unmediated recognition than of a perception prefigured by  affect, politics, and cultural expectation. And so, when the singer appeared in the local  

    14 “’Back from the Dead’ Musician in Custody,” Mlondi Radebe, News24, 6 February 2012;  https://www.news24.com/news24/back-from-dead-musician-in-custody-20120, accessed 5 October  2023. 

    15 “It’s Him – Wife of ‘Resurrected’ Singer,” IOL, 5 February 2012; 

    https://www.iol.co.za/entertainment/music/its-him-wife-of-resurrected-singer-1227451, accessed 3  February 2016. 

    16 “Fans flock to Home of ‘Resurrected’ Musician.” Mlondi Radebe, News24;  

    https://www.news24.com/news24/back-from-dead-musician-in-custody-20120206. Accessed 4 October  2023.

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    magistrate’s court a couple of weeks later, charged with fraud and perjury, two of his wives, Nomkhosi Mbatha and Zehlile Nozipho Xulu, insisted that he was not whom he  claimed to be. They said that, when they had heard he was alive, they set off immediately to see him, only to discover that his scars and marks were different from  the ones they had known. “We looked at his hands, especially the thumbs, and the feet,  but were not able to recognize any of the features on [him] that Mgqumeni had,” Xulu  explained.17 She added that her son had traveled all the way from Johannesburg with  the hope of seeing his father, only to find that the man was a “hooligan.” She added: “I  was annoyed when he repeatedly referred to me as his lover.” 

    But the singer’s other two wives, Nonlanhla Majola and Lamulile Ngema, testified  otherwise. They were convinced, on close inspection, that their husband had actually  returned. Majola, with whom Mgqumeni had lived for a time in Johannesburg, said that  she first thought that the returnee was a “bad spirit.” But once she had “check[ed] his  feet, neck and smile,”18 she was persuaded, firmly denouncing all evidence to the  contrary. “I know this is the father of my child,”19 she declared. Her daughter Amanda added that her father had immediately recognized her, calling her by name. 

    17 Four Wives Split over Man Posing as Late Singer.” 

    18 “Maskandi Artist Back from ‘the Dead.”  

    19 “I Know This is the Father of my Child – Mgqumeni’s Lady,” Canaan Mdletshe, The Sowetan, 8  February 2012; www.sowetanlive.co.za/news/2012/02/08/i-know-this-is-the-father-my-child–mgqumeni slady, accessed 10 July 2012. According to the Daily Sun, a former fiancée, Thembi Ntombela, also  confirmed that the returnee was genuine. “I have checked Mgqumeni and found an old bullet wound on  his back. This proves it’s him,” she said, adding that she had also looked at his arms, hands, and legs for  confirmation; “This Zombie is a Fake!,” Muzi Zincume and Anil Singh, Daily Sun, 6 February 2012, pp.1-2.

    A parenthesis here: the passionate claims and counterclaims of kin and  confidantes in this case recall a story of another such strange return. This one took  place in the US in the 1990s, after the mysterious disappearance of teenager Nicholas Patrick Barclay from his Texas home. The case was born of a bizarre mix of accident,  police incompetence, and ingenious duplicity that enabled a 23-year-old, dark-haired French-Algerian, Frédéric Bourdin, to pass himself off as the hapless 16-year-old  blonde, blue-eyed American some three years later.20 Bourdin, an inveterate trickster,  was the subject of an intriguing true-crime documentary, Imposture,21 which showed  how Barclay’s mother and close kin insisted – in the face of all physical evidence — that  Bourdin was their son. They, too, held fast to their faith in the face of growing  suspicions among the wider community, suspicions that eventually led to the outing of  the pretender. Here, again, we encounter what critics described as the “creepiness”22 at  the heart of an ‘intimate duplicity,” a kind of doubling in which would-be kin are  predisposed to disavow the strangeness of the familiar. 

    As time wore on, the kin of the man who returned to Nqutu became increasingly  vehement in their disagreement over his identity. The initial suspicions of the Mselekus soon congealed into a cogent narrative — the man, they said, was a pretender, part of a  

    20 Missing Child Seems Found, But His Family Is at a Loss,” Jeannette Catsoulis , Movie Review, The  New York Times, 12 July 2012; http://movies.nytimes.com/2012/07/13/movies/the-imposter-about-thecon artist-frederic-bourdin.html, accessed 30 July 2012. 

    21 The Impostor (2012) Film,” Wikipedia;  

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Imposter_(2012_film)#:~:text=The%20Imposter%20is%20a%202012,ag e%20of%2013%20in%201994, accessed 12 December 2023. 

    22 Note here the critics account, “The Impostor (2012) Film,” 

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    criminal conspiracy to lay claim to the dead singer’s assets. Mgqumeni had left no will, and rumors abounded about his sizable estate,23 especially about unpaid royalties on  albums that went multiplatinum – sometimes several in a single year. We should note,  here, that the historic exploitation of black recording artists by studio impresarios in  

    South Africa stokes public suspicions of vast sequestered wealth.  

    The Khumalos, for their part, continued to insist that their son had returned. They  pointed to the fact that the Mselekus had refused to let them see his body before he  was buried, an established mortuary practice in the region. This fed the suspicion that  his mother’s clan were up to no good. 24The Mselekus, convinced that their rivals were  plotting to declare themselves the singer’s rightful heirs, duly laid a charge of fraud  against him with the police in Nqutu.  

     The interplay of passion, patrimony, and personhood in the story of Mgqumeni’s  return recalls yet another, perhaps the iconic case: The Return of Martin Guerre (Davis  1983). This drama, which took place in a peasant village in the Pyrenees in the  sixteenth-century, has captured imaginations over the centuries since then. This is not  surprising. It highlights conundrums intrinsic to the modernist conception of  personhood, to the idea of the authentic, self-possessed individual as a social and legal  figure. Like the Barclay case, and the return of Mgqumeni, it centers on a mystery, a  feat that erased the line between legitimate self-fashioning and deception. Yet again, a  

    23 “South African ‘Back-from-Dead Singer Mgqumeni’ Detained,” BBC News, 6 February 2012; www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-16905521, accessed 6 July 2012. 

    24 See e.g. “Family Split Over Maskandi Artists Claim,” Slindile Maluleka, Daily News, 8 February 2012;  www.iol.co.za/dailynews/news/families-split-over-maskandi-artist-claim-1.1229827, accessed 8 July 2012.

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    two-faced stranger was able to usurp the persona of another and maintain the con — in  this case, for a couple of years — in an intimate, face-to-face setting. At the age of 24, Guerre, who had been accused of theft, left the village to join  the war in Spain, leaving his wife, child, and kin. Nearly a decade later, a man turned  up, claiming to be the absconder. Somewhat like the latter in looks, this in a context  lacking portraits or photographs, the pretender displayed what seemed like a native  command of local knowledge; so much so, that he was able to live for three years with Guerre’s deserted wife — until his efforts to lay claim to the family estate raised  suspicions in a rival kinsman. In the upshot, the interloper was charged with impersonating Guerre, stealing his inheritance, and seducing his wife. The village itself  was divided on the matter, some believing that the man was an imposter, others  swearing that he was the real Martin Guerre. Local officers of the law struggled to  determine the rights of the case, until the ‘real’ Guerre returned from the war. In the  wake of his reappearance, the imposter was finally outed and hanged. Counterfeit,  forgery, and rape were capital offences at the time. 

    Perhaps the most intriguing enigma that has haunted these events ever since is  the one that troubled Mgqumeni’s return as well: how could a fraudulent stranger  sustain his credibility in everyday interaction with intimate others – like parents or a  spouse? In her controversial analysis of the case of Martin Guerre, Davis (1983)  suggests that the fiction was staged as a folie a deux, the wife collaborating with the  impostor to serve personal interests of her own. As in the case of Nicholas Barclay, it  seems, the pretenders can sometimes play their assumed roles more effectively than  did the originals. And who has not wished at some point that a lost loved-one might

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    return from the dead, to resume their place among the living? These stories also  underline how collaborative is the social production of self and personhood — always,  everywhere. 

    In the case of the return of Mgqumeni, too, the law would struggle for several  years to solve the mystery, if it ever did. When the singer’s matrikin charged him with  fraud the police arrested him and subjected him to fingerprinting. He was duly identified  as one Sibusiso John Gcabashe, this taken to be the most plausible of five possible  identities in the police records. Fingerprinting remains a matter of expert judgment; it  cannot settle questions of identity with total certainty. In the context of uneven record  keeping, as in South Africa, its diagnostic efficacy is even more suspect (Cole 2002). But fingerprint archives also presume discrete individual identities. Gcabashe, it turns  out, had reinvented himself several times before. His brother attested that he once was  caught trying to stow away on a ship traveling abroad, and on another occasion, on an  interstate bus.25 Like Mgqumeni, he was originally from rural KZN, but he was also  wanted in the province on prior charges of abduction, rape, and theft. To this day,  however, he refuses to answer to any name but Mgqumeni, consistently denying all  charges levelled at the person called Gcabashe. The Khumalos, in the meantime, slaughtered a cow to “welcome their son back to the community” and to reconcile him  with the ancestors.26 They also sold additional stock to hire him a lawyer. 

    25 No Way Is He Mgqumeni,” Slindile Maluleka, Daily News,14 March 2012;  

    www.iol.co.za/dailynews/news /no-way-is-he-mgqumeni-1.1256076, accessed 1 August 2012. 26 Frank Khumalo, personal communication.

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    Perhaps unsurprisingly, the magistrate in Nqutu, originally entrusted with the  case, made little headway in managing the prosecution. After all, it was unclear even  how to establish the identity of the defendant, let alone to determine what charges  should be brought against him. The accused took to protesting that zombies were  persecuting him in his cell.27 He also called repeatedly for DNA tests to be conducted to  establish his identity, although this option seems never to have been seriously  considered, possibly because DNA technology was unavailable to local courts. The  Mselekus added to the mix by complaining that they were receiving anonymous death  threats and demands that they drop their suit.  

    Three months later, the proceedings were moved to a regional court in nearby Vryheid, where they were open to the public. Court appearances of the man-in-question immediately became significant social events, with “fans” flocking to see whether the  man was an imposter or the real thing.28 For his part, the prisoner ignored all  communications addressed to Gcabashe. He informed the assembled crowds that he  was now playing his guitar again in his cell, a fact to which his jailers readily attested. In  fact, in May, 2012, a new 12-track album was released with a picture of Gcabashe on  the cover. Provocatively entitled Senadlimali YamaNthungwa, “You have embezzled the  money for the Mntungwas” — a clan name for the Khumalos — it was reported to be  selling like hot cakes on the streets of Johannesburg. The owner of a prominent record  

    27 “‘Haunted’ Gcabashe Seeks Traditional Healing for his Visions from the Other Side,” Mondli Radebe,  The Witness, 17 October 2012; https://www.citizen.co.za/witness/archive/haunted-gcabashe-seeks traditional-healing-for-his-visions-from-the-other-side-20150430/, accessed 13 October 2023. 28 “Maskandi Man “Impersonator” Back in Court Again,” New24; 18 June 2012,  

    https://www.news24.com/news24/maskandi-man-impersonator-in-court-again-20150429, accessed 24  August 2023.

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    company claimed that the album was an exact copy of one recently put out by the gifted  maskanda group, Amambula. This was not a random choice: the group was said to  sound “almost like the late Mgqumeni.”29 The vendors had “taken an original CD and  put on a picture of Gcabashe,” the impresario went on, “now it is something else  altogether.” There is a brazen double-fakery in play in all this, the producers cashing in,  quite literally, on the audacity of the original act of imposture to purloin the music of yet  another well-known group. But, as many have pointed out, maskanda itself claims to  channel the voices of gifted singers past, being known for its remixes of currently popular sings without acknowledgement.30 There is a brilliant sense, here, that each  repetition is itself a doubling, both the same yet different. This is curiously captured on  the covers of several of Mgqumeni’s famous albums (iJukebox, iMagic, Autography),  which featured, prophetically, two Mgqumenis side by side, each differently dressed,  but in the same general style. The man and his doppelganger; doubles all the way  down. Yet again, Freud (1919:9] signals to us: stories of the uncanny, he noted, are  invariably concerned with the idea of the merging of the self with a foreign other that  “doubl[es], divid[es] or interchange[s]” it. 

     In May 2012, the case was moved again, this time to the provincial court in  Pietermaritzburg. The original charge of fraud had now been added to those of rape,  

    29 “Fake Maskandi CD is Hot,” Canaan Mdletshe, Sowetan Live, 30 March 2012;  https://www.sowetanlive.co.za/entertainment/2012-03-30-fake-maskandi-cd-is-hot/,  accessed 24 August 2020. 

    30 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the Two uMgqumenis.”

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    theft, and perjury. The lawyer who had been hired by the Khumalos, Johan Botha, was an Afrikaner with a reputation for winning cases for black clients. He seemed unsure  what line of defense to take in the proceedings since, until the matter was resolved  legally, it was not clear whether his client was Gcabashe or Mgqumeni. Court hearings continued to draw ever larger crowds. Members of the public and the press alike were enthralled by the self-possession of the man in the dock, now widely referred to as  “Lazarus Gcabashe” by the more skeptical.31 The primary witness for the prosecution  was a young woman who testified that she had been abducted and repeatedly raped by  the defendant, whom she identified from press photographs. When she had met him, she told the court, he went by the name “Sphamandla.”32 In her testimony she claimed that he persuaded her to take a walk with him to a nearby shopping plaza, whence he  enticed her into a nearby forest — and then on a mysterious journey during which he held her captive for several days. Her narrative moved seamlessly from quotidian  events to details of her bewitchment by her captor, himself empowered by a traditional  healer. Botha was quick to seize on such “irrational” evidence, seeking to undermine  her credibility. On one occasion, the empathetic female magistrate cautioned the young  woman that such talk would not help the case. 

    31 “Lazarus Sings for Fans”, YouTube, 18 February 2014; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7F7JSw 4Uv0https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7F7JSw-4Uv0https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7F7JSw-4Uv0,  accessed 23 October 2023. 

    32 The choice of this name is fascinating: two contrasting, mass-mediated communicators share the name in contemporary South Africa: Sphamandla Hlatshwayo, an entrepreneurial evangelist who causes  congregants to speak in tongues, and Sphamandla Dhludhlu, a top local hip-hop artist.

    16 

     Two senior members of the Khumalo clan then insisted that none of this testimony was true. The accused was their Khulekane, their son: it was inconceivable  that he would commit such a crime. He had been made the victim not only by occult  abductors, they argued, but by opportunists, people conspiring to take advantage of his  celebrated return. A second young woman told the court that the man in the dock had  shown up on her doorstep in Soweto some months back, ostensibly on the run from  thugs who sought to kill him. She claimed that she had given him shelter for some days,  during which time he sat for hours on end listening to Mgqumeni’s music. “He seemed  to be obsessed by it,” she said. Strangely, he told her that the singer was about to be  resurrected and would soon be making music as never before.33 Meanwhile, the  prisoner himself insisted that at the time the crimes were allegedly committed, he was  being held captive by zombies near Johannesburg. 

     As the case dragged on, the Khumalos began to run out of money. Both they and  Botha now argued that the case should properly be heard in a Zulu customary court. To  be sure, the issues at stake turned on a range of cultural questions, like the niceties of  kinship, marriage custom, zombies, and bewitchment that are notoriously difficult to  reduce to liberal modern jurisprudence. Gcabashe’s kin had also started to speak up.  His sister told reporters that she was bewildered about why he would have become an impostor and pleaded with him to cease causing his family embarrassment.34 Finally,  on 16 June, 2016, Sibusiso John Gcabashe was found guilty by the Pietermaritzberg  Magistrate’s Court of rape, assault, kidnapping, attempting to escape from custody, and  

    33 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the two uMgqumenis.”  

    34 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the two uMgqumenis.”

    17 

    impersonating Khulekani Khumalo. He was sentenced to 28 years’ imprisonment, the  magistrate adding that he had shown no remorse during the trial and had traumatized  his kin by claiming to be the deceased musician. He even had the temerity to sleep with  Khulekani’s widow. Shades, once more, of the case of Martin Guerre. The Khumalos  vowed that they would appeal the judgment as soon as they had collected the  resources to do so. Botha, their former lawyer, had ceased to represent them when the  money ran out.35 

    By this time, the prisoner had been moved to a facility on the KwaZulu-Natal coast, where he was to serve his sentence. When we spoke with his warders – a group  who spanned the race-class-gender-generation spectrum of South African society –  they evinced unusual interested in their sensational prisoner. Referring to him only as  Mgqumeni, they appeared to be slightly in awe of him, praising his musical talent and  confessing to having set up a makeshift recording studio for him near his cell. His  dreadlocks had grown, they said, and he “looked more like himself.” What fascinated  them above all was the almost unbelievable knowledge he displayed of the life and  times of the great maskandi. Indeed, not one of them was willing to say with certainty  that he was not the man he claimed to be. Is this, then, another instance of the  collaboration of intimates in the production of a flawless impersonation?  lV 

    35 “Mgqumeni Impersonator Sentenced to 22 Years and Three Months Imprisonment,” Xolani Dlamini,  Sowetan Live, 29 June 2016; https://www.sowetanlive.co.za/news/2016-06-29-mgqumeni-impersonator sentenced-to-22-years-and-three-months-imprisonment-/, accessed 25 August 2023.

    18 

    It will have become clear from our story so far that two distinct ontologies of  personhood are entwined in the drama of Mgqumeni’s return. The charges of  impersonation leveled against Gabashe were framed in terms of a modern liberal  conception of the person as a self-possessed, self-conscious individual, in which  selfhood is fashioned through the reasoned interplay between a sovereign self and its  other/s. According to this conception, imposture is a form of theft. Modern liberal  personhood confers the entitlement to property in one’s own person and labor, and  presumes moral and legal responsibility for one’s own actions before the law. It also  implies, as Ian Hacking (1991) notes, a personal identity vested in a unified memory and coherent self-knowledge; in this tradition, the prospect of “Two Souls in One Body”  is not merely mad; it is downright uncanny. The idea of an external force taking  possession of the person, as in a prophetic or spiritual calling, is archaic, sectarian, or  psychotic. 

    The personhood animating the disputed figure of the maskandi as kinsman and  inspired performer seems rather differently configured. In the latter, subjective identity is  understood as relational, i.e., it is defined in terms of interdependent genealogical or  generational categories – “fathers” and “sons” – rather than in terms of the autonomous  self. It follows that voice, identity, and creative ownership in maskanda and the world it  indexes is fluid, less essentialized within discrete individual bodies than in an interaction that occurs across time and space among persons, alive or dead. The poetic utterances of the singer, for instance, are understood from this vantage as a process of co production. They are the yield of an ongoing interplay of influences among ancestors,  other musicians, and works to be “sampled” – which might cast a new light on the 

    19 

    brazenly purloined Amambula album, for instance. In recent years, numerous CD’s  released under the name Abafana baka Mgqumeni — the “boys,” or “brothers” of  Mgqumeni; a group of his maternal, Mseleku kin — feature songs that replicate or  redeploy his sound. They are often marketed in covers with images of him alongside his  impersonators as look-alike pairs.36 

     Here is the rub: while such indigenous ontologies, and the customary law that  accompanies them, remain salient for many South Africans, the latter are also citizens  of a modern nation-state, governed by a liberal constitution that treats them as rights bearing persons. Its law recognizes the state’s authority to determine the identities of  its subjects and the entitlements that accrue to them. Legalities here are plural.  Maskandi are widely known to “appropriate freely without permission” and to remix  versions of popular songs without crediting the creators.37 But they also live in an  advanced, market-based society where music of all kinds is big business and  entrepreneurs seek to privatize its lucrative potential. The artists who wrote and  recorded the songs on the Amambula album had every right, if they chose, to see it as  their copyright, just as the matrikin of Mgqumeni could accuse the Khumalos and  Gcabashe of attempting to steal their inheritance. I shall return to this issue below, and  to the effort of the Khumalos to have the case transferred to a customary court. 

    36 See Abafana Baka Mgqumeni: Udiwa Yini. 15 May 2023; You Tube;  

    https://www.google.com/search?q=Abafana+baka+Mgqumani&rlz=1C1GCEJ_enUS1056US1056&oq=Ab afana+baka+Mgqumani&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUyBgg, accessed 7 November 2023. 37 “Lazarus Rising: Strange Case of the Two uMgqumenis.”

    20 

    To what degree was this case a figment of intersecting metaphysical worlds, of  the unresolved dialectics, contradictions positive and negative, of decolonization? On  the face of it, as the story of Jacob and Essau attests, imposture is as old as human society itself. But it has also been argued that a concern with the performative self is inherent in the Western tradition of personhood. Marcel Mauss (1985;17) points out that the liberal modern concept of personhood, as both subject and object, dates back to Roman usage, where the word persona meant both “mask” (as the ritualized  performance of personhood) and “true nature” (as in legal identity). The production of  ego as a dialogue of subject and object, self and other, has played itself out in myriad  specific idioms in different historical times and places in Western history. Stephen  Greenblatt (1980) has famously located the rise of a modern consciousness of “self fashioning” as an artful process in the European Renaissance. 

    But early modern Europe, argues Miriam Eliav-Feldon (2012), was also preoccupied with the dangerous, duplicitous potential of self-making. There was marked anxiety among sixteenth-century religious and civil authorities, she suggests, about the  explosion of fraudulent identities plaguing society at large. This disquiet fueled an  intensive search for reliable methods of personal identification and for the development  of novel bodily-based means of verification and bureaucratic archiving – which  themselves opened up new possibilities for counterfeit and dissembling. Eliav-Feldon  stresses the religious basis of much of the obsession with dissimulation: the fervor of  the Inquisition to detect faux Christians – in particular, conversos or dissembling Muslims — or the desire to identify closet Catholics in Protestant communities, along  with heretics, witches, and other minions of ‘Satan the deceiver’ (Revelation 12:9).

    21 

    Punishment could be severe: the faux Martic Guerre, recall, was hung. Anxiety was also fostered by an awareness of new transnational worlds that expanded spatial imaginaries and fractured the boundaries of local forms of knowledge, opening new  horizons for mobility and self-creation. Modern colonial conquest would ushered in yet  further frontiers, and new challenges to the verification of authentic personhood,  Figures like maskanda musicians, whose art depends on brokering the gap between  cosmopolitan and local worlds, are often suspect  

    It is tempting, in other words to see parallels between this early modern moment  and the seismic shifts of contemporary, late modern times. Certainly, there has been a  notable preoccupation with the implications of impersonation in postcolonial South  Africa. It is a concern brought to global attention by the bizarre case of the fake deaf  interpreter, featured in the widely televised Mandela memorial service in December  2013.38 The media relay a never-ending stream of examples of bogus lawyers,39 nurses,40 even soccer referees to an insatiable audience. During 2023/24 alone, the  Health Professions Council of South Africa received more than 300 complaints about  

    38 “Mandela Memorial Sign Language Interpreter Accused of Being a Fake,” Alexandra Topping, The  Guardian, 11 December 2013; 

    www.theguardian.com/society/2013/dec/11/mandela-memorial-sign-language-interpreter-making-it-up fake, accessed 30 December 2013. 

    39 Who is Watching the Lawyers,” Ruth Hopkins and Grethe Koen, Saturday Star, 26 June 2012;  www.iol.com.za/Saturday-star/who-is-watching-the-laywers-1.1328182, accessed 7 August 2012.  

    40 “Interpol Roped into SAFA Investigation,” SAPA, Independent OnLine, 20 December 2012;  www.iol.co.za/sport/soccer/interpol-roped-into-safa-investigation-1.1443476, accessed 21 December  2012.

    22 

    allegedly fake medical practitioners. One was described as the TikTok sensation “Dr.”  Matthew Bongani Lani, who regularly shared medical advice on the social media  platform; another was a member of the Cape Town City Council.41 The proliferation of  counterfeit degrees and forms of certification starts from the top, from University Vice  Chancellors to government ministers and CEO’s.42 The Southern African Fraud  Prevention Service recently released new statistics showing that fraudulent  impersonation had increased by over 300% between 2019 and 2020.43 This has been  abetted by digitization and an ever more technically enhanced industry for forging  documents of all kinds (Piot 2010), amounting to parallel bureaucracies –  “doppelgangers of a legitimate civil service” (Comaroff and Comaroff 2006:16) — in some national contexts. This is especially evident where the demand for credentialed  expertise exceeds access to the means of their legitimate production; that is. where  structural exclusion meets novel horizons of possibility, which is the case for many in  post-apartheid South Africa. As James Siegel (1998:57) notes of Indonesia, such  cloning is less about defying the law than a way of “creating a form of authority for  oneself.” 

    41 “Quackdown — SA Regulator Flags Rise in Fake Doctors, Urges More ‘Education’ about the Menace,”  Velani Ludidi, The Daily Maverick, 23 November 2023.;  

    https://twitter.com/dailymaverick/status/1722193147462107590, accessed 9 November 2023.  

    42 “Tshwane University of Technology Vice-chancellor Johnny Molefe Received his Doctorate from an  Unaccredited Degree Mill.” Staff Writer, MyBroadband, 2 March 2016;  

    https://mybroadband.co.za/news/business/156817-biggest-fake-degree-scandals-in-south-africa.html;  accessed 5 October, 2023. 

    43 “Consumer Talk with Wendy Knowler,” Cape Talk, 3 March 202i; 

    https://www.capetalk.co.za/features/211/consumertalk-with-wendy-knowler/410285/identity-fraud-rose-by over-330-in-2020-here-s-one-way-to-protect-yourself-from-impersonators; accessed 4 October 2023.

    23 

    Gcabashe’s fantasy of social and geographical mobility comes from a place where seductive promises of inclusion meet the hard truth of material impossibility. As  such, it resonates with a zeitgeist captured by South African writers and film makers  across the social spectrum after apartheid. This spirit is evident in Damon Galgut’s  novel, Impostor (2008), for instance, with its focus on the reinvention of identities as norms shift and maps are redrawn, when nobody is who they appear to be. Movies like  Hijack Stories (Oliver Schmitz 2000) explore the dark underside of this heightened  fascination with impersonation when regular means are scarce. The film follows the  efforts of an unemployed black actor – a member of the fragile new middle class in  postcolonial Johannesburg – who tries to pass himself off as a gangster for a new TV  series. He apprentices himself to some real hoods to “learn their moves,” only to  discover the brutal difference between fiction and the mean streets, where crime is not  merely a mode of deception but also a hard-edged mode of production. 

    Clearly, the man who returned as the famous maskanda had mastered the  moves well enough to convince some that he was the real thing. In so doing, he drew  on a shared a living African vernacular and dense local knowledge. For Gcabashe, if it  was he, grew up a few valleys away from Mggumeni. He was about the same age and  spoke the same language of kinship and clanship, of ancestral influence, human rivalry,  and occult harm. He, too, was raised at a time when the figure of the zombie had taken on renewed relevance, not only in global popular culture, but in the structure of feeling  of the post-apartheid public. As transatlantic specter of dehumanized labor, the zombie  was a vestige of a lost African past. Widely held to have originated in Caribbean, it was given new life in Hollywood in the 1930s not only as uncanny revenant, but as all-

    24 

    purpose inhuman threat (Rath 2020). While reference to “zombies” is common in everyday English discourse in southern Africa, black populations more frequently use  indigenous terms (umkhovu in isiZulu; setlotlwane in Setswana), making evident a  different genealogy, one that sees these specters as the captive aids of witches, their slaves in all things ill. 

    As noted elsewhere (Comaroff and Comaroff 1999), the figure of the zombie — a  person turned by an evil other into an insensate being, like a tool, that exists only to  generate wealth for its master — became palpable as never before in South African life with the advent of liberalization. Coinciding with the late 20th century loss of wage labor  in the country and the rise, after the end of apartheid, of “jobless growth,” the living dead  appeared in a diverse array of communications, from the headlines of national  newspapers44 to acclaimed theater productions,45 labor disputes, and local court  hearings.46 So much was this so that a Commission of Inquiry into Witchcraft Violence  and Ritual Murder (Ralushai et al 1995) was appointed by the administration of the  Northern Province of South Africa after the end of apartheid; it reported an “epidemic” of  occult-related killing and a widespread fear of zombies. The living dead are often  associated with the sudden appearance of wealth of uncertain origin in otherwise  depleted zones. They appear to have replaced the real, live workers, depriving them of  the jobs in industrial areas around Johannesburg on which rural communities like Nqutu  

    44 “Disturbing Insight into Kokstad Zombie Killings, Ntokozo Gwamanda, Sowetan,15 July 1998,p. 17.  

    45 The play Ipizombi, by Brett Bailey, was featured at the annual Standard Bank Arts Festival in July  1996, and was later televised for nation broadcasting by the SABC. 

    46 “Disturbing Insight into Kokstad Zombie Killings.”. 

    25 

    were largely dependent. Those communities now subsist on a mix of social welfare and  informal enterprise, much of it female. Bereft of the migrant labor that was the rite of  passage to adult manhood, many males in the countryside lack the means to marry and  found families – forcing them to find new ways of producing selves and livelihoods,  legitimate or otherwise. 

    Maskanda music was itself a product of this contorted history. When, in the late  20th century, deregulation eroded the migrant labor system, maskandi continued to ply  their trade between the centers of musical commerce and the countryside, homeland of  their remastered “tradition.” Their soulful sound draws on that tradition, using it to  express nostalgia for labor lost, to lament the loss, too, of a certain kind of masculine  selfhood, the stature that came of the capacity to turn wages into the production of  households and futures. The signature plaintiveness of Mgqumeni’s voice, his  preoccupation with themes of loss, betrayal, and the triumph of money over love, strikes to the heart of lumpen life, resonating with its structure of feeling.  

    Yet the titles of some of the singer’s best loved albums (like iMagic, or iSpirit) suggest something more than the reflections of a solitary, introspective subject  contemplating an unforgiving history. They gesture to a more enigmatic, unbounded  vision of personhood and human creativity that is fundamentally intersubjective, even  ghostly. On the covers of even his most personal albums — like Autography, noted  above (Figure 1) – Mgqumeni is pictured alongside his other, each staring directly at the  viewer in slightly varying garb and attitude. Durkheim’s “double-centered” self? Freud’s  Doppelganger? Certainly, the image suggests uncanniness, all the way down.

    26 

    I have noted that Freud (1919:14) described the uncanny as a particular  sensation, a creepy feeling that takes hold of a person when things familiar seem somehow alien, unheimlich, like being in a haunted house. Yet, despite the riot of  fantasy and freakishness he identified in the repressed human psyche, he remained a  rationalist, bent on reducing such phantasms to reason in the waking world. He saw the  occurrence of the uncanny in that world as a momentary lapse, a return of something  we once believed in – before civilization banished magic and mystery to the nursery,  the unconscious, the savage mind (1919:1,14). In this he was like Durkheim (1995), for  whom enchantment hovered at the edge of secular reason, ever ready to step in where  logic ran out. Marx was no less evolutionary a thinker. But for him, the fetishistic and the  occult were integral to the magic of modernity itself, produced by the mystifications of its  chosen form of reason – the capitalist economy and its inherent contradictions — a  mystification he believed was yet to be overcome by a critical science.  

    The protagonists of the story I have told here are no strangers to modern enchantments, both their promises and the illusions they foster. As the drama of  Mgqumeni makes plain, these actors — as colonial subjects, wage workers, right bearing citizens — are fully enmeshed in Euromodernity’s narratives of self-realization  and enlightenment, although the degree to which the material benefits of Euromodernity  apply to their kind has always been in question. Yet they are also heirs to another ontological tradition, every bit as firmly rooted in the present — a way of seeing that  presumes inter-subjective influence and agency, the ongoing transaction of matter and  spirit, the existence of mysteries that refuse the logic of practical reason. Strangely 

    27 

    resonant with what Durkheim called the “dualism of human nature,” this  acknowledgement of the presence within the person of “something other” than the self cannot simply be seen as the holdover of a primitive past. It was this “something other,”  so irrepressibly embodied in the equivocal figure of Magqumeni, that makes evident the  dark side of liberal individualism, suppressed by the modernist “cult” of individualism that by its nature suppresses the social production of persons and lived world. 

    Freud was himself not fully convinced that the concept the “uncanny” could  account for the unstable array of sensations and events to which he sought to apply it.  Perhaps this dis-ease signals the ultimate intractability of these queer phenomena to  the myth of disenchantment. For the assertions of secular reason, and the human  individual they presume at its core are forever haunted by the ghostly doubles they  seek to vanquish, joined at the hip, as Durkheim insisted, to the shadows cast by the boundaries of their own reason. Mcgumeni, both alive and dead, made visible a truth  about the nature of personhood that, far from a return of savage thought, applies to all human experience. Perhaps this is why, as social conditions in our late modern world  increasingly undermine the premises of the Enlightenment, it becomes an ever more  widely shared sentiment that none of us – anywhere – has ever really been modern, (Latour 1993), or conversely, that we allI are, and have long been. 

    BIBLIOGRAPHY 

    Clery, E.J. 

    1995 The Rise of Supernatural Fiction, 1762-1800. Cambridge: Cambridge  University Press.

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    Cole, Simon A. 

    2002 Suspect Identities: A History of Fingerprinting and Criminal Identification.  Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. 

    Comaroff, Jean and John L. Comaroff 

    1999 Alien-Nation: Zombies, Immigrants, and Millennial Capitalism. CODESRIA  Bulletin 3/4:17-28. (Also published in The South Atlantic Quarterly

    Special edition, (ed) Saurabh Dube, Enduring Enchantments,  

    101(4):779805, 2002.)  

    2006 “Law and Disorder in the Postcolony: An Introduction.” In (eds. Jean and  John Comaroff Law and Disorder in the Postcolony. Chicago: University  of ChicagoPress. 

    2016 “Imposture, Law and the Policing of Personhood: The Return of Khulekani  Khumlo, Zombie Captive.” The Truth About Crime. Sovereignty,  

    Knowledge and Social Order. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 

    Davis, Natalie Zemon 

    1983 The Return of Martin Guerre. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Durkheim, Emile 

    [1912] 1995 The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. Translated by Karen Fields.  New York: Free Press. 

    [1914] 2005 “Dualism in Human Nature and its Social Conditions.” Durkheimian  Studies. 11 (1): 35-46 

    Elias, Norbert 

    [1939] 1982 The Civilizing Process. Sociogenic and Psychogenic Investigations. New  York: Pantheon Books. 

    Freud, Sigmund 

    [1919] 1955 “The ‘Uncanny. ’In The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological  Works of Sigmund Freud, Volume XVll (1917-1919): An Infantile Neurosis 

    29 

    and Other Works. Edited by James Strachey. London: Hogarth Press and  the Institute of Psychoanalysis. 

    Foucault, Michel 

    1978 The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1. Translated from the French by Robert Hurley. New York: Random House. 

    Galgut, Damon 

    2008 The Impostor. Johannesburg: Penguin Books. 

    Gordon, Avery 

    1997 Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the Sociological Imagination. Minneapolis:  University of Minnesota Press.  

    Greenblatt, Stephen 

    1980 Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From Moore to Shakespeare. Chicago:  University of Chicago Press.  

    Hacking, Ian 

    1991 “Two Souls in One Body.” Critical Inquiry 

     17 (4):838-867. 

    Latour, Bruno 

    1993 We Have Never Been Modern. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 

    Olsen, Kathryn 

    2009 Musical Characterizations of Transformation: An Exploration of Social and  Political Trajectories in Contemporary Maskanda. Doctoral dissertation,  University of KwaZulu-Natal. 

    Piot, Charles 

    2010 Nostalgia for the Future: West Africa after the Cold War. Chicago:  University of Chicago Press.

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    Rath, Grun, 

    2020 “Zombie History.” In The Dark Side of Translation, (ed.) Frederico   Italiano. New York: Routledge. 

    Siegel, James 

    1998 A New Criminal Type in Jakarta. Durham, NC: Duke University  Press  

    Williams, Raymond 

    1977 Marxism and Literature. New York: Oxford University Press. 

    Wilson, Monica Hunter 

    1953 “Witch Beliefs and Social Structure.” American Journal of Sociology  56(4): 307-315. 

    Figure 1

    31 

    Cover: Autography Album, 2009 (SONY)

    32 

  • Tiny Homes, Unreal Estate, and the Precarious Politics of Housing 

    The Case of the Wendy House 

    Jean Comaroff 

    Housing is the social issue of the twenty-first, claimed Jon Henley in The Guardian in  May 2024.i European governments, he added, have failed abysmally to ensure affordable  accommodation in the face of soaring property prices, fueling right-wing anger and a rising  resentment of immigrants. The report featured a picture of two men in a massive street protest  in Spain, carrying a large, cardboard doll’s house (Figure 1). In Britain, in the same year, the  leader of the Labor party and soon to be prime-minister, Sir Keith Starmer, promised to restore  the dream of having “a place of one’s own,” vowing to” deliver the biggest boost to social and  affordable housing in a generation.”ii  

    Until recently, urban “slums” have been largely associated with the Global South (Davis  2006), although the problem of homelessness in Europe is hardly new; vide the workhouses,  Salvation Army Hostels, and depots de mendicite in early industrializing cities like London and Paris.iii. These days, the presence of squatter populations in affluent northern cities has  become impossible to ignore. From Boston to Berlin, Paris to Prague, make-shift shelters pop  in public spaces, offering jarring comment on the pretentions of urban modernism to order, functionality, security. The normalization of these Euro-American favelas also calls into question the would-be hegemony of state and capital over the planning, provenance, and  governance of so-called ‘global cities’ (Sasson 1991; Pithouse 2014:135).  

     That cardboard house carried through the Spanish street, as if in a ritual procession,  makes several home truths plain. For one, the private home is an ever more elusive icon of

    1  

    human dignity, civility, and social reproduction in an inhospitable world. In 1948, the UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights recognized access to viable shelter as an essential  precondition of an adequate standard of living. This was subsequently endorsed by a range of  international legal instruments and some national constitutions — South Africa, where my story  unfolds, being one of them. But in the Western liberal tradition, the “home” has two faces, often  irreconcilable, sometimes in contradiction with each other. One is the house as place of  residence, the “fixed abode” of the civil subject and the interior domain of domestic life, of family beyond public scrutiny and the transactions of politics and the market. The other is the  house as the fons et origo of the family estate, its capital. Scholars have noted that, in African societies, the “house” often referred simultaneously to the atom of kinship and the elemental  unit of society. In capitalist society, however, it sits ambiguously between the domains of  kinship and commodification, the private and the public, being treated both as a place of mutuality without price and as the quintessential form of property. This tension is evident in the  dual sense of the “private,” both as a haven beyond the market, legal scrutiny, or government intrusion, and as an object of proprietary ownership, an asset to be freely mortgaged, bought, or sold, a means of securing debt or wealth. Taken together, these two faces of the house make it at once the sine qua non of civil personhood and the point of articulation between the  citizen and the economy; in Starmer’s words, “the bedrock of security and aspiration.”iv 

    Ensuring access of citizens to affordable “social housing” by one or another means has  been a commitment recognized by most European liberal democracies, an undertaking that  peaked in the decades after World War ll. But with the planetary ascent of neoliberalism, states everywhere have cut public spending and slowed investment in urban accommodation. At the  same time, the price of private homes has soared, fueled by low-interst loans and mounting 

    demand. In the upshot, real estate emerged as a prime object of financial speculation. Not  coincidentally, housing played a key role in the first major crisis of the “new” global economy,  the Great Recession of 2007-2008, which led to millions of bankruptcies, jobs lost, and homes  foreclosed.v The crisis, most immediately triggered by the collapse of the so-called housing  bubble in the US, was stoked by the rise in high-risk, sub-prime mortgages in the real estate  industry and the dramatic increase in minimally regulated housing debt. “As safe as houses”  had become, literally, a cosmic irony. 

    But the disruptions that accompanied this crisis and the operations of global capital that  underlay it were symptomatic of something more widespread. In 2003, the UN Habitat report,  Challenge of the Slums, drew attention to the alarming rise of the planetary population living in  impoverished urban settlements, inadequately housed and without access to viable income  and services — the bulk of them (43 per cent) in the developing world. In stark contrast to the  language of neoliberal orthodoxy, the report associated these developments with the impact of  structural adjustment programs in the Global South that urged privatization and market growth over investment in urban infrastructure, welfare, and social housing (UN Habitat 2003:6). The  poverty and inequality abetted by these policies heightened rural flight to already stressed  cites. The report’s most immediate response was to make virtue of necessity. It invoked the  inventiveness and resilience of Southern urbanism, noting that informal settlements had long  been entry points to the city, their portal to wider urban society (2003:vi). Most immediately, it advocated participatory slum upgrading programs that built on “the logic of the innovative  solutions developed by the poor themselves” (2003:xxvii) should be supported wherever  possible, and interested parties, like informal sector landlords, landowners be consulted.

    3  

    Here, I examine the unexpected history of one such innovative solution, the Wendy  house – and its role in popular urbanism in South Africa. I explore the uses and limits of  informality in this built form, its lack of fixity and productive ambiguity, and its legal uncertainty  and floating existence in time. I focus on how it plays into the contradictory qualities attached  to the house in our late modern world, inflected by the colonial history, continuing economic  inequality, and dynamic sociality of a specific Southern city.  

    Like most megacities in Africa, Cape Town is built on imperial foundations, shaped over  three centuries of Dutch and British rule around the intricate interdependence of radically  unequal populations in the service of extraction, commerce, and governance (Demissie 2007).  The site first of agrarian then industrial production, its population was a mélange of Khoi, San,  and other African peoples, East Asian slaves and other indentured workers, and Dutch, British,  and other European peoples. While the Natives (Urban Areas) Act of 1923 deemed urban  South Africa “white,” requiring all black African men in conurbations to carry “passes,” Cape  Town retained several mixed-race communities at its core – at least until the high apartheid  removals of the 1960’s. But the dominant national model was established by the cities to the  north that had sprung up during the country’s mineral revolution and industrialization. It was  shaped by the country’s distinctive form of racial capitalism, vested in the tightly regulated  migration of African labor to the workplace from what came to be designated as “tribal  homelands.”  

    The city proper had little place for “idle” blacks or worker’s families. Hostels and  backyard rooms were the main form of housing provided (cf. K’Akumu 2018:191), other than a  restricted number of closely monitored townships on urban peripheries. But defiant forms of  African urbanism thrived at its edges, as they did in postcolonial cities elsewhere on the 

    4  

    continent (White 1990; Myers 2003; Freund 2007), giving rise to new residential arrangements,  popular economies, and cultures of ethnicity, class, and political identity (Hellman 1948). In the  wake of liberalization, deregulation, and the collapse of minority rule in the late twentieth  century, South African cities became reception points for growing numbers of refugees from  countries to the north. As a result, they began to look more like their postcolonial counterparts elsewhere on the continent, their material, social, and commercial practices displaying ever more informal characteristics (Rakodi 1997). While some would associate these features with the “urbanization of poverty” (Piel 1997), others saw them as constitutive of new urban  worlds, with “open‐ended social and institutional dynamics” and opportunistic kinds of politics (Pieterse 2009:5; Simone and Pieterse 2017). In the wake of decolonization, wrote Achille  Mbembe (2001:59-60), African cities had concatenated “the most formal and modern with the  most informal.” While this posed certain obstacles, it could also “prefigure the power of a new  impulse – a new intensity.”. 

    The Genealogy of the Wendy House 

    Many would argue that, in South Africa, housing remains one such obstacle. “Housing  crisis tops the list of key priorities for voters,” proclaimed a news headline on the eve of the  national election in June 2024,vi Another accused the ruling regime of having failed utterly to  redress the spatial segregation entrenched by apartheid.vii To be sure, when the ANC took  power in 1994, it inherited one of the most unequal societies on earth. Undoing this separatist  geography was a foundational commitment to ensuring a better future for all, a promise  embodied in the provision of dignified housing for the formerly dispossessed. Over the past  thirty years, the regime has built almost five million homes.viii But its initially ambitious

    5  

    Reconstruction and Development Program (RDP) soon fell afoul of liberalizing orthodoxies  locally and abroad; its leaders were persuaded to adopt more resolutely free market policies, encouraging privatization, and reducing government spending (Hirsch 2005). Growth remained  uneven, however, and the economy was plagued by job losses, corruption, and inequality. As  thousands flocked to cities in search of work, they were joined by many more from impoverished, strife-torn nations to the north. 

     Meanwhile, the pace of state-sponsored house building slackened, then slowed to a  trickle. In 2013, a report in The Architectural Review declared that Mandela’s “wildly ambitious”  dream of a proper house for all remained unfulfilled.ix South African cities still exhibit a starkly  neocolonial topography, with core white enclaves, most of them securely middle-class,  fostering world-class amenities, brisk enterprise, and relative safety, and peripheries populated  largely by poor people of color, living in the crowded townships and informal settlements that burgeoned in the late apartheid years (Gilbert et al 1996). A daunting array of barriers – the  high cost of accommodation among them — restrict marginalized residents from real  participation, except as labor, in the centers of wealth creation and opportunity. “What they’re  doing with us now is the same as under apartheid, it’s just called by the fancy name –  ‘gentrification,”’ said Faghmeeda Ling, a housing activist living in an abandoned hospital on the  outskirts of Cape Town.x As the city’s managers have courted the global tourist dollar, the  price of real estate has skyrocketed. Campaigns to provide affordable urban housing have  struggled to gain traction. On the impoverished outskirts, people live in a range of habitations,  from private and state-built (RDP) houses to repurposed urban detritus, from giant emergency  tents to shacks made of wood, cardboard, plastic, and metal sheeting. Many homes lack  water, sanitation, and electricity, and are chronically prone to fire, floods, and crime. Local 

    6  

    municipalities, with the help of international agencies like Global Action Plan on Slums and  Informal Settlements, undertake periodic upgrades of informal settlements to provide reliable  plumbing, toilets, and social services. But their efforts fall woefully short of the ever-swelling demand. 

    A growing proportion of the population are “backyard dwellers,” living at the rear of  houses on the outskirts of South African cities, either in townships or former lower-class white  suburbs. Often those backyards contain a honeycomb of one- or two-room structures that  cover all available ground, interlaced by tangled strings of make-shift electricity cables and ablution facilities. A range of intricate tenurial arrangements link their occupants to each other  and to their landlords; to wit, an ever more complex economy of informal real estate  transactions has developed in the secondary domain of backyard accommodation. That domain is secondary in two senses: first, in the abstract sense, in which property is made to  give birth to further property, each drawing on the alibi of a house with registered services and  an established address; and second, in the physical sense of occupying a space behind an  anchoring structure. There is a brisk secondary trade, too, in the sale, subdivision, and letting  of RDP houses, despite its illegality.xi Under such conditions of “subsistence capitalism”  (Appadurai 2024), even shacks in informal settlements have become assets, the subject of burgeoning credit and rental markets — and anchors for further commodification “out back.” Already in 2007, Bank (2007:206) claimed that “a quarter to a third” of South Africa’s township  populations were backyarders. The proportion has increased exponentially since then,  although the unauthorized nature of informal accommodation makes it hard to compute either  here or in cities elsewhere in the global South (Scheba and Turok 2020). 

    7  

    It is at this point that the unlikely history of the Wendy House – a structure strangely  resembling the cardboard doll’s house carried through the streets by those Spanish activists (above, p.0) — becomes instructive. The original Wendy House first appeared in a children’s  stage play, Peter Pan, or the Boy Who Would Not Grow Up (1904), dreamed up by the  Scottish author J.M. Barrie. A small abode, it was built in Neverland for the protection of one of  the main characters, Wendy Darling,xii herself in search of shelter in a foreign locale. Having to  be erected onstage, Wendy’s make-believe house was designed in prefabricated form. But it  was soon became the fashion in middle class British families to construct a Wendy house for children to play in – and sometimes, for storage or entertainment in the domestic gardens, both  in the UK and the colonies. Though they were usually large enough for one or more children to  enter, they varied in size, from prefabricated kits to child-sized replicas of a real house.xiii  

    The “Wendy,” as it is called in South Africa, is one of the most prevalent forms of  backyard housing in the country. Its genealogy as “unreal,” make-shift accommodation for not  fully adult beings prefigures its nature as “unreal” estate;xiv that is, of unfixed, not fully realized property that piggybacks off the status and services of real estate structures on private ground.  As a species of built form, it is a square wooden edifice,xv usually a single room with a floor,  roof, door, and window. Crucially, though, it has no actual foundation in the ground.  Technically, Wendys are portable, and do not necessarily imply the ownership or the lease of  land on which they are constructed. Prefabricated, or rapidly assembled on a simple frame,  they are most frequently erected on the grounds of an existing property, either by the owner or by a tenant or some other informal investor. Their legal status is productively ambiguous: they rest on the fact (maintained by many vendors, builders, owners, and inhabitants) that, because  it lacks foundation and is ostensibly temporary, it does not require planning permission, 

    8  

    compliance with municipal building standards, or registration as residential property.xvi The law  dictates otherwise. But is largely ignored, since these dwellings typically exist in the invisible  “private” space to the rear of an owner/occupier’s formal home. Their provisional quality,  moreover, makes it difficult to subject them to formal regulation. As a result, Wendys have  become big business, playing an ever-larger role in the desperate quest for accommodation in the country’s crowded cities. 

    In South Africa, where Wendy Houses were common in affluent white suburbs, they  began to take on the added connotation of low-cost accommodation for live-in domestic  workers built in the backyard of the employer’s property; this at a time when most white homes were permitted a servant’s back room or two, with a toilet and shower stall alongside other  service buildings (Ginsburg 2000 87). Like the more commonly brick-built back rooms, these  houses were about eight by ten feet. They lacked ceilings or (often) electricity and had a single  door with a lock and a key, with copies held both by the worker and by the employer.  Landscaping tended partially to obscure the structure, yielding a modicum of privacy and  sociality. But these accommodations were also notoriously subject to the intrusive paternal  oversight of employers and, under apartheid, by police tasked with enforcing the exacting laws of Influx Control that excluded undocumented rural Africans (Ginsburg 2000:96), 

    A Precarious Foothold 

    A common set of qualities links the make-believe children’s shelter to the makeshift,  accommodation of workers who, at least until 1994 in South Africa, were deemed impermanent  in the “white” city,’; less subjects than unworthy of full (adult, independent) citizenship. It is  precisely this impermanent, “unreal” quality, lacking foundation, erected or removed with  minimal expertise that enabled the Wendy house to elude formal regulation. And rendered a 

    9  

    relatively affordable, unmoored shelter for those in need. As Ivan Vladislavic (2024:84) writes  of a similarly makeshift vending shack in a Johannesburg street, “any attempt at making  improvements might threaten [its] livelihood. It is likely that the precariousness of [its] foothold  in the economy guarantees its survival.” What is more, in the case of the Wendy, size matters.  Their scale likens them to the other so-called “tiny houses” currently the focus of a world-wide  movement sparked by socially-minded US architects in the 1970’s, who championed contemporary compact living (Kahn and Easton 1973). These houses, it was argued, offered low-cost, eco-friendly accommodation for the homeless; in the wake of the Recession of 2008,  settlements of tiny houses were built in several US cities. But their wider adoption has been  hampered in the Globa North by the cost of securing building sites, and by restrictive NIMBY  zoning, aimed at limiting the impact of stigmatized dwellings on the value of neighboring real  estate.xvii 

    By comparison, the norms of urban informality in South Africa are more hospitable. Where the  erection of weightier structures requires access to land, and to larger investments of capital,  expertise, and labor, Wendy houses have proliferated widely; not only in backyards, but also on public land and space subcontracted by others. There is a spiraling market in prefabricated  Wendys, dominated by a couple of large corporations. Their current cost varies from an entry level, single-roomed structure for R12,000 ($652) to a three-bedroomed wooden bungalow at  R90,000 ($4,888).xviii But there is also a significant informal trade in their construction; often  they are built by occupants, their kin and neighbors. Thus, a report in The Sowetan:xix 

    A 62-year-old woman who ran out of patience after waiting for an RDP house for over  20 years has built herself a Wendy house. Gloria Matebe is a grandmother of two young  girls. She spent six months building her home from discarded pieces of timber that she  collected from a nearby dumpsite in GG Camp informal settlement, Oudtshoorn.

    10 

    The pensioner said she had been on a waiting list since 1998 but had lost hope of having a postal address of her own.  

    Built with the assistance of two local youths, the house had been varnished on the outside “to  make it look more attractive.” Mrs. Matebe added that she had erected the house out of  frustration: she “couldn’t stand living in a shack any longer.” She could now “lock her front  door,” she said, and the door to her own room. A Wendy, note, is a house, not a shack. A  shack-dweller in Khayelitsha, on the fringes of Cape Town, described the transformative  effects on her existence when a local retailer built her a Wendy as part of a community  donation during Mandela Month.xx “God has his way of doing things,” said the unemployed  mother of three.xxi 

    For many, the Wendy provides a means of taking direct action in the face of the  exclusion and abjection of urban existence, caught between rapacious real estate markets and  state austerity. As a makeshift dwelling, it embodies Mbembe’s “concatenation” (above, p.0) of  old and new, formal and informal, being a provisional structure secure enough to serve as  human shelter yet unfixed enough to leave its ownership and longer-term status sufficiently equivocal to elude regulation. The Wendy house affords an entry-point for modest investors in unofficial credit and rental markets. While its formal vendors offer a range of terms of credit for  first-time buyers or speculators, much of the finance for these and other backyard structures is  provided by informal landlords and financiers. This, in turn, gives rise to hybrid patterns of  proprietorship and tenancy, and to contracts backed by diverse relations of patronage and  reciprocity—arrangements that enable a flexibility of pricing and credit.  

    Take the ethnographic fragment: 

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    Leonard is a single man in his early 50’s who migrated to Cape Town some 20 years ago from  rural KwaZulu-Natal in search of training and a livelihood. Disabled from birth and disowned by  his kin, he has never been able to secure a steady job and subsists largely on a monthly  disability allowance. For eight years he shared a shack in an informal settlement without  access to basic services, affordable transport, or protection from flooding and theft. Leonard is  a member of a racially diverse, mainline Protestant church. Three years ago, its housing  committee built a Wendy for him in the yard of a house in Kuilsriver, a former white working class suburb north of Cape Town where West African immigrants with regular income are  buying property. The owner of the house came to South Africa from Cameroon some years  ago. She resides elsewhere in the neighborhood: her tenant, who shares her migrant ethnic  identity, subcontracted the backyard site for Leonard’s house, an arrangement that was facilitated by yet another person of Cameroonian origin who is an elder in Leonard’s church.  The housing committee in this congregation provides aid for indigent congregants. It advanced funds for Leonard’s entry-level, prefabricated Wendy, helped erect it, and offered some  meagre furnishings. Almost all of Leonard’s disability grant goes toward paying his monthly  rent of R1,400 to the tenant in the main house. It includes water and toilet facilities, the last shared with another family, living in a further small brick structure alongside his own. Both units  have electric cables connected to the main house for which they pay an additional R200 per  month. For a couple of years, Leonard has been on the municipal list for the installation of his  own electricity meter. His main household effects consist of a bed, a refrigerator (that he plugs  in when he has fresh food), and a disconnected TV. Every mobile phone he has acquired has  been stolen almost immediately; he lives under the watchful eye of neighbors (about a dozen  people live on site, of whom only two have any regular work). Yet his home offers more than a  modicum of self-possession: on election day, he set off on crutches to cast his vote, noting the  satisfaction it gave him to be able to lock his own door. While he has no formal residential  address, he draws his disability grant from the local post office and carries his money in his  shoes. 

    Leonard’s dwelling highlights how the Wendy – its makeshift, mobile quality, the modesty of its  material and labor costs — play into the flexible, opportunistic nature of an informal sphere of  real estate commerce that piggybacks on a limited foothold in the regular institutions of  government and market. Here we see how social capital in the form of ethnic or religious ties operates — especially among people who are more or less on the move – to mediate  transactions and embed them within webs of interdependence that facilitate trust and credit. In  a context in which formal instruments of security and protection are absent, these webs of sociality serve as a backstop for innovation and risk, opening new possibilities of trade and  investment in the face of scarcity. 

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    But moral economies of this sort are unevenly distributed. They ride on access to patronage amidst shifting fortunes beyond local control, like recession or pandemic. Leonard’s  tenure of his home has no guarantees. His dwelling as a mode of life rests on the unwritten  assent of persons and voluntary associations; specifically, on their ability to extend credit and  empathy. The death of one of his church’s major benefactors has meant that, for a couple of  months, Leonard has had trouble paying his rent. In the upshot, the benevolent elder who  helped fund his home has negotiated credit and advanced him small personal loans. While the  church technically owns his house, his onsite landlady could evict him with little comeback. In  several cases where tenants like him have been evicted, or moved on, the church has failed to  repossess the houses they had built. In the meantime, Leonard remains vulnerable to being  overcharged for services like electricity and must weather the jealous gaze cast by jobless  neighbors on his paltry assets. The yard is both a transient commons and a space of enforced  intimacy and Hobbesian survival. Yet, provisional as they may be, the comforts of his home  delight him, as does the satisfaction of holding the keys to his own door.  

    A second case highlights the supply side of the Wendy house and similar  accommodation as speculative assets in informal real estate economies like that of South  Africa.  

    In another part of Kuilsriver stands a three-bedroomed house, originally built in the 1970’s as a  family home. It has been divided into three “flatlets,” and now accommodates ten tenants, a mix of South Africans and immigrants who speak six different mother tongues. The house is  owned by a South African woman, who lives in a similarly subdivided residence a few blocks  away. She is an informal market trader from Johannesburg, who bought property finance  advanced by a distant kinsman, himself raised in West Africa. This kinsman, the only person  involved with the property who has formal sector employment, was permitted, as part of his  share, to erect a Wendy in the backyard — in the space next to the servants’ quarters, now  converted into a further rental unit. The Wendy was inhabited by an undocumented Malawian  man, who helped build it, his wife and baby. Although he had been in South Africa for some  years, he had never been able to procure more than irregular garden work. In lieu of rent, he 

    13 

    maintains the grounds of the whole property and “keeps a general eye on things” for his  benefactor. The latter holds an academic position in a college in the city and owns a large  family home in another formerly white suburb, for which he secured a mortgage. In assisting  his kinswoman and fellow migrant with the financing of this second house he further  consolidated his status as a respected citizen at the intersection of professional, ethnic, and  religious networks. Apart from providing occasional home loans, he deploys his cultural capital more generally by serving as signatory on contracts – like lease agreements — on behalf  individuals who lack legal standing. A genial patron, he has become the “go-to” person in his  neighborhood, serving as surrogate for senior kin in rituals in young immigrant families. He  now owns several Wendy houses in the yards of clients, who monitor his loans and  investments. The interest on such loans is often rendered in small services, referrals, and  other favors. Meanwhile, his property portfolio has expanded, and he continues to invest in  various kinds of communal sponsorship with a view to securing the material and educational  futures of his children. 

    In these ways, the backyard economy – in which the Wendy is a staple component – offers modes opportunistic modes of accommodation, of riding on the coattails of formal contracts in  the shadow of a formal civil frontage. Until relatively recently, policymakers and statesmen  have viewed the informal sector — that part of any economy that is neither taxed nor monitored  by government — as a source and corollary of underdevelopment, restricting growth and  exacerbating poverty. Transition to formality was held to be the cure, enabling linkages with  

    xxii 

    established enterprise and encouraging state control over untaxed, unregulated business. Not anymore. For one thing, formal economic growth does not necessarily put an end to  xxiii 

    informality. For another, neoliberal deregulation and intensified competitiveness on an ever wider global scale have ensured the expansion of shadow enterprise, not only in the South but  across the world at large. This has been abetted by the financialization of ever more domains  of everyday life, not least by way of the “sharing economy” that encourages the treatment of  personal property, like cars and homes, as rent-yielding assets, negotiated ever more directly  (person-to-person, P2P) with willing users. Ironically, putting sharable assets to work has long  been the default strategy of the poor, something from which corporations have sought to profit 

    14 

    via platforming (as in the advent of Uber or Airbnb; Comaroff and Comaroff 2020). But now  bodies like the ILO and the World Economic Forum declare the informal to be the new  normal’xxiv vide the UN Habitat’s recommendation that policy be based on the creative  innovation of the urban poor, encouraging job creation born of informality, its income  generating potential and it’s as capacity to meet the needs of the dispossessed.xxv  

    One cannot but wonder about the newfound respect for vernacular urban solutions on  the part of agencies that, for so long, have been invested in trying to transform and “develop”  nonwestern economies in their own image. After all, the ostensible hazards of informal  enterprise long stressed by these agencies — like the risk of doing business without the  safeguard of titles and contracts, or of working without the protections of organized labor –  remain. The new pragmatism comes at a time when the era of Western humanitarian aid is  giving way to one of neoliberal “responsibilization,” “self-care,” and the subjection of life to  

    cost-benefit calculation. 

    xxvi But what remains consequential is something that global  

    development institutions and initiatives have been less ready to acknowledge: that legal  instruments tend to favor the rich and powerful, especially where urgent, immediate action is  called for and where there is a great deal of money to be made. As Mathew Desmond (2016)  shows of “slum landlords” in the US inner city, the profitable exploitation of the poor and  homeless is largely pursued in compliance with the law and the ordinary workings of the  market. At a time when global anxiety focuses on the explosive implications of a “planet of  slums” (Davis 2006) and drastically rising inequality, close attention is increasingly being paid  to who is profiting from accommodating the precariat; as activists have learned all too well,  moreover, the services of professional experts can be a mixed blessing. The “bottom-up”  

    xxvii 

    strategies championed by the likes of Slum Dwellers International stress the need for the 

    15 

    unhoused to have a say in the expenditure of resources that affects them. It also stresses that architects, planners, and corporate contractors often spurn their knowledge, and profit at their expense. Even well-meaning efforts by the likes of UN Habitat to work with informal housing  stakeholders — in securing and upgrading shacks, for instance – run the risk of gentrification  that raises rents to the detriment of the poorest of the poor.  

    Conclusion 

    The essential right to a home – to shelter from the ravages of commerce both legal and  criminal, and/or from the unwanted attentions of an intrusive state – has become increasingly  vulnerable to the threat posed by the other face of the domestic dwelling: as private property,  as potential capital, as a bedrock of market enterprise. At a time when financialization shapes  ever larger domains of life, threatening profoundly the prospect of making a home in the world,  the unlikely story of the Wendy House offers a slender shoot of evidence of the opportunistic  impulse sparked by the friction between brute necessity and an endless appetite for life. At the  very least, it prompts us to take seriously the virtues of the makeshift and provisional, of the  kind of trust born of shared insecurity, and of investments in “unreal” estate as a basis of  human co-existence in the face of daunting obstacles. 

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    i “Fix Europe’s Housing Crisis or Risk Fuelling the Far-right, UN Expert Warns,” Jon Henley, The Guardian, 6  May 2024; https://www.theguardian.com/news/article/2024/may/06/fix-europe-housing-crisis-risk-fuelling-far right-un-expert-warns, accessed 8 JuneS 2024. 

    ii “Sir Keir Starmer: My Vision for Housing,” Keir Starmer, Inside Housing, 26 June 2024;  https://www.insidehousing.co.uk/home/sir-keir-starmer-my-vision-for-housing-87096, accessed 28 June 2024. 

    iii “Homelessness in Victorian London: Exhibition Charts Life on the Streets.” Maev Kennedy, The Guardian, 2  January 2015; https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2015/jan/02/homelessness-victorian-london-exhibition geffrye-museum, accessed 17 May 2024. 

    iv “Sir Keir Starmer: My Vision for Housing.” 

    v “A Short History of the Great Recession,” Wayne Duggan. Forbes Advisor, 21 January 2023;  https://www.forbes.com/advisor/investing/great-recession/, accessed 21 June 2024. 

    vi “2024 Elections: Housing Crisis Tops the List of Key Priorities for Voters,” Kamogelo Moichela, IOL, 24 July 2024; https://www.iol.co.za/news/2024-elections-housing-crisis-tops-the-list-of-key-priorities-for-voters-9de5bf3c 66ba-4d86-9201-465484ac0435, 21 April 21 2024; 

    vii “’People Have Died on the Waiting Lists’: South Africa’s Housing Crisis Casts a Shadow over Election,” Julie  Boudin, The Guardian, 27 May 2024; https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/article/2024/may/27/south africa-housing-crisis-waiting-lists-election, accessed 27 May 2024. 

    viii “’People Have Died on the Waiting Lists.’”  

    ix “Mandela’s Built Legacy and a New Dawn for African Architecture,” Lesley Lokko, The Architectural Review, 18 December 2012; https://www.architectural-review.com/essays/mandelas-built-legacy-and-a-new-dawn-for african-architecture, accessed 31 May 2024.

    19 

    x “‘People have Died on the Waiting Lists.’”  

    xi “2024 Elections: Housing Crisis Tops the List of Key Priorities for Voters.” 

    xii Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up (1903). The house was constructed so as to be assembled and  disassembled on stage. The character Wendy sings a song which begin:” I wish I had a darling house, The littlest ever  seen…” See “Wendy House,” Wikipedia; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendy_house, accessed 2 June 2024. 

    xiii “Wendy House,” Wikipedia. 

    xiv See Joshua Comaroff (2009: 360ff) for a significant use of the term, if in a somewhat different context; also Herscher 2012. 

    xv Wendy Houses can also be made from Nutec, or fiber cement board, ia man-made material used for  cladding timber framed structures to render them more durable. 

    xvi Industry watchdogs often issue stern warnings to buyers about the National Buildings Regulations and  Building Standards Act of 1977 that requires plans to be submitted for approval to local authorities for all structures,  temporary or permanent. “[W]e practice conveyancing outside Neverland,” notes one. See “Wendy Houses and  Plans – Watch out,” Marion Taylor Properties, 6 September 2013; https://www.marion-taylor.com/news/wendy houses-and-plans-watch-out/, accessed 6 June 2024. 

    xvii “Small Houses Challenge our Notions of Need as Well as Minimum-size Standards,”  Carol Lloyd, SF Gate, 27 April 2007; https://www.sfgate.com/entertainment/article/Small-houses-challenge-our notions-of-need-as-2599159.php#photo-2088333, accessed 28 June, 2024. Some trace these homes back to the  “shotgun houses” of the old South and the Depression; see “Tiny House Movement,” Wikipedia;  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiny-house_movement, accessed 30 June 2024. 

    xviii “Price List for Nutec and Traditional Wendy Houses;” https://www.wendyhouseshop.co.za/price-list,  accessed 6 June 2024. R1= 0.053 US. 

    xix “Fed-up After 20 Years on a Waiting List, Gogo Builds her Own House,” Mpumi Kiva, Groundup, 17 January  2020; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiny-house_movement, accessed 15 June 2024. 

    xx In 2013, the South African government declared July, the month in which Nelson Mandela was born, a period  for celebrating his life and recognizing every person’s capacity to change the world around them for the better. xxi “Life Will Never be the Same for Khayelitsha Family After Receiving New Wendy House,” Unathi Obose, City  Vision, 27 July 2023; https://www.news24.com/news24/community-newspaper/city-vision/needy-family-thrilled-by new-wendy-house-20230726, accessed 6 June 2024. 

    xxii “What is the Informal Economy?” Corinne Deléchat and Leandro Medina, Finance and Development  Magazine, ILO, December 2020; https://www.imf.org/en/Publications/fandd/issues/2020/12/what-is-the-informal economy-basics, accessed 16 June 2024. 

    xxiii “Why We Need to Rethink the Informal Economy,” Michael Keen, World Economic Forum, 8 June 2015;  https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2015/06/why-we-need-to-rethink-the-informal-economy/, accessed 15 June  2024. 

    xxiv “The Informal is the New Normal,” World Economic Forum; https://www.weforum.org/videos/informal-is the-new-normal/, accessed 13 June 2024; “New normal? Better normal!” Guy Ryder, ILO, 1 May 2020https://www.ilo.org/resource/article/new-normal-better-normal, accessed 13 June 2024. 

    20 

    xxv “The Informal Economy: Fact Finding Study,” Kristina Flodman Becker, Swedish Department for  Infrastructure and Economic Cooperation, 12 March 2012; https://www.rrojasdatabank.info/sida.pdf, accessed 13  June 2024. 

    xxvi “Declining Aid, Rising Debt Thwarting World’s Ability to Fund Sustainable Development, Speakers Warn at  General Assembly High-Level Dialogue,” United Nations, 26 September 2019;  

    https://press.un.org/en/2019/ga12191.doc.htm#:~:text=Aid%20plays%20a%20critical%20role,can%20hurt%20prog ress%20already%20made, accessed 16 June 2024. 

    xxvii “Breakthrough and Struggle: Land, Housing and Backyarders in Tiryville, Eastern Cape, “SDI, 15 February2016; https://sdinet.org/category/housing/, accessed 14 June 2024.

    21 

  • The Dis/appearing Body of Labor.

    The laboring body is a curious thing. In the modern sense of homo faber,  it enacts the psycho-physical activity through which humans produce their modes  of life, and in doing so, produce themselves as substantial, sensuous, value  producing beings. If, in Western thought, the capacity for mindful work sets 

    humankind apart as a distinctive species, the endless need to generate the  means of their subsistence ensures that laboring bodies are incessantly  immersed in a wider universe, both of living and inanimate form. For they must  act upon this environment to sustain themselves, thereby making nature into their  own “inorganic body,” to cite Marx’s suggestive phrase (Butler 2019:5); for him,  the more alienated human beings become from their own labor, the more  estranged – separated — they become from this second nature. Nineteenth 

    1 Original emphasis.

    century novelists, Elaine Scarry (1983:96) shows, dwelled in exacting detail on  the ways in which new habits of labor resculpted the toiling body and, in the  process, injured it: ”wounds-as-signs” made plain that “the human being in work  puts himself, by the very depth of engagement, continually at risk – that he alters  the world only by consenting to be himself deeply altered.”  

    One might question the word “consent” here. But if we take bodily self creation as a brute reality, the nature of that body remains somehow obscure,  occluded – both in life and in theory. This is especially the case in modern  capitalist society, where human work becomes labor (i.e., a tradable commodity).  For this means that it participates in the strangeness of the commodity form itself: like the fact that, as visible incarnation, it tends to obscure the means of its own  production. Indeed, commodities are animated as valued objects by the largely unseen labor invested in their making. The ambiguous existence of embodied toil, its absent presence, is no accident. It is all of a piece with the nature of labor  itself; all of a piece with the ways in which the working body, and the value it  creates, move in and out of visibility and social reckoning, both as an instrument  of fabrication and as the unacknowledged source of wealth as surplus value. 

    The mysterious nature of this generativity was captured in early modern  tales like The Elves and the Shoemaker2 and Rumpelstiltskin (Schneider 1989),  

    2 The story was first published by the Brothers Grimm in the first edition of Kinder- und Hausmärchen  (1812), based upon the accounts of Gretchen Wild (1787–1819). “The Elves and the Shoemaker,”  Wikipedia.

    or the Estonian figure of the Kratt.3 Each is a popular figuration of the dark alchemy that turns labor into riches; just as the zombie made palpable the visceral extraction of profit from Black colonial subjects. These “appearances”  serve as what Hylton White (2020:2, after Postone 2003) calls “proxies,”  fetishized representations of the less explicit process through which toiling bodies yield wealth-as-surplus-value under capitalism.  

    This poorly credited feature of the laboring body, it simultaneous  appearance and disappearance, continues to spook popular imaginings in our  contemporary world. Take Jordan Peele’s celebrated movie, Us (2019), 4 for  instance. In it, a middle-class black family confronts its ghostly proletarian  doubles who appear one night in the driveway, clad in overalls and hard hats; the revenants proceed to invade the family home and attack them with their own  domestic goods – as if to force upon them an awareness of the hidden producers  of their wealth. The body has an enigmatic presence, too, in social analysis:  Foucault (1978) has famously insisted that it has simultaneously been  suppressed yet made ubiquitously present in modern history. Thus, the body has  

    3 A figure, from Estonian folktale, concocted from hay or domestic implements so that it might labor  ceaselessly for its “master” once he paid the devil three drops of his blood to bring the creature to life. I  thank Daivi Taylor for making me aware of this figure. See “Kratt;´ 

    https://www.bing.com/search?q=The%20Kratt%2C%20Estonia&pc=0BLN&ptag=C24N1832A27461191ED &form=CONBNT&conlogo=CT3210127, accessed 4 October 2022. 4 See “Jordan Peele’s Us Turns a Political Statement into Unnerving Horror,” Tasha Robinson,  The Verge, 22 March 2019; www.theverge.com/2019/3/9/18257721/us-review-jordan-peele-get out-lupita-nyongo-winston-duke-elisabeth-mosstim-heidecker-horror, accessed 23 May 2019.  Also “Us’s Jason/Pluto Theory, Explained and Debunked,” Alex Abad-Santos and Aja Romano,  Vox, 2 April 2019; www.vox.com/2019/4/2/18290380/us-movie-jason-pluto-tether-theory explained-true-false, accessed 23 May 2019.

    3  

    never actually been absent from discourse; in fact, it has become an ever more  marked scholarly concern, virtually an obsession in recent humanist writing. Yet it  somehow remains “elusive” (Crossley 1995; Cecci 2014), “evaporat[ing]”  Schilling 1993:80), “bracketed” (Lock 1993; 2017), melting into metaphor (Sontag  1978). In this sense, despite its materiality, it sems to remain “indefinite” (Butler  1989:601), ontologically obscure, impossible to know as real object, apart from  its infinite representations (Colebrook 2000; Davis 1997; Žižek 1989)  

    Of course, one might argue that the problem here is epistemological, born  of a crypto-empiricist preoccupation with bodies as would-be discrete things,  tangled up in discourse, rather than as subjects enmeshed in social and material relations. It is instructive, in this regard, to examine more precisely where and  how the laboring body moves in and out of sight and acknowledgement in the  ordinary practices that configure particular modern capitalist worlds. In our own  times, the cataclysmic COVID pandemic, for example, flashed unprecedented  light across the contemporary global landscape, making visible “new” categories  of essential labor — like “front line workers,” who had, in fact, long carried out  discounted forms of care and repair largely unrecognized. How have particular  politico-economic conjunctures, like the onset of industrialization, colonization, and more recently, liberalization, reconfigured patterns of in/visibility as they  reshape the division of labor and the calculus of value assigned to human effort along lines of difference – such as gender, race, age, geography (Comaroff and  Comaroff 2020)? The global supply chains wrought by expanding capitalist  production, and the restless quest for profit, often rest on earlier moments of

    4  

    dispossession and infrastructures of exploitation, among them the mining in the  Eastern Congo of “blood minerals” vital to digital technology (Smith 2022; Fraser  n.d.) And the Canadian fur trade that, as Joan Sangster (2007) shows, has  historically been subsidized by the racial and gendered labor of First Peoples;  female trappers and preparers of skins here remain largely invisible, and often  unpaid, beneath more visible, long-standing links of masculine command.  

    This dialectic of dis/appearance is not merely a feature of a few specific,  even dramatic, translocal histories of production. Modern capitalism at large tends to mask the conditions of its own production. To grasp this, Marx (1974:  175) suggests, we must leave the “noisy sphere, where everything takes place  on the surface and in view of all men” and enter “the hidden abode of production,  on whose threshold there stares us in the face ‘No admittance except on  business’.” Here lies “the secret of profit making,” where, contrary to all  appearances – i.e. that capital and labor work freely together to mutual  advantage — we discover not merely how capital produces commodities, but how  capital itself is produced: that it is the it is labor’s surplus value animates those  commodities with apparent intrinsic worth. Here the laborer seems “timid and  holding back, like one who is bringing his own hide to market and has nothing to  expect but — a hiding.” A hiding, too, one might add, in the sense of obscuring this essential alchemy of profit-making, at least from ordinary street-level

    5  

    perceptions of reality. Yet this mystery has a tendency to erupt in various fantasy  forms, like the elves and zombies of a musing collective awareness.5  

    In what follows, I seek to examine precisely how the laboring body  surfaces and fades from social awareness at a particular historical moment: the  consolidation of structures of work and world-making in nineteenth-century  Britain and – complementarily — in its African colonies. The two, as it turns out,  were conditions of each other’s possibility. It is this historical moment, this time  and location, that was the birthplace, at once historical and conceptual, of most modernist theories of labor and its embodiment – and its iconic nightmares, like  the poltergeists and ghosts of popular Victorian fiction. Or, more elaborately, like  Bram Stoker’s Dracula, who moves to London from the European periphery to  pursue his campaign of vampiric accumulation (see below). At issue is a dialectic  of front and backstage work and value production, playing out both within the  metropole and in relation to the distanced imperial periphery with which it  became quite intimately articulated.  

    But how did this division of labor, already in a significant sense  transnational at that time, take form amidst an increasing impetus to expand  production and maximize profit? How did it emerge in prevailing public discourse  and communicative practices? And what does it tell us about the location, at  once spatial and value producing, of the laboring body and homo faber in a world  

    5 Nancy Fraser (2014), who has usefully explored Marx’s hidden abode in relation to the qualities of labor  under capitalism, points to yet further “hidden” dimensions that supplements capital — those of  unrequited domestic reproduction and ecological exploitation. 

    6  

    ever more divided by class, gender, and ethno-racial marking? As we shall see in  a moment, many theorists, following Foucault, have argued that the laboring  body disappeared as a tangible object from the representations of industrializing  cities. But if so, where did it go? How might the secrets of its invisible life – its  unique ability to yield surplus value — reappear in the collective awareness and  other surreal guises as the stuff of estranged recognition?  

    The concept of fetishism provides a particularly clarifying lens for  examining these corporeal fantasies, for it rests on the productive force of the spectral body. As Rosalind Morris points out, de Brosse described the fetish as a  material incarnation or source of power, a kind of “carnal faith.”6 In the Marxian  tradition, the fetish also implies various “returns” (cf. Morris et al 2017): as  alienated labor, as profit, and as a recurrent figuration of the overall process of  capitalist value production; i.e. as a re-presentation of the unrequited yield of the working body as store of ever replenishable surplus.  

    Proletarianization: The Body Vanishes? 

    I have noted that scholarly histories of the modern body have stressed its  obtuseness as ontological object. In an influential account, Francis Barker (1984) argues that the birth of bourgeois selfhood was marked by the advent of what he calls the “tremulous private body,” a kind of subjectivity vividly exemplified in  

    early modern texts like the diary of Samuel Pepys. Pepys’ plainspoken  

    6 Rosalind Morris, “Fetishism: Overview,” Encylopedia.com;  

    https://www.encyclopedia.com/history/dictionaries-thesauruses-pictures-and-press-releases/fetishism overview, accessed 1 September 2022.

    7  

    interrogation of desire, anxiety, and self-admonition centered on the physical  person, both as source of base appetites and object of guilt and censure. His searching, often lewd account is testament, for Barker, of the gradual “de realization” of the body as a site of public sensuality, exhibition, punishment, and  its reconfiguration as text and discourse (p.12). In true Foucauldian fashion, the body as common spectacle is held to become “effectively hidden from history,” disappearing either into the private domain or into the great disciplinary  institutions that enclose the mad, the sick, the poor, the criminal, and others  deemed incapable of self-production. There, beyond the gaze of the bourgeois  public, these bodies learn to labor as incarnations of a new regime of  productivity, bio-political governance, and realist portrayal. Whether herded into  the “closed factory” — or made the object of moralizing orders of medical,  psychic, or sexual knowledge — the carnal body vanishes as a thing in itself  (p.18). 

    But does the substantive public body actually disappear in so definitive a  fashion? Whose body, and in whose eyes? Does Barker’s subtle analysis not fall victim to its own preoccupation with discourse and textuality? Does it not scant  what the creators of these representations strove to convey about the contexts that gave life to them?7 Certainly, the rise of industrial society, urbanism, and modernist public spheres was mediated by expansive new regimes of print  capitalism and realist depiction. Nineteenth-century urbanization also fostered 

    7 This concern is sharply captured in the poignant little poem, Hogarth’s Girl, by Ingrid de Kok (n.d.). It asks  “Who saw her, who took her hurt,  

    before or after he engraved her?’

    novel forms of what Simmel ([1903] 1971:14, 16) termed the “immediate  sensuousness” of “bodily closeness and lack of space” manifest in all manner of  work and busyness, including the exertions of consumption, self-display, and  bourgeois flânerie.  

    The agglomeration of bodies at work and at play in city streets, both in the  European metropole and its emerging colonial counterparts, is captured in picture,  print, and (increasingly) photography.8 On the one hand, these circulating images  of city scapes portray genteel figures walking the streets, embodying the composed appearance of middle-class publicness. But, on the other, these streets were also peopled by working men and women pouring from the mouths of  factories, gathered in Dickensian profusion on sidewalks, unloading coaches, or  staggering under the weight of unruly bales – all the while dodging more polite  persons taking center stage (Figures 1 and 2). The stylized composition of scenes of this kind – especially in England, ground zero of the industrial revolution – are  often themselves iconic of an emerging semiotics of the moralizing bourgeois  gaze, of an organization of space and social appearance that seeks to order the  

    8 See Images of Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century European Streets;  

    https://www.bing.com/search?q=images%20of%20eighteenth%20and%20nineteenth%20century%20eur opean%20streets&qs=n&form=QBRE&=%25eManage%20Your%20Search%20History%25E&s, accessed 10  September 2022. Also Wood paving of the street of St. Louis; Wood paving of the street of St. Louis,  America, illustration from the 19th century. (Photo by: Bildagenturonline/ 

    Universal Images Group via Getty Images); https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/wood paving-of-the-street-of-st-louis-america-illustration-news-photo/938606522?adppopup=true, accessed 21  September, 2022; “Berlin Street Life at Christmas Time: Stocl Illustration. Getty Images;  https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/illustration/berlin-street-life-at-christmas-time-royalty-free illustration/1290864972, Accessed 23 September 2022; see Also “Happy New Yesr! Our image of the week  is from 19th century Australia.”Bing.com/images;  

    https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=pYI9VtVW&id=CA9F14BC2FB5EAA80DAF4B8 AF0881A7F05C89BF5&thid=OIP.pYI9VtVWfyalmrOagopxbgHaFY&mediaurl=https%3A%2F%2, accessed 23  September 2022.

    9  

    seemingly spontaneous press of the urban crowd according to class-based  priorities (Figure 3). As such, these images were designed both as representations  and re-presentations: they were to be consumed for the most part by a newly self conscious spectator, at a comfortable personal distance from the close choreography of interdependent bodies across sharpening lines of class and  gender on the teeming city streets.  

    The emerging structures and strictures of the bourgeois gaze became  evident in works like Henry Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor  (1851), a “Cyclopoedia” of street life.” A critical ethnography avant la letter, this  account casts penetrating light on the complex physical contours of urban labor – above all, on the lumpen “frontline” workers who subsisted by performing unsavory  but indispensable civic services for a more entitled public. They toiled in full view  of that public: road sweepers energetically clearing the horse dung9 so that gentle folk might walk the thoroughfares in their fine clothes; or those who transported the listless elite bodies in sedan chairs or carted the copious possessions that marked  the status of what Veblen (1899) called the “leisure class.” Note that the bodies that did not labor performed — in their evident languidness, their lack of urgency — their independence from such toil; though work and worklessness were conditions of each other’s possibility, in true Hegelian fashion. Yet upper-class persons appeared self-sufficient, as if their immediate material context left no mark on them 

    9 Of course, it was not only human bodies that were caught up in the intense productivity of early  industrial production, although I am unable to deal with this matter here.

    10 

    and offered no resistance to their self-willed activity. Working bodies, in contrast,  were immersed in their physical surroundings, fair and foul. 

    Mayhew provides painstaking details of the essential work of the sewer hunters, waste collectors, and costermongers who provided for the necessities of urban life, from food, umbrellas, and religious tracts to dog collars, razors, and rat  poison. Many of them had recently been expelled from the countryside. They  lived hand to mouth, as it were. “Of all modes of obtaining subsistence,” Mayhew noted (1861:6), “street-selling is the most precarious… it is painful to think of the  hundreds belonging to this class in the metropolis who are reduced to starvation  by three- or four-days’ successive rain.” He noted, too, how the intimate  dependence of these bodies on close contact with the material world imprints itself on them: the walnut vender who “lifts her brown-stained fingers to her  mouth, (p.9), the “black man half-clad in white” who is “shivering in the cold with  tracts in his hand” (p.10).  

     The workers themselves make plain that they are never fully separable from the settings and substances they subsist on – the stinking mud, coal, and  soot (“it’s a roughish smell at first, but nothink near so bad as you think”)10. As  they act on the environment it acts on them in return, infusing their beings with  qualities that became heritable markers of their abjection.11 But, as such, they  

    10 “Henry Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor,” Mary L Shannon, Discovering Literature:  Romantic & Victorians, 15 May 2014, British Museum; https://www.bl.uk/romantics-and victorians/articles/henry-mayhews-london-labour-and-the-london-poor, accessed 11 September 2022. 11 See “Can the legacy of trauma be passed down the generations?” Martha Henriques, BBC Future, 26th March 2019; https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20190326-what-is-epigenetics, accessed 6 May 2023.

    11 

    also merge into the material background against which the new bourgeois  subject strikes postures. They are not accorded the conceit of autonomous agency attributed to those subjects, whose reified bodies – despite their  dependence on various forms of labor — appear as independent loci of world making (Harvey 2000:118). Informal manual workers, in contrast, disappear into  a form of production that has no “identifiable beginning or end” in time or space (Scarry, above). It is toil that usurps their entire identity as persons. 

    Mayhew’s account was said to have “fascinated and overwhelmed” the  middle-class Victorian public. “Suddenly a strange new world was opened up to  them, right under their noses,”12 a world of which they had “less knowledge than  of the most distant tribes of the earth.”13 This was despite these menial workers “being there” in the everyday environs of the urban bourgeoise; the pictorial  realism of the day ensured tha these variously servile bodies were depicted, but  purely responding to the wants and whims of those who commanded their labor (Figure 4).14 In what sense, then, are they being seen as if for the first time? And  

    12 “Henry Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor,” Mary L Shannon, Discovering Literature:  Romantic & Victorians, 15 May 2014, British Museum; https://www.bl.uk/romantics-and victorians/articles/henry-mayhews-london-labour-and-the-london-poor, accessed 11 September 2022. 

    13 According to the 1851 census, for example, personal servants amounted to one in 18 of the population.  See “ London Labour and the London Poor by Henry Mayhew,” Robert Douglas-Fairhurst, The Guardian,  15 October 2010; https://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/oct/16/rereading-henry-mayhew-london poor, accessed 20 September 2022. 14 See “A Poor Existence,” Bing Images/ Victorian Street Life;  

    https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=417wmMpz&id=107691340B3C9BB16107E29 5A6E1B587C9A715C8&thid=OIP.417wmMpzJZK7YN3dedUgBAAAAA&mediaurl=https%3A%, accessed 24  September 2022.

    12 

    why the association with “distant tribes” as objects of an exoticizing colonial gaze?  

    As this suggests, the laboring body did not disappear. It was hiding in  plain sight, toiling within the seams of an expanding imperial fabric, disavowed by  a liberal theology of world-making that discounted the exploitative dependence of  the rising bourgeoisie on working classes at home (Williams 1973). These  workers were also tied – largely by veiled metaphorical allusion – to other, even  less acknowledged sweated labor in the colonies, linking the supply chains that  fed the appetites and affordances of the new metropolitan consumers in Europe.  At the same time, philanthropic discourse would come to speak, quite explicitly,  of the “jungles” and “Africa’s” that housed British workers in the slums of  industrializing cities (Hebdige 1988:20; Figure 5).15  

    Later scholars would cast more light on the dispersed sites of imperial  production, materialized in iconic domestic commodities: the tea leaves plucked  by nimble-fingered women on the plantations of West Bengal (Chatterjee 2001);  the sugar processed by enslaved, then indentured workers in the British  Caribbean (Mintz 1985); the cotton that linked immiserated child and adult labor  

    15 Moralizing images of depraved underclass city life were not infrequent in Victorian publications, often  deploying the device of holding a penetrating light up to the dark squalor of so-called family depravity.  See Gustave Dore, “Dudley Street – Seven Dials,” 1872;  

    https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=Ijc8WEPZ&id=9395C59EF0D02BB92B34ACBD 1653CFDD85BD458E&thid=OIP.Ijc8WEPZgmCN54mLYZo03AHaFh&mediaurl=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.co m%2Foriginals%2Ff8%2F40%2F58%2Ff840580faa4c8390cc1349925f7e155c.jpg&exph=1194&expw=1600 &q=etchings+of+victorian+poverty%2c+london&simid=607993187205282082&form=IRPRST&ck=5869A8 A2075DB4103C8C1DDEF58132C3&selectedindex=20&ajaxhist=0&ajaxserp=0&vt=0&sim=11&cdnurl=http s%3A%2F%2Fth.bing.com%2Fth%2Fid%2FR.22373c5843d982608de7898b619a34dc%3Frik%3DjkW9hd3P Uxa9rA%26pid%3DImgRaw%26r%3D0, accessed 24 September 2022.

    13 

    across the fields and factories in nineteenth century America, India, and the  Pacific Islands (Beckert 2014); the rubber, tobacco, and rice produced by fractious estate labor of North Sumatra (Stoler 1985). All these were laboring  bodies rendered invisible in the metropole by the diffuse geography of colonial  production.  

    In the British metropole, a vertical stratigraphy of corporeal space, value,  and virtue served to organize the bourgeois gaze, a politics of visibility archly  captured in its early moments by another set of representations of corporate city  life: the pictures of Hogarth, in particular, his famous engraving, “The Industrious ‘Prentice: Lord Mayor of London,” from his series Industry and Idleness (1747;  Figure 3). The scene depicts Francis Goodchild, the new Lord-Mayor, on the day  of his inauguration, ceremoniously riding in the State Coach through the London  streets. This public display is the crowning moment of a cautionary tale, captured  in twelve scenes, in which vice is punished and virtue is rewarded.16  

    In the opening tableau, two apprentices stand before their looms, one  clean of face and jacket, with spindle in hand, surrounded by pious texts and  virtuously focused on his work: the other, with swarthy face and soiled dress,  snoozes on the job, a mug of ale on his loom and a cat playing with the spindle 

    (Figure 6). As the story unfolds, the first apprentice’s steadfast labor is  recognized. He is promoted to overseer, marries the boss’s daughter, and 

    16 See “ The Industrious ‘Prentice Lord-Mayor of London,” History of Art,  

    https://www.thehistoryofart.org/william-hogarth/industrious-prentice-lord-mayor-of-london/, accessed  20 September 2022.

    14 

    becomes a partner in his textile firm; in sum, he embodies the cliché of the  mobile, upwardly nubile, canny entrepreneur. Sober industry permits him to climb  the social ladder out of sweated labor while his idle counterpart, consumed by his  own appetites, descends into debauchery and crime, ending on the gallows.  Printed copies of these scenes were sold to the public for one shilling each, aimed at a wider, less wealthy market than Hogarth’s earlier works (Paulson  1965:19). In the final engraving, the face of the unsubtly named Goodchild peers  out of the window of a sumptuous coach, under an oversize top hat. He holds a  large sword of office and looks down impassively on the swarming, riotous crowd below. Elevated high above the street, the richly clad city elite observe the scene  in postures of languid amusement, each figure carefully spaced at a discrete  distance from the next and framed by a window or canopy, secure within the  domain of private property. Only the servants, who stand behind them, cluster indistinguishably, their physical individuality rendered indistinct in the shadows. 

    Those servile bodies, both as lived and represented, would remain largely  occluded within the nineteenth-century European world. They were pushed out of  sight into the private, feminized domain of domestic service and reproductive  labor, “downstairs” in the bourgeois household (Crain et al 2016; Daniels 1987). Or, if they toiled as wage laborers in Mayhew’s “undiscovered country” of the  urban poor, they existed in “labyrinthine obscurity”17 within the city, only fleetingly  laid bare by the unsparing searchlight shone on them by social critics and moral  reformers like Greenwood, Dickens, Gaskell, Gissing, and Engels. Often styling  

    17 George Gissing, Introduction to Oliver Twist (1900: xvii); Williams (1973:224).

    15 

    themselves as explorers – vide James Greenwood’s travels in The Wilds of  London (1874; Comaroff and Comaroff 1997:315) — they focused above all on the degraded material conditions that ‘housed’ the working body in the factory,  alley, or tenement; sordid circumstances, these, incapable of nurturing virtuous  human life. Children were depicted as cavorting (rather than sleeping) at night,  wandering untended amidst drunken adults, or begging shamelessly in the  streets (Figure 6). Such “pauper colonies,” wrote Beames (1852:2-4) produced  “pariahs…of the body social.” 

    But perhaps the most damning portrayal of the effects of alienated labor on the  reproduction of human life lay in depictions of the working female body, in which  production and nurture were in direct contradiction. Engels (1969;165) writes: 

    That the general mortality among young children must be increased by the  employment of the mothers is self-evident and is placed beyond all doubt  by notorious facts. Women often return to the mill three or four days after  confinement, leaving the baby, of course; in the dinner-hour they must  hurry home to feed the child and eat something, and what sort of suckling  that can be is also evident …The mother goes to the mill shortly after five  o’clock in the morning, and comes home at eight at night; all day the milk  pours from her breasts, so that her clothing drips with it…[O]ften wet  through to the skin, and obliged to work in that state.” 18 

    18 See Engels 1969:165.

    16 

    One is reminded, here, of Aiwa Ong’s (2010) haunting account of “Mother’s Milk”  as it signified the endangered capacity of the female body to reproduce and  nurture in Khmer communities in war and exile (see Hunt 2005 for comparable  African instances). 

    While in Britain, child labor peaked with nineteenth-century  

    industrialization, it also triggered mounting calls for regulation as the century  wore on.19 Childhood was increasingly being viewed as a state of innocent pre maturity, properly given over to socialization and nurture at a safe distance – at  least in middle-class homes — from the workplace. Again, reformists like Dickens  pressed their plight on an unseeing readership, the body of the juvenile laborer becoming anathema to a morally nourishing domestic order. Engels again: 

    Children and young people who are employed in transporting coal and  iron-stone all complain of being overtired… It is constantly happening that  children throw themselves down on the stone hearth or the floor as soon  as they reach home, fall asleep at once without being able to take a bite of  food, and have to be washed and put to bed while asleep; it even happens  that they lie down on the way home, and are found by their parents late at  night asleep on the road.20 

    19 See “What is child labour?”. International Labour Organization. 2012;  

    https://www.ilo.org/ipec/facts/lang–en/index.htm, accessed 3 October 2022. 

    20 Engels 1969:167. 

    17 

    The intensifying competition for cheap labor and limited, low-cost skills pitted the  working body against the machine,21 making the former the residuum of the  latter. It dismembered the human person by assigning worth to ever more discrete body parts and tasks needed to complement the capacities of  mechanical manufacture. The full-bodied male strength that was useful at an  earlier moment of production is thus made redundant by steam power, to be  replaced, as if by nature, by nimbler, cheaper fingers that stand in for whole  persons. This makes evident a never-ending process of separating value from  waste, a form of dehumanization that is inherent, argues Melissa Wright (after  Marx;1999)22 argues to capitalist wealth creation. 

    The human labour, involved in both spinning and weaving, consists chiefly  in piecing broken threads, as the machine does all the rest. This work  requires no muscular strength, but only flexibility of finger. Men are,  therefore, not only not needed for it, but actually, by reason of the greater  muscular development of the hand, less fit for it than women and children,  and are, therefore, naturally almost superseded by them. Hence, the more  the use of the arms, the expenditure of strength, can be transferred to  steam or waterpower, the fewer men need be employed; and as women  

    21 This process is immortalized in the “Ballad of John Henry,” one of the first ever recorded country songs  in the US, in which a man with a hammer pits his strength against the newly introduced steam-drill. The  song is thought to refer to a black prisoner in the Virginia State Penitentiary, sent to work on the C&W  Railroad in 1866. The Ballad of John Henry Documentary; https://balladofjohnhenry.com/true-story/,  accessed 18 November 2022. 

    22 Wright (1999) examines the rapid labor turnover of Mexican women working in maquiladora factories  near Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. Here, she argues, there is a common image of women as models of capital  with oscillating worth, their value decreasing over time because it is held never to grow into skill. 

    18 

    and children work more cheaply, and in these branches better than men,  they take their places.23 

    The famed missionary David Livingstone, soon to enter our story, was himself  once a child piecer in a Scottish mill.  

    Discrimination – by gender, age, physical dis/ability, and so on – is built  into the core workings of capitalism as it sizes up the human body to maximize the  surplus value it can extract. Race, too, was becoming an ever more salient vector  as English industrialists sought to discount labor and cultivate a growing “reserve”  army of workers” – structurally available, but otherwise out of sight. Most  immediately employed were Irish immigrants, held to be of different physical  constitution and willing to work for lower wages than their English counterparts.24 

    Those who sought to draw the attention of a distracted urban public to the  momentous upheaval occurring just beyond their lines of sight often enlisted the  signifying power of the body to amplify their call. Dickens was especially adept at mobilizing corporeal qualities to highlight the conditions of labor exploitation.  Thus, his account of the fictitious Coketown in Hard Times, whose brick facades  were like “the painted face of a savage,” and whose monstrous steam-engine  “worked monotonously up and down…in a state of melancholy madness.” Again,  we find masked reference to an occluded, racialized imperium in the  dehumanization of local populations, whom Dickens identifies as the  

    23 Engels 1969:109. 24 Engels 1969:81-2.

    19 

    unacknowledged source of the town’s real wealth.25 Coketown’s polluted rivers  and “interminable serpents of smoke” make plain the cynical corruption of the  once nurturing relationship between laboring bodies and their natural  environment.  

    At the same time, the European countryside became a more palpable foil  to the industrializing city, notwithstanding the rapid disappearance of a traditional  peasantry and the growth of agrarian capitalism (Williams 1973:2). Here pastoral  nostalgia served as a lament for the vanishing of unalienated work. Writers like  Hardy paid homage to a lost world of harmony, fulfilment, and plenitude vested in  the image of a sustained symbiosis of homo faber and natural fecundity, that calle  agrarian labor back into visibility: 

    What [Giles] had forgotten was that there was [sic] a thousand young fir trees to be planted in a neighboring spot which had been cleared by the  wood-cutters, and that he had arranged to plant them with his own hands.  He had a marvelous power of making trees grow. Although he would  seem to shovel in the earth quite carelessly, there was a sort of sympathy  between himself and the fir, oak, or beech that he was operating on, so  that the roots took hold of the soil in a few days.26 

    25 Charles Dickens, Hard Times, Chapter 5:16-17. 26 Thomas Hardy, The Woodlanders Chapter 8: 99; chrome 

    extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://freeclassicebooks.com/Thomas%20Hardy/Novels/ The%20Woodlanders.pdf, accessed 28 September 2022.

    20 

    Yet the nineteenth century countryside was also the mise-en-scene for disturbingly dystopic images of an immiserated population of landless rural  workers, epitomized by bodies broken in servitude.  

    Look at the arm of a woman labouring in the harvest field – thin, muscular,  sinewy, black almost, it tells of continued strain. After much of this she  becomes pulled out of shape, the neck loses its roundness and shows the  sinews, the chest flattens…There is so much in the wheat, there are  books of meditation in it…Behind these beautiful aspects comes the reality  of human labor — hours upon hours of heat and strain…. The wheat is  beautiful, but human life is labor.27 

    This was Richard Jefferies, an increasingly radicalized chronicler of the English  countryside, in 1885. The sylvan image of the wheat, in this account, seems  sustained by the fat drawn from the laboring body, that loses its integrity, its  capacity “to be seen” as fully human. Want is more, the blackening of the worker  links her in the flash of an image to other racialized bodies, simultaneously  despoiled by toil in the colonies. By this stage, only a small percentage of the  agricultural products consumed in England were produced at home (Williams  1973:2). Why do they toil so? Jefferies mused. “Because Hunger and Thirst drive  them: these are …the whips worse than the knout, which lie at the back of  Capital and give it power.”28 As with Marx’s “hidden abode,” Jefferies seeks to  

    27 Richard Jefferies, 1885, in The Open Air, cited in Williams 1973:194-195. 28 Richard Jefferies, “Thoughts on the Labour Question,”Pall Mall Gazette, 10 November, 1891; http://www.richardjefferiessociety.org/p/articles.html, accessed 5 January 2023.

    21 

    render visible the shrouded dynamics of expropriation that compel ostensibly free  rural workers to labor in the field almost to the point of extinction. Hidden behind  the fetishized images of picturesque rural life – the rippling wheat, the healthful  grain – lies the capitals’ lash. 

    Relevant, too, to the imaginary apprehension of working bodies, both rural  and urban, was the popular genre termed “supernatural realism” in nineteenth century Britain (Smajić, 2009): the folk myths of poltergeists that took possession of  repressed young female servants to imbue the ordinary objects in their care with  false life, thus to wreak havoc on domestic order.29 Or the ghosts in popular  Victorian fiction, like Dickens’ Jacob Marley (A Christmas Carol), a figure eternally  tortured by the weight of what might be called “dead labor:” cash-boxes, keys,  padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses. Or Mrs. Gaskell’s “The Old Nurse’s  Story,” spinning spooky yarns about the ill-gotten wealth of the family to which she  was bound in servitude. Or, most epically, Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897), in which a  foreign aristocrat, who lives by sucking the blood of the living, makes his home in  Britain to create a new order of material beings.  

    As Franco Moretti (1982:73) points out, Dracula is the very embodiment of  Marx’s image of capital “which, vampire-like, lives only by sucking living labor.” He has no substantive body: he “is an Un-Dead…impelled towards continuous growth”  

    29 Assault, Robbery, and Murder: The Dark History of “Bedsheet Ghosts,” Lucas Reilly, October 20, 2017,  Mental Floss; https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/507440/assault-robbery-and-murder-dark-history bedsheet-ghosts, accessed 29 November 2022; Ghost stories: why the Victorians were so spookily good at  them,” Kira Cochrane, The Guardian, 23 December 2013; 

    https://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/dec/23/ghost-stories-victorians-spookily-good, accessed 29  November 2022.

    22 

    in his adopted home. His manic monopolism terrifies the local, ostensibly gentler brand of bourgeois capitalism that lies to itself about the monster it has created, and “hides” its factories and extractive institutions beneath dignifying feudal architecture  and pious family values (p.75). Here we find an uncanny return to capitalism’s  hidden abode, and to a prefiguration, perhaps, of other kinds of specters – like the zombie, or the devil’s bargain (Taussig 1981), or proletarian spirit possession (Ong  1985) in other theaters of imperial production.  

    The supplement: the body of colonial labor 

    I have already noted that the presence of coerced, ethnicized 

    labor in nineteenth-century England is evident not only in the  

    swelling Irish workforce, but as a subliminal presence, in the public  consciousness, of enslaved and indentured black bodies toiling in  imperial fields elsewhere: cutting the cane, picking the cotton, and  

    plucking the tea leaves that had become staple commodities of  everyday Victorian life. Modern states have always drawn heavily on  the surplus value of hominem sacri, the bare life of immiserated,  non-citizens, populations both unfree and often unwaged (Gordon  2020; Denning 2010; Robinson 1983; Federici 1975) that  

    supplement the wealth of nations. Alienated labor is inherently a  condition of displacement, an existential and spatio-temporal exile from visibly rooted, self-possessed being. The ground zero of such 

    23 

    estranged labor, of course, was the Atlantic slave trade, which was integral – both structurally and historically — to the evolution of 

    capitalism as a planetary system. “Black workers of America bent at  the bottom of a growing pyramid of commerce and industry,” wrote  W.E.B. Du Bois (1935:10-11), enabled “new dreams of power and  visions of empire.” What is more, as Amy Dru Stanley (2012:119)  points out, “the “most intimate human relationship” lay at the heart of  the connection between American slavery and the global economic transformation of the nineteenth century: the reproductive labor of  black women in breeding chattel slaves for profit.  

    For abolitionists, both religious and secular, slavery was the original sin  against the ethic of liberal humanism. It confused sentient with bestial labor, and  persons with chattels to be owned, inherited, sold. Yet classic liberalism  remained decidedly ambivalent on the matter. Thus Locke, in his Two Treatises  of Government (1690:27), famously declared that:  

    “[E]very man has a property in his own person: this nobody has any right  to but himself. The labour of his body, and the work of his hands, we may  say, are properly his.”  

    But Locke also invested in the African slave trade and advocated, consequentially,  for the inalienable rights of Carolinian planters over their human property. 

    24 

    For Christian abolitionists, like the Nonconformist churchmen who bore the  message of emancipation into the Southern African interior in the1800s, the task  was to turn the “evil traffic” into civilizing commerce, grounded in the gospel of free labor. Work that was voluntarily given and justly requited was the prime  medium of salvation, the means to turn heathen superstition into liberating truth,  righteous personhood, virtuous ambition (Roscoe 1787-8:31). In many ways, the  aim was to recreate an idealized Christian peasantry — rapidly vanishing from the  English countryside – in the African “wilderness.”  

    Mission stations, like the one established in the 1840’s by David  Livingstone in what was to become Bechuanaland, were microcosms of a  colonial order of production. Above all, they were designed to tutor African bodies  in the motives, habits, and ethical orientation of honest toil (Comaroff and  Comaroff 1997:198). The Tswana people to whom Livingstone had attached  himself were agrarian pastoralists, living in complexly structured settlements that centered on a court of hereditary rulers, surrounded by concentric bands of fields  and cattle posts. To the evangelical eye, the native division of labor was “topsy turvy:” herds were the prized property of adult males, tended by younger men  and Sarwa (” Bushman”) serfs; i.e. ethnically marked vassals, who also rendered  the spoils of the hunt, but were themselves debarred from appearing within the  bounds of settlement in the daytime. But it was women who quite evidently did  the bulk of what the Europeans considered to be male work – cultivation,  brewing, and house building — while manly occupations, the stuff of politics, law, and ritual, were largely invisible to the evangelical eye. As Mary Moffat (Philip 

    25 

    [1828] 1969 ,2:189), missionary wife and mother-in-law of David Livingstone, put  it; 

    Picture to yourself tender and gentle women…bending their delicate  forms, tearing the rugged earth…dragging immense loads of wood over  the burning plains, wherewith to erect their houses, thus bearing the  double weight of the curse on both sexes. 

    Another European observer dubbed these women the local “working class”  (Lichtenstein [1807] 1973:77), underlining how this productive system seemed to  invert the gender logic of its contemporary European counterpart. Not only were  the women doing men’s work; the toll taken by their toil was shamelessly visible. Thus, while in some ways Moffat’s account anticipates Jefferies’ critical exposé  of the blackened woman of the English countryside, there are telling differences.  The latter was depicted as wholly consumed by servitude, while African women, despite their exertions, seemed quite well in control of the circumstances in  which they toiled. Contemporary accounts describe the forceful response when  their fields were invaded by cattle and sheep, deemed the responsibility of men.  The women — including recent converts to Christianity — set about hacking the  beasts to death; though their action resulted in their being “cut off” from the  church, their response was seen as fully within their rights by traditional  authorities (Comaroff and Comaroff 1997:130).  

    African women also offended the naked mission eye by being  brazenly underclad as they went about their business. 

    26 

    Unsurprisingly, the evangelists sought to “domesticate” them. They  urged them to don the dark, durable garb the Christians associated  with female modesty, and to confine themselves to the secluded,  “private” abode of dutiful housewifery – in precisely the manner that  a rising bourgeois society in Europe sought to disappear women into  the moralized interior of the home. As they were coaxed to move  “indoors” and pick up the broom and needle, men were encouraged to take to the fields and assume command of the plough; in short, to  accomplish the “revolution” required to turn cultivation into a  profitable business (Campbell 1822, 2:60).  

    Biblical horticultural idiom (“a rich harvest of immortal souls;”  Moffat 1842;588) was harnessed here to the rationalizing terms of  pious ambition – the latter primed by the power of “British  commodities” to stir bodily appetites (Comaroff and Comaroff  1997:24) and whet the taste for accumulating wealth. These commodities – the tools, fabrics, blankets, and household utensils produced by unseen working people a world away — were displayed in the windows of tradesmen on the mission stations to kindle a  “sacred hunger” (Unsworth 1992). And to stimulate industriousness  (Philip [1828] 1969,1: 204f; Mackenzie 1887,1:31). For, as one  European observer lamented, “there [was] much to encourage  idleness in native life, such as the absence of any motive for  working” (Lloyd 1895:169). Yet again, a largely invisible matrix of 

    27 

    value-generating transactions was set in motion to link the newly  laboring, desiring, consuming bodies at the centers and peripheries  of Empire. 

    At issue, on the Southern African frontier, was not merely the reorganization of an existing division of labor or the refiguring of the semiotics of a lived material realm to mimic the binary world of Euro modernity: male versus female, public versus private, visible versus  hidden. What the crusading imperialists proposed was a sacralized economy in which ‘honest’ commerce would draw African converts  into the universal Christian commonwealth, both in this world and  the next. “Society” became the masculinized world of public  transaction and personal appearance, the domain of church and  market, whereas “home” became the secluded, private sphere of  female consumption and nurture. At the core of this moral  configuration was the laboring body, engine of purposive expenditure in acts of production and reproduction, processes that turned physical effort into tangible evidence of virtue – the currency  of civility and salvation. While the mills of gods ground slowly, they  ground exceedingly fine. For God saw the otherwise invisible toil of  the devout worker, and in teaching converts their labor theory of  value, the evangelists shone a spotlight on pious effort.

    28 

    Hard work also yielded the small change of everyday life in a  commodified world. Protestant evangelists were avid agents of  monetization as the material recompense for “proper” work in the  world outside the home (Comaroff and Comaroff 1997:170). The  good Christian life was immersed in a moral economy of earning  and spending, with money as a universal equivalent, making all  things fungible, urbane, graspable. But this pragmatic ontology,  which the evangelists hoped would displace the shadowy specters  of “superstition,” was to prove no more plainly transparent. 

    Here, again, a particular understanding of the laboring body  was the key: the dictum that all men — in the marked, gendered  sense — were equally in possession of their labor power and could  alike turn it into the currency of life in a commodified world. The  mission gardens served as the first, exemplary sites for teaching  Africans “proper” work as fairly recompensed, self-possessed,  “rational” productive activity. David Livingstone (1940:92; Comaroff  and Comaroff 1997;134) describes one such “object lesson:”  

    We have a man and his wife as servants, and a girl as  nursemaid. The man is waggoner driver and everything else  he can do, his wife a servant of all work. These form our  establishment. But they are not all we require. Grinding corn,  baking, washing, etc. are done by calling an assistant from the 

    29 

    [African] town… These supernumeraries30 are taught reading  as well as washing etc…They are paid in beads, a variety of  which costs 3/- a pound.  

    These employees were learning the rudiments of what counted as  labor: that it was a commodity to be husbanded, voluntarily  

    brokered, subject to a contract, and worthy of just recompense.  Livingstone’s account also makes plain, however, that the bead  currency used along the colonial frontier at the time bore no real  

    relation to the value of the services rendered. But the conceit of fair  trade, calculation, and accumulation, part of a Christian economy of  grace, was premised on the assumption that labor performed in righteous service was inalienable; it was the means of redemption. But while the idyll of a self-regulating, devout peasantry was  foundational to the early evangelists (Comaroff and Comaroff  1991:75), they themselves were products of a more universally  capitalized world.  

    In that world, converts were urged to invest in the surplus  

    virtue generated by pious wage work – its theology concealed the  value extracted from laboring bodies in the expanding imperial  economy. Here money was the hallowed means of transacting  value: before colonial commerce made cash available in the  

    30 This term, with its connotation of extra, or unskilled help might express Livingstone’s slight guilt at his  large staff, justified here by the fact that these servants were being educated and paid.

    30 

    Southern African interior, the missionaries went so far as to mint  their own coinage so as to establish a semi-autonomous regional  market in goods and services (Campbell 1813:256). They even  encouraged children in the mission schools to “pay” their fees by  assigning monetary value to eggs and firewood.31 

    As noted, the idealized British yeomanry was already the stuff  of nostalgia: the independent peasant in England, “much mourned  ever since they disappeared” (Mill [1848] 1929,1:256), had been more or less supplanted both by local commercial farmers and by exploitable agrarian counterparts at the colonized peripheries overseas. The fate of laboring bodies at home and abroad was  intertwined long before the era of globalization. Already then, in  agriculture and in industry, those bodies were being used to 

    discount each other in the endless quest to render labor cheap,  abject, and ethnically devalued — more or less unaware of itself as  part of an imperial order of class relations. Meanwhile, in South  Africa, most black farmers — including the minority most immediately  affected by the “civilizing” mission — would end up as part of a  reserve army of unskilled mine or agrarian labor. Or in various forms  of semi-feudal service in the intimate reaches of colonial domestic  reproduction. Nadine Gordimer (1981:1) writes of the daily ritual that  

    31 Hodgson, Wesleyan Methodist Mission Society (1829-31) Bootchuana Country: Extract of a letter from  Mr. Hodgson, dated Bootchnaap, November 24,, 1828. Missionary Notices Relating Principally to the  Foreign Missions, 6 (164):120. 

    31 

    woke white South Africans, whether it was in the governor’s  residence, in commercial lodgings, or in the ‘master bedroom en  suite:’ “ the tea try in black hands, smelling of Lifebouy soap.”  

    Of course, these colonial regimens were often eluded,  refused, or remade in queer ways. My purpose here is to explore the  overall thrust of various moments in the interpolation of racially marked bodies into the modern capitalist imperium. Nonconformists  like Livingstone (1857:36f.) denounced the Transvaal Boer settlers for forcing Batswana into servitude on their farms. There is plentiful  evidence to suggest that most Africans preferred to toil  independently beyond the market. But some of them appear to have  been very willing to work in properly paid jobs. Even before  industrialization sped colonial overrule in the late nineteenth century,  intensifying the quest for tractable black labor, mission observers noted that their converts had begun to travel to the colony in search  of paid work. “Experienced capitalists,” they said, regarded mission stations as “great depots where labor may be obtained” (Comaroff  and Comaroff 1997:199).  

    All too soon, settler encroachment, overrule, taxation, and the  intentional undermining of the African peasantry would drive ever  more men, women, and children to sell their labor on farms, in small  towns, at the mines, and in the industrial conurbations surrounding 

    32 

    them (Bundy 1979). The influx of migrant workers into towns and  public space would increasingly be regulated by legislation: curfews,  vagrancy laws, master-servant statutes, and the infamous “pass  system” were designed to make black workers vanish into crowded  compounds, dormitories, and townships, or into servants’ quarters  tucked behind white-owned homes. While race was the dominant  principle of expropriating resources and labor from indigenous  populations in settler colonies, race and class overlapped almost  completely (Wolpe 1972; Fanon 1963:39). Colonial capitalism  operated in terms of a double in/visibility, locating the brute  alienation of black labor – the not fully guiltless open secret –  beyond the scope of the white bourgeois gaze. As JM Coetzee (1988:5) has noted, white writing in South Africa tended to assuage  its settler insecurities in pastoral landscapes which “occlud[ed]  ..black labor from the scene: the back man becomes a shadowy  presence flitting across the stage now and then…” Even celebrated  exceptions to this stance, Alan Paton’s Cry the Beloved Country ([1944]1958:1), for instance, express the ultimate brutality of colonial  capitalism by way of the impact of land alienation and labor  migration on the despoiled countryside, now bereft of those who  once cultivated it: once “lovely beyond the singing of it,” it now  stands desolate, overworked, the earth “torn away like flesh,” no  longer able to nurture its former occupants.

    33 

    But in the colonial context as well, it was left to the popular mythic  imagination to grasp the full dehumanization of the laboring body. The corporeal  effects of toil on black wage workers in South Africa was made especially evident  in the poetics of ordinary communication (van Onselen 1973; Comaroff and  Comaroff 1991:157). Early migrants from Mozambique, for instance, spoke of the  Witwatersrand mines as places where witches (baloyi) extracted their “life  essence,” forcing them to toil unseen beneath the earth for days at a time like dlukula (living dead), existing on a diet of mud (Harries 1994:221). Serpell (2019431) describes the ”slave with no will,” a “thing beyond the living” that  haunts the history of her native “Zombia.” It is not merely that such labor is  coerced. It transforms the worker into an alien being, one whose work is  “mortifying” (Marx 1977:71) rather than self-constructive. In that regard, early  Tswana proletarians developed a contrast between the domain of wage work,  referred to as mmėrėkò (from the Dutch werk) as against tiro, socially  contextualized, intersubjective action of the sort that built social relations  (Comaroff and Comaroff 1991:169). They spoke of the way in which contract  labor reduced men to draft animals, even to “tinned fish.” This last image captures the notorious spatial congestion and regimentation of the mine hostels in which workers were enclosed, sleeping in bunks like sardines in a can. Note  the flash of insight in this image: as the lid is momentarily drawn back it reveals  the hidden abode of value extraction, of existence in a state of invisibility, of living death.  

     * * *

    34 

    And so, we return once more to the core issues that animate this essay:  the nature of the laboring human body as it takes shape under the conditions  of modern industrial capitalism. That body, I have argued, presents a paradox  

    both in life and in theory. It is, at once, the fons et origo of selfhood and  human world-making. And yet somehow it also remains obscure, often  invisible – at least in its laboring capacity — to the liberal bourgeois eye, in  which everything seems to take place “on the surface and in view of all men ”  (above: XX), with a little help, perhaps, of a “hidden hand.” This paradox, I  suggest, is inherent under conditions in which work becomes monetized and  hence participates in the nature of the commodity form itself: that is, when it  obscures the essence of its own production as an object of value.  

    Tracking, ethnographically, the ways in which the working body moves in  and out of visibility and social reckoning enables us to cast light on the  specific shape of this process in particular times and places. The hidden  secret of how human work produces wealth might elude liberal ontology. But  it has frequently bodied forth, over the long history of modern capitalism, in the estranged recognition of collective fantasies about the dark process that  turns straw into gold. And labor into objectified value. While my story is  located in the context of early modern British industrialism and its imperial  backstage, it could as easily be told in the myriad other locations in which  capitalism — as an ever evolving, diversifying social formation – is embodied  in ordinary existence. 

    35 

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  • African Masculinities in Question

    African Masculinities in Question

    Jean Comaroff

    Is masculinity the inevitable consequence of being male? Scholars and journalists report that in Africa today masculinity is widely in distress, with a growing proportion of young men struggling to gain access to the social and material means needed to marry, found families, and secure recognition as adult men. Yet patriarchal authority persists in many parts of the continent, along with alarming claims of an increase in “rogue,” “toxic,” and hyper-masculinities associated with gender-based violence, crime, and militarism. In order to comprehend this paradoxical picture, we must push past populist stereotypes to examine the interplay of gender, culture, and political economy that underlies the lives of men – and women – in Africa today.

    Masculinity is in much dispute in the contemporary world. While concepts of manhood have always existed, the current preoccupation with masculinity dates to the 1990s, when the meaning of maleness appears to have become the object of heightened scrutiny.  An early inkling of what was at stake was wryly captured in the 1997 movie The Full Monty. Modest in everything but its subject matter, the film’s unusual popularity was evidence that it struck a cultural nerve. The story centered on a group of steel workers in Thatcherite Britain who suddenly found themselves stripped not merely of their jobs, but their masculinity as well. Bereft of other marketable skills, they resorted to stripping before riotous females. The movie seems to suggest that masculinity no longer arises from merely being male but instead requires a convincing performance of effective manhood. But the conditions for pulling this performance off, so to speak, have become increasingly inauspicious.

    In a 2021 blog post, feminist critic and blogger Jessa Crispin claimed that “Men are slipping by just about every marker of measurement. Homicide rates are up, and more men are delaying marriage and the establishment of a family. Twice as many men have addiction disorders as women.” Crispin was referring to the United States, but she could have been speaking of a multitude of other countries experiencing similar trends. The discourse of troubled manhood is especially audible in Africa, where scholars argue that increasing numbers of men are unable to achieve “ideals of masculinity” such as marriage and the means to found families of their own. Instead, male youth appear condemned to a marginal state of “waithood,” edged out of the neoliberal workplace by enterprising, rights-toting women. Targeted by AIDS educators, evangelical preachers, and critical feminists, they are also challenged by increasingly emboldened, alternative sexual identities. In fact, fear of emasculation has become a collective nightmare. According to scholar-journalist Jonny Steinberg, young males in rural South Africa harbor widespread fears of sexual inadequacy and infantilization; their counterparts in Nigeria, writes Ebenezer Obadare, are beset by recurrent rumors of penis theft, both literal and metaphorical.

    Simultaneously, early twenty-first century therapeutic and social policy outlets gave graphic accounts of defiantly resurgent forms of manhood in Africa: a so-called rogue, toxic, hyper-masculinity, which is widely associated with gender-based violence, crime, and militarism. It is important to note, however, that the church and state abet brutal attacks on women and gender non-conforming people; more than thirty African countries criminalize LGBTQ+ persons today. These assaults tend to be enmeshed in wider societal structures of political violence, precarity, and civil strife. Terms like “toxic masculinity,” however, often take on inflated, sensationalist lives in popular and political discourse, masking the more complex, underlying causes and motives of these assaults. Cultural anthropologist Jack Boulton argues that this reductive narrative of masculinity reinforces glib caricatures of the “violent [African] man” who has increasingly been gendered and reduced to naturalizedprimal notions of sexuality in ways formerly reserved for women. Criminologists and policymakers often depict masculine behavior as the product of a hormonal predisposition to dominate and brutalize. As a consequence, the qualities defining masculinity are ever more susceptible to critical moral judgement, what Simon Watney calls a “politics of intense moral purity.”

    Those who wish to understand, or meaningfully intervene in, issues of gender violence in Africa or elsewhere would be wise to move beyond stereotype and hyperbole to examine the local histories of sexuality, culture, and political economy that feed such practices. In southern Africa, where debate about masculinity is especially vibrant, it is impossible to grasp gender relations without considering the lingering effects of colonialism and race. The apartheid regime depended on the exploitation of black men’s labor by white men. English-speaking middle-class males might have vied for such white supremacy with Afrikaner would-be sons of the soil, but these contestations masked what Belinda Bazzoli called a “patchwork quilt” of patriarchies that consolidated the structural violence shaping the extractive economy. Thus, the degrading discipline that shaped the industrial workplace built upon the paternalist authority being meted out by traditional leaders and family heads in black laborers’ communities.

    The end of apartheid and the order of racial domination did not eliminate the “patriarchal bargain.” Instead, it transformed its terms. While the advent of democratic rule in 1994 in South Africa empowered a new black ruling elite and enshrined a strong constitutional commitment to gender equity and sexual freedom, political authority remained predominantly male. As Robert Morell et al. point out, the avuncular figure of Nelson Mandela might have personified a “more thoughtful, egalitarian” masculinity, but the challenge of meeting postcolonial expectations in increasingly inauspicious times has favored more aggressive patriarchal leaders. Populists such as Jacob Zuma and Julius Malema, whose flirtations with violence and voracious sexuality signal an uncompromising masculine will to power, appeal to young men facing joblessness and dependency. Official professions notwithstanding, members of the police and the wider public – both black and white – still seem willing to condone a reality where men define their masculinity in terms of their ability to control women and their bodies. Rates of gender-based violence and rape are notoriously difficult to compute with accuracy in an understudied region like Africa, but scholars understand that they were scandalously high under apartheid, and they unfortunately remain impervious to the contemporary rule of law.

    These conditions are not unique to Africa. Foucault claimed that the modern West was preoccupied with extracting truth from sex, and Franz Fanon argued that the generic object of this urge was the eroticized black body. Colonizers relied centrally on the language of sexuality to draw the line between civilized, Christian decency and the intimate practices of the colonized savages. From the putative promiscuity of polygamy to the licentiousness held to be the source of AIDS, African sexuality has served as a foil to European claims to superiority, cultivation, and modernity. As the “cradle of life,” Africa has also been the metaphorical ground zero for racist contrasts between pathology and health, degeneracy and dignity; all the more so now with African masculinity once again called into question.

    A number of engaged researchers have recently sought to counter these archetypes by documenting the grounded realities of male life in particular times and places. Masculinity in Africa, they insist, is both varied and fluid, offering innumerable examples of males who are “good at being men;” good at being sons and leaders, husbands and fathers. It is not enough, however, to insist that African masculinities are plural and virtuous. Recurrent patterns of gender relations, some of them disconcerting, call for more systemic explanations, as they present something of a paradox. On the one hand, there is evidence, in many places, of what some have called “hegemonic masculinity,” a mode of gender-based hierarchy in which some men dominate both women and other weaker males through varying levels of coercion, legitimate and otherwise.

    Yet there are also diverse scholarly accounts from both urban and rural contexts that speak of masculinity in distress: a growing fraction of younger males are struggling, against mounting odds, to gain access to the resources needed to become adult men in their own right, to found families or careers of their own. State contraction, diminishing wage work, and the burgeoning of informal, predominantly female trade all favor the operations of cadres of “big men,” patrons who subserviate younger male clients in exchange for the means of survival. In such circumstances, increasing numbers of young men seem condemned to one or another form of perpetual dependency. The growth of criminal enterprise, thug enforcement, and militarized conflict are the dark underside of economic crisis and growing male abjection, spurring recruitment to various forms of “dangerous work” – for example, smuggling, banditry, and, as scholars like Daniel Agbiboa demonstrate, participation in armed insurrectionist movements such as Boko Haram.

    These practices are hardly exhaustive of the diverse histories of masculinity in Africa. Men coerced into colonial mine labor, for instance, also forged cultures built on pride in their virile labor; on the convivial arts of leisure and mutuality (like drinking, dancing, or football); and on organizing acts of defiance and political resistance. Pithead prophets led Africanized churches whose male-voice choirs sang novel songs of redemption. Work-based recreational groups dared to dream of unprecedented visions of masculinity, black and white –  hence the emergence of so-called “Swenkers,” South African migrant workers who spent their weekends voguing up-market urban masculinities, mastering their dress, dispositions, and gestures in exquisite detail.

    The dream continues. In a 2018 piece in the New York Times entitled “Cape Town’s New Masculinity,” Zane Lelo Meslani reported that the city has become a frontier in the battle against Western gender roles. Young people from its depressed surrounding townships have given birth to a vibrant club scene that, while reminiscent of the creative male gay role play of Paris is Burning, is firmly rooted in African colonial history. In their playful use of hairstyle, language, and apparel, they project a “fresh, unrestricted image of African gender and masculinity that rejects the dominant masculine ideal of toughness, even in a hostile world.” In fact, their creative self-styling has become the basis of a vibrant new fashion industry – suggesting that the most promising pointers to modes of redressing the challenges of African masculinity might come directly from the men themselves. The continent’s youth, as a young activist told the UN Security Council in 2019, are “the most informed, resilient and coolest generation;” they are “hustlers who refuse to resign themselves to the hardships of their situations.” Those who aim to revitalize Africa’s masculine futures would do well to heed the insights offered by such grassroots visionaries.

    . . .

    Jean Comaroff is the Alfred North Whitehead Professor of African and African American Studies and Anthropology at Harvard University, and Honorary Professor at the University of Cape Town. She was educated at the University of Cape Town and the London School of Economics, and her research — primarily conducted in southern Africa — has focused on the interplay of capitalism, modernity, and (post)colonialism, and on theorizing the contemporary world from beyond its hegemonic centers. Her writing has covered a range of more specific topics: religion and medicine, magic and materiality, law and crime, democracy, and the politics of difference.

    Image credit: Freepik

  • Interview with Jean Comaroff and John Comaroff

    Interview with Jean Comaroff and John Comaroff

    Between 1976 and 2010,  Alan Macfarlane, a professor in the Department of Sociology at Cambridge University,  conducted a series of interviews with anthropologists from around the world. Two of those anthropologists included John and Jean Comaroff. They discussed their early lives, their work in the field, life under the Apartheid regime and anthropology, among other things.

  • Lecture: On Vigilantism Resurrected

    Lecture: On Vigilantism Resurrected

    Anthropological Explorations of Violent Transfigurations of State, Crime and Politics across Contexts

  • At Home with Literati: Claudio Lomnitz and Jean Comaroff

    At Home with Literati: Claudio Lomnitz and Jean Comaroff

    Claudio Lomnitz discusses Nuestra América: My Family in the Vertigo of Translation with Jean Comaroff

  • Lecture: The Secret Life of Work, Present and Future

    Lecture: The Secret Life of Work, Present and Future

    This lecture was a part of ANTHUSIA Summer School 3: Dissemination: Writing, Presenting and Communicating.The Politics and Poetics of Representation in a Post-Colonial World. ANTHUSIA is a multi-disciplinary research project in the Anthropology of Human Security in Africa conducted by a consortium of four universities in Aarhus (Denmark), Edinburgh (United Kingdom), Leuven (Belgium) and Oslo (Norway). It has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation program under the Marie Skłodowska-Curie grant agreement no. 764546 and is training 16 Early Stage Researchers.

  • Lecture: Decoloniality and Southern Epistemologies

    Lecture: Decoloniality and Southern Epistemologies

    Jean Comaroff of Harvard University speaks on “Theory from the South: Or, How Euro-America is Evolving Toward Africa”.

  • Lecture: After Labour

    Lecture: After Labour

    Concern has been steadily mounting, across the globe, that wage work is disappearing. Why do we seem unable to think beyond a universe founded on mass employment? If mass employment has always been threatened by erasure, why does it remain so central both to popular and theoretical understandings of life under capitalism? As we fail to imagine an age after labour, we seem ever more haunted by nightmares of our own redundancy. What does this tell us about the afterlife of homo faber? Might we enrich our answers to these questions by moving beyond the Archimedean vantage of Euro-America?

  • Eminent husband-and-wife anthropologist named Visiting J Y Pillay Professors

    Eminent husband-and-wife anthropologist named Visiting J Y Pillay Professors

    By Jiang Haolie

    Eminent anthropologists Professors Jean and John Comaroff, renowned for their joint work in African Studies and anthropology as a husband-and-wife team, were recently named Visiting J Y Pillay Professors at Yale-NUS College. The Professorship is part of the J Y Pillay Global-Asia Programme, which was established to honour Professor J Y Pillay, a pioneer who made ground-breaking contributions to Singapore as a top civil servant and corporate leader.

    Describing the J Y Pillay Professorship as “greatly meaningful”, both Comaroffs effusively shared that they were very honoured to be its recipients. Prof Jean also praised the Professorship’s important role in building important links across global communities of researchers and attracting academic talent to Singapore as well as to Southeast Asian research.

    Commending the Comaroffs as “outstanding scholars”, Professor Joanne Roberts, Executive Vice President (Academic Affairs), expressed delight at the Comaroffs being awarded the Professorship. “It is wonderful for our students and faculty to get the opportunity to learn from them,” she said. It matches well with our goals of having visiting professorships bring in world class scholars and also, where possible, to have these visitors broaden and diversify the scope of our offerings.”

    In their short time teaching and interacting with the Yale-NUS community, both professors remarked that they were profoundly impressed by the dynamism, intelligence and talent of Yale-NUS students and faculty, describing the students as approaching classes with “maturity, entrepreneurial spirit and intellectual vibrancy”. Prof John said, “Jean and I love to challenge students. Our classes are not easy. Yet, our students have dealt well with complicated ideas and joined in very thoughtful discussions.”

    Both Comaroffs were also convinced that the College’s Anthropology  faculty and students are well-placed to take the lead in the reinvention and renewal of anthropology as a discipline here. Prof Jean noted that Yale-NUS, while small, has access to the larger research community at the National University of Singapore, affording it an immense advantage. She added that its position in Singapore offers opportunities to reflect on modernity and postcoloniality.

    “You have all the virtues of youth and experimentation! Everything is possible!” Prof Jean remarked. Prof John also pointed out how Yale-NUS’s philosophy of decentring academia might contribute to shifting the postcolonial axis of anthropological discourse “from the vertical to the horizontal” – giving increasing voice to the subaltern, thus to shift knowledge-production and its authority away from the west. Altogether, Yale-NUS, according to both Comaroffs, also contributes to the ongoing renewal of liberal arts and science education around the world.

    The Comaroffs also spoke enthusiastically about the relevance that Singapore has for their own research on Africa – from the Asia-African axis to our shared postcolonial experiences. In their assessment, Yale-NUS’ youthful dynamism was also emblematic of Singapore and its place in the global order. In this regard, Singapore, according to Prof Jean, is emerging as the chosen model for other nation-states, including ones in the Global North; this because of the way in which it has managed a whole host of issues such as development, education, employment and environmental issues. “It’s like the metropole looking to a [former] colony for inspiration” – a delicious irony and reversal of relations, Prof John noted.

    While they have spent decades living and researching on the African continent, the Comaroffs are no strangers to Singapore or to Yale-NUS. Their son, Joshua Comaroff, is an Assistant Professor of Social Sciences (Urban Studies) here at Yale-NUS and – together with his partner, Ms Ong Ker-Shing – was also involved in the landscape design of the campus. When the Comaroffs are not in the classroom, they spend their time playing with their Singaporean grandchildren or eating delectable local dishes. “You can’t be in Singapore and not be eating really well!”, quipped Prof John, who singled out laksa and otah-otah as two of their guilty favourites.

  • Lecture: Interrogating the Global Dis/Order

    Lecture: Interrogating the Global Dis/Order

    New York – In 2018, John Comaroff and Jean Comaroff spoke at The New School for Social Research about

    “Crime, Sovereignty, and the State: the Metaphysics of Global Disorder.” “The Global South” has become a shorthand for the universe of non-European, postcolonial peoples; it is that half of the planet about which, conventionally, the “Global North” spins theories. Rarely is it seen as a source of explanations for world historical processes, past or present, let alone as the source of those processes. Yet, as much of the northern hemisphere experiences increasing fiscal inscrutability and rising inequality, state privatization, crime and corruption, ethnic conflict, authoritarian populism, and other “crises,” it looks as though it is evolving southward, so to speak. Is this so? Might the relation of “north” and “south” be more a matter of complementary inequity, more a construct of the dialectical imagination, than a hard-and-fast empirical reality? In this seminar, we shall reverse the usual order of things, addressing a range of familiar themes in order to theorize them anew from the “eccentric location” of the “south,” broadly conceived: among those themes, neoliberalism and its futures; the changing relations among capital, the state and governance; democracy, authoritarian populism, and new forms of political life; the fetishism of the law and the judicialization of the public sphere; the paradoxes of twenty-first century nationhood and its jurisdictions; new magical economies; the crisis of liberalism; the meaning of crime and the metaphysics of disorder; and the present and future political economy of identity. This re-imagining of the contemporary global dis/order renders key problems of our time at once strange and familiar, giving an ironic twist to the evolutionary pathways long assumed by social scientists.

  • Lecture: The Invasive Other

    Lecture: The Invasive Other

    Sponsored by The New School, this conference is grounded in the premise that while seemingly of different orders, invasive others — whether people, plants, ideas, or pathogens — are described in similar ways and are patrolled and controlled through similar technologies, logics, and policies. The conference explores the way the language and technologies intersect and play off one another. By placing these different “invasives” alongside one another, we will learn more about the nature of Otherness in our world and how it is managed, governed, or eliminated. If we are to protect the rights of others, this knowledge is invaluable.

    PEOPLE Q&A

    Bridget Anderson, Professor of Migration and Citizenship; Deputy Director of COMPAS Oxford University

    Jean Comaroff, Alfred North Whitehead Professor of African and African American Studies and of Anthropology, Oppenheimer Fellow in African Studies, Harvard University

    Juanita Sundberg, Associate Professor, University of British Columbia

    Ann Laura Stoler, Willy Brandt Distinguished Professor of Anthropology and History, The New School

  • Lecture: Divine Detection:

    Lecture: Divine Detection:

    Jean Comaroff, an anthropologist who is a leading expert on South Africa, its societies and cultures, gave the 2011 Nora and Edward Ryerson Lecture on Tuesday, May 17, at the Max Palevsky Cinema in Ida Noyes Hall.

    Comaroff, the Bernard E. and Ellen C. Sunny Distinguished Service Professor in Anthropology and the College at the University of Chicago, presented the talk, “Divine Detection: Crime and the Metaphysics of Disorder.

  • Interview with John Comaroff and Jean Comaroff

    Interview with John Comaroff and Jean Comaroff

    Between 1976 and 2010,  Alan Macfarlane, a professor in the Department of Sociology at Cambridge University,  conducted a series of interviews with anthropologists from around the world. Two of those anthropologists included John and Jean Comaroff. They discussed their early lives, their work in the field, life under the Apartheid regime and anthropology, among other things.