An other geography

Abstract

The marginalization, sidelining, erasure and dismissal of ‘othered’ people and epistemologies persist within the discipline of geography today. In the present article, I discuss this fact as a source of harm for many individuals, a result of centuries of white supremacist heteropatriarchal grounding and a failure of the collective critical geographical imagination. A new turn is underway, however, one that turns away from the mainstream of the discipline and toward each ‘other’. Solidarities across modes of difference are building in scholarship that inhabits an epistemological elsewhere, and these can and must be harnessed in this time of serious threats to academic freedom and social justice.

Keywords

difference epistemic violence geographic thought politics of knowledge production resistance

The voice I raise is at once Indigenous and scholar, though it feels impossible to be heard as both at the same time.

– Sarah Hunt (2014)

Whiteness creates geographies of power that inhibits people of color from moving freely within the discipline.

– Shangrila Joshi et al. (2015)

While the structural position of the first-year PhD student…is itself conducive to imposter syndrome, my gender and skin color began to feel like additional obstacles rather than resources.

– Camilla Hawthorne (from Hawthorne and Meché, 2016)

Do we really need to remind our colleagues all over again of arguments that have been made so well and so often before by feminist theorists…Gender matters…Why are we still talking to ourselves, I wonder?

– Linda McDowell (2016)

I am tired of translating the insights of queer theory for a broader critical [geography] audience. I am tired of having to make a case for sexuality’s rightful place on critical [geographical] theory’s map.

– Natalie Oswin (2018)

I became a geographer because I needed spatial analysis to understand human relationships to place. I must insist that I am a geographer because I have been told by colleagues that I will never be a geographer. Is the insistence on hiring ‘real’ geographers a disciplinary gatekeeping, or a racial gatekeeping?

– Megan Ybarra (2019) I could keep going and fill this entire article with quotations from geographers expressing their disappointment and frustration at the marginalization, dismissal and erasure of themselves and/or their alternate epistemologies within the discipline.¹ For evidence of the substance of these claims, pick up any sampling of disciplinary or sub-disciplinary research companions, handbooks or textbooks. There you will generally find content by scholars writing from a limited range of subject positions and sparse if any references to, for instance, gender, race, sexuality, gender identity, disability and coloniality. Sometimes there might be individual chapters or entries on some of these topics. Yet, rarely is there an overarching commitment to think through how patriarchy, colonialism, homophobia, transphobia, gender norms, racism, ableism and more – either individually or, even less often, in mutual constitution – take and shape place.

This disciplinary state of affairs is disappointing, frustrating and the cause of significant harm and discomfort to many individuals. It is also a failure of the critical capacities of the discipline in the face of its own collectively accumulated evidence.

Think about scholarship on urban planning and policy, economic development, global trade, mobilities, technology, surveillance, incarceration, policing, health outcomes, reproduction, employment, climate change, you name it. We have the research. We know that access to space everywhere on earth is societally unequal. We know that through all kinds of policies, practices and discourses, a global minority is stripping a global majority of land, home, shelter, privacy, public space, education, opportunity, capital, nutrients, air, water, bodily autonomy, freedom of movement, security, infrastructure, health, comfort, kin, speech, resources, territory, national belonging, time, possibility, dignity, life. And we know that race, ethnicity, class, ability, citizenship status, sexuality, gender identity and species clearly influence all experiences and that those who are produced and read as ‘normal’ take up a disproportionate amount of everything. These are the realities of our social, political, economic and environmental conjuncture. They always have been, and the situation in the world worsens every day. So why, when we so desperately need to think and act against-the-grain, is our discipline generally content to maintain its status quo?

I think it has a lot to do with the fact that geographers (like other scholars) are, as a group, very good at maintaining untruths.

Consider the story of Anglo-American geographical thought as usually narrated in disciplinary historical accounts. It goes like this. After centuries of overtly colonial knowledge production, apolitical/conservative regional and cultural description dominated the field through the first decades of the 20th century. Spatial science then changed the terrain in the 1950s. Trained in ‘scientific’ methods, the almost entirely male, white and western ‘space cadets’, as they were known, embraced positivist philosophy and utilized scientific methods to try to decipher universal spatial laws. This, they hoped, would gain human geography a reputation as a legitimate, rigorous, objective form of enquiry. Critiques of this project were launched from within the discipline in earnest in the late 1960s and 1970s with the rise of radical/Marxist and humanistic geography. These bodies of work brought concerns with political relevance and social inequities (in the former case) and human agency (in the latter case) to the fore. But these approaches offered limited analyses of embodiment, and they overshadowed work that sought to think through the imbrication of class with gender, race, nationality, sexuality and ability. In response, these paradigms too were forcefully challenged when cultural geography was reworked in the 1990s. Inspired in good measure by scholarship coming out of the Centre for Cultural Studies at the University of Birmingham in the United Kingdom, and by a long overdue attention to the rise of identity politics, as well as social (e.g. feminist, queer, race/ethnicity-based organizing), anti-colonial and environmental movements, geographers across various sub-disciplines began rethinking culture as plural, heterogeneous and shot through with power relations.² Thus, a shift away from a narrow emphasis on class-based differences and presumptions of universal subjecthood at last began in earnest within the discipline, and many geographers turned to a wide array of alternative conceptual frameworks for insight and inspiration.

This is when I first encountered Anglo-American geography, in the thick of its cultural turn. Having not previously taken a ‘geography’ course, I stumbled across two books in a Halifax (Canada) bookstore while wrapping up my master’s degree in 1999: David Bell and Gill Valentine’s Mapping Desire: Geographies of Sexuality (1995) and Nancy Duncan’s BodySpace: Destabilising Geographies of Gender and Sexuality (1996). I read these edited collections and kept on reading. The new sexuality and space work helped me realize that an explicit spatial analysis was what I had been missing in much of the queer theory literature I had been studying. There were also the groundbreaking feminist refutations of Cartesian ways of seeing and masculinist modes of thinking about things like fieldwork, subjectivity and the economy, the efforts to reckon with the discipline’s materially and epistemically violent history, the occasional challenges to the dominant whiteness of the field, the reworkings of urban theory through postcolonial and critical race theory lenses, the political ecology literature that broke down the nature/culture divide and, of course, the efforts that sought to put all these frames into conversation. These literatures are imperfect, to be sure (for instance, the early sexuality and space and feminist geographies literatures had easily apparent white and western biases). But they disturbed the foundations of disciplinary knowledge. They put positionality, the politics of knowledge production, the importance of embodiment and the everyday, the permeable boundaries between the cultural, the economic, the social and the political, and the inextricability of both discourse and materiality as well as identity and structure on the geographical agenda.

I have taught courses in ‘geographical thought’ almost every year for the past 15 years. That is, I have taught this narrative over and over and over again. Not uncritically, but nonetheless virtually intact. And I only realized recently that this telling is all wrong, that its emphasis is off in ways that influence its disciplinary travels and responses. The story goes, instead, as follows.

The drive by white supremacist heteropatriarchs³ to chart, map, exploit and extract from lands, peoples, flora and fauna previously unknown to them for their own early capitalist gain set geography into motion as a discipline and embedded a disregard and disdain for difference and social justice into the fabric of geographical thought and practice. By the 20th century, when the earth was all mapped and mostly claimed by some Europeans and their nation states, and tensions among the global powers culminated in World Wars I and II, many geographers then provided intelligence for military efforts. As such, the region and the nation were added to the globe as scales that geographers could expertly advise upon and influence. Spatial science, that effort to prove geography’s worth as an objective, scientific endeavour, came directly out of the military collaborations of the Second World War. In the dawning era of late capitalism, the ‘space cadets’ used new computational capabilities to search for spatial laws with an eye toward helping governments and businesses achieve economic efficiency. As global capitalism was clearly becoming increasingly reliant on and tied to cities, spatial science research focused on this domain, thus expanding existing geographical claims to expertise on the globe, the region and the nation to the urban.

This brief re-narration cuts to the core aim of the first few hundred years of Anglo-American/European geography. Groups of (almost entirely) white men sought to carve up available terrain and resources (human and animal, animate and inanimate), from the top on down. Yes, this account could be nuanced with recognition of efforts to pursue other lines of flight in the discipline – for example, the Berkeley School of Cultural Geography, the histories of female explorers and spatial scientists. But these were minor notes that did little to undercut (and had little to no interest in undercutting) imperialism and militarism. Geography solidified as a discipline in Anglo-America and Europe through structures of empire, military and capital to claim space for a narrow band of persons.

This is what the cultural turn was up against, and these structures, of course, persist today. Thus, our collective disciplinary findings that access to space in all forms and expressions are socially differentiated. Nonetheless, it is commonly accepted in our field that the cultural turn somehow set us free of disciplinary biases. Not completely. Not yet. But inexorably.

And it is not just geographers who are good at misstating the facts. Geography’s liberal progress narrative reminds me of other tall tales that have shaped the study and scholarship of myself and many, many others. There is, for instance, the one about the ‘new world order’. During my undergraduate studies in Toronto in the early 1990s, I took a broad social science undergraduate degree, focusing on fields like area studies, global politics, macro-economics and international development studies. We were in the immediate afterglow of such events as the close of the Cold War, the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of apartheid in South Africa, and there was much discussion in my classes then of this purported ‘new world order’. I learned from the scholarly authorities at my ‘world-class’ university that we were entering an era of unprecedented international cooperation and social movement activism that would lead to planetary peace, prosperity and freedom. I was also told that if my colleagues and I pursued the right training, we could aid in the effort of solidifying this trend through goodwill and ‘civilized’ discourse. There is also the one about the ‘diversifying’ university. Simultaneously, in the 1990s, fields like women’s and gender studies, sexuality studies and ethnic and racial studies were becoming institutionalized as interdisciplinary departments and programs in Toronto and many other contexts, offering vital correctives to dominant academic agendas and providing lifelines to those on the social outskirts. Of course, I and others did not question these narratives.⁴ For my part, I was a white, settler, naturalized, middle class, able-bodied, cisgendered, first-generation university student who had spent almost every minute of my life to that point in a small city and its surrounds in northern Ontario. I was also a queer kid who had barely survived a crushingly homophobic upbringing. I was primed and ready and naïve/privileged/desperate enough to believe the assurances that the academy could save me and others.

The optimism of elites in Canada and elsewhere over the ‘new world order’ was misplaced and out of touch, of course. A potent combination of liberal hubris and white, male, western bias produced widespread wilful ignorance of how the ongoing effects of colonialism, capitalism, slavery, segregation and more meant that the liberationist moments of the day were coupled with persistent oppression and insecurity for vast multitudes. While pundits crowed about bright futures on the horizon, they downplayed the suffering and premature death that remained a predominant and preventable feature of existence everywhere. They/we hyped the appearance of change while allowing structural oppression and exploitation to roll on such that, today, selective destruction obviously continues. The climate is changing. Vast numbers of species of animal and plant life are extinct or verging on it. Wealth is obscenely concentrated. Ethnic nationalism, intolerance and hate are ascendant. Wars rage in multiple theatres. ‘Identity politics’, the buoy for so many ‘others’, is too often transformed in the mainstream public imagination into a rallying cry for fear-mongers and bigots. Plus, the university in far too many places is now undoubtedly neo-liberal, and evidence of the tenuousness of the foothold of critical scholarship within the academy abounds, especially when that scholarship directly challenges racism, xenophobia, colonialism and settler colonialism, heteropatriarchy and transphobia.

To be clear, I am personally doing just fine, in a general sense. After a long time away, I am in Toronto again, a tenured professor with a main research and teaching focus on the geographies of sexuality in relation to globalization and urbanization. I am frustrated with the side-lining of queer theory and the general inattention to sexuality in the discipline, and I experience the sorts of professional macro- and microaggressions that tend to come along with researching and teaching ‘against-the-grain’.⁵ At the same time, I have extraordinary privilege. I am, as noted above, a white, naturalized, settler, middle-class, able-bodied, cisgendered, queer woman, and my queerness is mitigated by the fact that Canada is homonationalist now.⁶ The field of geography is doing generally just fine, too. What’s more, it produces much important work. Although contemporary global political, economic, environmental and social realities are bleak, there are thankfully lots of pockets of challenge and contestation, and critical geography is one such deep one. Across human and physical geography, all the field’s sub-disciplines, differing methodological preferences and expertise, and national and/or linguistic divides, many geographers generate knowledge with social justice aims clearly in mind. But I as an individual and the rest of the members of the discipline of geography (and beyond) are caught up in systemic injustices, globally as well as institutionally and disciplinarily.

It is a tremendous accomplishment that institutional statements of support for equity and diversity are today prevalent in many contexts and that some academic institutions even seriously invest in the achievement of these goals. Yet, the system is the system – rigged, and the property of the few.⁷ An abiding commitment to ‘meritocracy’ is unaccompanied by efforts to deal with the structural advantages and disadvantages that determine access to educational opportunities, academic positions and research funding as well as influencing decisions on hiring, tenure and promotion. Academic institutions say they prize social relevance and impact, while the pay-walled journal article is still held up as the gold standard. Citation practices are selective and skewed toward established authors, universities, topics and canons. Research ethics board processes stem egregious harms and help universities avoid litigation down the line, but they stop well short of considering the insidious harmful effects of even well-intentioned research on ‘vulnerable’ communities. And institutions chase after academic–corporate–government partnerships often with little if any concern for the politics and practices of the partners or the university’s own complicity.⁸ So, geography (like political science, sociology, art history, chemistry, biology, etc.) keeps on keeping on with its skewed and unjust modes of knowledge production.

Marginalization, dismissal and erasure of ‘others’ and their/our epistemologies thus stifle the critical geographical imagination into the present. Epistemically, much geographical (and indeed other) scholarship explicitly or implicitly holds on to notions that social categories materialize in discrete spatial forms, ascribes to a ‘biologic’⁹ and considers social difference ‘epiphenomenal’¹⁰ or beyond the scope of proper study. Whether perpetuated deliberately or unwittingly, maliciously or with the best of intentions, such misunderstandings and mischaracterizations of empirical socio-spatial realities serve to ghettoize, demean and dehumanize individuals and communities deemed outside the norm. Despite the richness of diverse communities and cultures and ideas and lives, those on the margins are only barely possible subjects to those in the mainstream of geography (and many other disciplines). Geography as a field does not prioritize the material realities of differential embodiment. Epistemological pluralism too often amounts to epistemological unaccountability. ‘Others’ are set artificially apart, rendered isolated objects of study rather than knowledge co-producers, at best case material rather than scholarly interlocutors. The mainstream (within Anglo-American geography and the academy at large) demands that those on the outskirts spend our time and energy making our case over and over and over again. It demands that we keep generating knowledge to rescue liberalism from itself while formidable structural and institutional barriers inhibit knowledge transfer and actual inclusion. It demands that subalterns speak while allowing and encouraging hegemons not to hear.¹¹

Nevertheless, many persist in efforts to carve out an epistemological elsewhere.¹² Indeed, from where I sit it seems a new turn is underway within geography and related disciplines. This turn is not unrelated to or uninformed by the 1990s’ cultural turn. It is not of a piece with or a simple extension of it either.¹³ What is going on today seems humbler, angrier and more grounded than what we saw in the 1990s.

Consider scholarship arguing for ‘ethnographic refusal’, for instance; work which, in short, rejects the efforts of the white western academy to determine the grounds on which ‘others’ are judged human or not. There is a long, illustrious lineage of work in this vein, especially from feminists of colour, Indigenous and queer of colour scholars,¹⁴ and it has been noticeably gaining steam in recent years within critical scholarship and broader public discourse. Further, think about the creation of the Black and Latinx geographies AAG specialty groups and the mutual support network they work to provide (see Faiver-Serna, 2019). Or think of the scholars calling out exclusionary or tokenistic citation practices (see Ahmed, 2014; Mott and Cockayne, 2017). Finally, there is now a wealth of scholarship in fields like Black, Latinx, Indigenous, global south, feminist, queer and trans geographies that shows clearly that social difference is not some kind of multicultural side dish but the main attraction that is everywhere all the time. Not contained and siloed. Everywhere. Working through each body in many and varied forms.

As the epigraphs at the outset of this article attest, this is hard and uncomfortable work. It is also vital work. In this sort of scholarship, we get glimpses of an alternate academy, of a turn toward and for each ‘other’. Not completely or easily or conclusively, as we are up against formidable dividing mechanisms and power and complicity have complicated maps, but in tone and intention and effort. There is, I aver, a growing creep of an other geography. Such work fights forcefully against the guiding logics of the status quo, guiding logics that produce such limiting dualisms as us/them, margin/centre, major/minor and civility/incivility. It recognizes that:

Of course all oppressed people have something in common – their oppression. But the forms of that oppression may vary considerably. And if those forms, and the results they inflict on daily lives, vary, it follows that the needs and political strategies of groups fighting for social change will differ from group to group. (Delgado and Stefancic, 2001: 56)

It accepts and asserts the authority of those with intimate knowledge of how dispossession, exploitation and oppression work, of those who feel it on their bodies and in their skin.

Again, the multiple projects of oppression and exploitation that shaped the academy over earlier centuries are still very much with us today. And colonialism, imperialism, elitism, racism, xenophobia, heteronormativity, cis-normativity, ableism and more do not just persist. They are intensifying in step with the new and extended geographies of authoritarianism and populism that now shape everything. The bodies of scholarship and their authors that comprise this new and/or linked turn are part of efforts to keep the terrors of these geographies at bay. They offer solace and protection and represent the sort of change we need to see in the world.

Academic change is not everything. But it is a significant something. The academy is a resource, so the powers that be – whoever those are in the reader’s particular institutional and national context – are not just going to give it away. We can loot it, though. As Harney and Moten (2013) argue, ‘the only possible relationship to the university today is a criminal one’.¹⁵ Every day and every moment in these times, concerned scholars need to think about how to use their access for the benefit of those who do not have that access. It is not just about changing our reading and writing practices, though that in itself is an extremely important start. It is about changing everything we do as scholars. It is about unlearning privilege where we experience it. It is about those on the margins not waiting for ‘permission to narrate’¹⁶ but speaking their/our own truths in their/our own voices and for allies to help create opportunities in which such speech is possible.¹⁷ It is about insisting that good intentions are not enough and being ‘more impatient with each other’ (Tuck and Yang, 2012: 10) so that we might stop wasting time and finally work together to get to where we need to go. It is about supporting constellations that shift and change and allow those closest to a given harm or set of harms to take the lead on diagnosing and challenging them. And this – all of this – is far from easy. Acting in these ways always and everywhere as a scholar – in our writing, in our teaching, in our service and administrative work, in our research practice – goes against the grain of the academy that we rely upon for our livelihoods. It makes us, following Harney and Moten (2013), fugitives. And we must embrace this reality. Academic freedom, like every other social ‘good’, is clearly under attack in different ways in different places and grows more scarce every day. Geographers finally started talking in earnest about space as relational and connected and shot through with power relations back in the 1990s. This talk has built slowly over time into actions with potential to revolutionize the discipline and its worldly connections. Let us galvanize these efforts. Let us organize, mobilize and keep building an other geography.

Footnotes

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Notes

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