“country-by-country” attitude . . . that human society consists essentially
of several hundred
different and discrete “nations”, each
of which has (or ought to have) its own
postage-stamps and national soul’. He
argued, instead, that ‘the only
framework of reference which is of
any real utility here is world history as
a whole’. Keeping in mind the overall
evolution of the world order of
capitalism, he insisted that ‘[I]t is the
forest which “explains” the trees’. In
this materialist and world-historical
view, the origins of nationalism lay
[n]ot in the folk, nor in the individual’s
repressed
passion for some sort of
wholeness or identity, but in the machinery of world political economy. Not, however, in
the process of that economy’s development as such – not simply as an inevitable
concomitant of industrialization and urbanization . . . [but in] the uneven development of
history since the eighteenth century. This unevenness is a material fact; one could argue
that it is the most grossly material fact about modern history. The conclusion, at once
satisfying and near-paradoxical, is that the most notoriously subjective and ‘idealistic’ of
historical phenomena is in fact a by-product of the most brutally and hopelessly material
side of the history of the last two centuries. (Nairn, 1981: 335–6).
Nairn’s critical point was that capitalism produced not one but two kinds of inequality – social
and regional or spatial – and these were productive of classes and nations. Nations were,
therefore, material realities as much as classes were. How material they are can be appreciated
from the fact that economic inequality within nations, great though it is has long been and though
it has become even greater in recent decades, remains small compared to economic inequality
between nations (Milanovic 2005, Freeman 2004). How material nations are can also be
appreciated from the centrality of the
‘developmental state’ – whether the US,
German and Japanese, or more recent Asian
and Latin American, and above all the
Chinese – in earlier cases overcoming, and
in later ones, at least mitigating – these
international economic inequalities (Chang
2002 and 2008; Reinert 2007). Of course,
materiality could also work the other way,
as the increase in class and regional
inequalities in most countries under recent
market-driven policies have also attested.
And along with these new political
economies came distinctly new forms of
cultural politics in nations, as I and my
contributors attested in our recent work on developmental and cultural nationalisms (Desai
2009a). If one is to engage critically with Nairn in order to insist that nations were merely
‘cultural artefacts’, it is essential to address this issue frontally. Not surprisingly, Anderson’s
attempt to carve out a specific explanatory space for culture does not succeed. It cannot unless
the equally specific explanatory weights of political and economic factors are duly considered
and acknowledged. Anderson claimed that his theory of nationalism was
intended less to explain the socio-economic basis of anti-metropolitan resistance in the
Western Hemisphere between say, 1760 and 1830, than why the resistance was conceived
in plural, ‘national’ forms – rather than in others. The economic interests at stake are
well-known and obviously of fundamental importance. Liberalism and Enlightenment
clearly had a powerful impact, above all in providing an arsenal of ideological criticisms
of imperial and anciens régimes. What [he was] proposing is that neither economic
interest, Liberalism nor Enlightenment could, or did, create in themselves the kind, or
shape, of imagined community to be defended from these regimes’ depredations; to put it
another way, none provided the framework for a new consciousness – the scarcely-seen
periphery of its vision – as opposed to centre-field objects of its admiration or disgust. (p.
65)
However, Anderson could only claim this by ignoring the fact that, for Nairn, the geographical
and social contours of uneven development explained precisely the kind and shape of the
imagined community and that the focus on the ‘wood’ rather than the ‘trees’ enabled the reasons
for the plural and national forms of resistance as opposed to single universal resistance based on
class or some vaguer common humanity required by liberalism or the Enlightenment to emerge
clearly in relief.
Finally, how did Anderson ‘de-
Europeanize’ the study of nationalism? The
short answer is, by Americanizing it, and worse,
by Americanizing it in the sense of the USA,
rather than of the Americas as a whole. By
Anderson’s account, the USA was the first
nation-state and founded the first of the models
(the other two were European) which all others
had to follow, as his argument about
nationalism’s ‘modularity’ required. What little
Anderson offered by way of a sociology of
nationalism’s origins is confined to explaining
the emergence of his three ‘models’ which the
rest of the non-Euroamerican world was bound
to imitate. One wonders how much of
Anderson’s knowledge of Indonesia or
Thailand was involved in coming to this
conclusion.
In the homelands of these models,