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| ISBN-13: | 9781478005582 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Duke University Press |
| Publication date: | 06/28/2019 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 280 |
| File size: | 6 MB |
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CHAPTER 1
Gendering Earth
Excavating Plantation Soil
The history of life is inextricably related to the history of soil.
— DAVID MONTGOMERY, Dirt
The greatest event of the twentieth century incontestably remains the disappearance of agricultural activity at the helm of human life. ... Now living only indoors, immersed only in passing time and not out in the weather, our contemporaries, packed into cities, use neither shovel nor oar; worse yet, they've never even seen them.
— MICHEL SERRES, The Natural Contract
The recent scholarly turn to pinpointing an origin for the Anthropocene is caught up in the history of empire and modernity. Its allegories are primarily concerned with discourses of excavating the soil and the sediment of human history. While geologists search for the carbon and other isotopes that will mark a point at which humans trespassed a threshold point in their relation to the planet, they are coming up against humanities work that has already characterized these same moments of modernity in terms such as genocide, slavery, diaspora, and ecological imperialism. Thus, Anthropocene discourse has arrived belatedly to the scene of the violence of human history. In my effort to allegorize the Anthropocene, to place it in relation to particular contexts and histories, I seek to bring these discourses together so that they might mutually inform each other, demonstrating how Caribbean authors, who have long theorized and represented the rupture of modernity, might shed light on planetary challenges in an age of climate change. My definition of climate change, here as elsewhere, means a rupture to an ecological system. Following work in postcolonial studies that does not accept the settler colonial logic of dividing the human from nonhuman nature, I use the term "ecology" in this chapter, and in the book as a whole, as always already including the human. This builds on a large body of work in Caribbean studies in particular that has foregrounded the ways in which ecological imperialism has troubled western constructions of "nature" and the human relationship to place. In moving in scale from a planetary totality such as the Anthropocene to the figure of the postplantation island in the Caribbean, I pursue a series of allegories from Earth to earth (soil), particularly as constituted by transatlantic histories of modernity.
To parochialize the Anthropocene is to uncover its place-based allegories. This chapter argues that excavating the soil is a vital method of Anthropocene discourse and practice. In this sense the actual fragments of earth, which are material evidence of decay and the passing of time, reflect the story of the Earth writ large. One of the early origin stories of the Anthropocene (or the "Paleoanthropocene") is the rise of agriculture. In that narrative the human relationship to the soil was fundamentally altered, a process that unfolded over thousands of years that led to a stratigraphic signal of increased carbon as well as methane. This issue of enormous anthropogenic change to vast portions of the earth — a kind of early terraforming — has been brought forward into the more modern history of transatlantic empire. The geographers Simon Lewis and Mark Maslin argue that "the impacts of the meeting of Old and New World human populations — including the geologically unprecedented homogenization of Earth's biota — may serve to mark the beginning of the Anthropocene." While the word "meeting" minimizes the violence of European colonization of the Americas, we might use this as a starting point to investigate this moment of globalization in which all of the world's species, human and otherwise, were radically altered. Following Walter Benjamin's approach in which we engage a simultaneous "constellation of past and present," or, in other words, a "telescoping of the past through the present," we can read these multiscalar allegories of Anthropocene history as a means of figuring a contemporaneous moment of crisis in the human relationship to both Earth and earth.
Allegories of Plantation Islands
The Caribbean islands, newly positioned as originary spaces of the Anthropocene, are integral to the history of what Alfred Crosby has termed the "Columbian exchange" and ecological imperialism. From the decimation of Indigenous peoples of the region to the transplantation of Old World commodity crops such as sugarcane and coffee, European colonization radically changed the region, just as New World transplants such as tomatoes, chilies, maize, and potatoes permanently altered the diets of the majority of the people of the globe. Many have demonstrated that the food of the Americas, not to mention commodity crop labor, "undergirded Europe's rise to world dominion between the eighteenth and twentieth centuries." While the Anthropocene has been tied by Paul Crutzen and Eugene Stoermer to an originary "steam engine thesis," humanities scholars would point out that it is undergirded by the history of transatlantic empire and slavery, the radical dislocation of humans from their ancestral soil, and a violent irruption of modernity that predates the industrialization of nineteenth-century Europe. This history has catalyzed new terms to examine the origins of our planetary crisis. Jason W. Moore, borrowing from Andreas Malm, has developed a critique of what he calls the "Capitalocene," explaining that "capitalism is a way of organizing nature as a whole ... a nature in which human organizations (classes, empires, markets, etc.) not only make environments, but are simultaneously made by the historical flux and flow of the web of life." Since capitalism was constituted by transatlantic slavery and the plantation system, the term "Plantationocene" has recently been adopted to further specify the ways in which an economic and political system of empire is exacted on the earth.
A critical engagement with narrative is vital to understanding the ways in which we represent ecological crises, and a fundamental contribution made by scholars in the environmental humanities. Scholars have established that the allegorical mode was integral to representing the colonial violence of transatlantic empire and the plantation, particularly in the cartography of the island Americas. Cartographic allegories materially extend "Old" World landscapes onto the "New," in which American landscapes and peoples were assimilated, appropriated, and rendered familiar (and often lifeless). Antonello Gerbi has shown that the novelty of Caribbean flora and fauna caused a radical shift in European conceptions of human and nonhuman difference, as well as shock about the deep history of the globe. The island, with its terrestrial boundedness, became foundational to figuring a newly encountered world. As Richard H. Grove has explained, the tropical island became "in practical environmental as well as mental terms, an easily conceived allegory of a whole world. Contemporary observations of the ecological demise of islands were easily converted into premonitions of environmental destruction on a more global scale." To Europeans, the island colony became a space of social and ecological experimentation and, due to the island's boundedness and finite resources, the site of the earliest environmental conservation, underlining the close relationship between ecology and empire. Despite Indigenous genocide, transatlantic slavery, environmental destruction, and species extinctions, colonial authors and armchair travelers continued to figure the Caribbean island in terms of Christian allegories of paradise; as Grove explains, "For this redemptive purpose the island was the ideal allegorical, practical and botanical symbol and desired place of abode."
As the authors of the volume Caribbean Literature and the Environment detail, ancient Greek and Christian allegories of paradise were transposed onto the Caribbean islands to render them as hyperbolic fecundity. For example, Nicolò Scillacio was convinced by travelers' reports of the Caribbean to proclaim in his epistle of 1494 that one could plant any seed in Guadeloupe, "for the soil rejoices ... and never reject[s] anything that you throw in it; it accepts nothing without giving it back much more abundantly and with great increase." This Edenic myth of fertility confused plant diversity with an extraordinary yield for food, suppressing the material realities of labor and leading colonists, armchair travelers, and many a current-day tourist to assume that one need not labor for sustenance in tropical climates. Myths of soil and climate fecundity prevailed, even when, as early as 1769, monocrop agriculture had exhausted Barbadian soil to the extent that an attempt was made to import richer soil from Dutch Guiana.
The European allegory of the paradisiacal island took many forms and was visible in Caribbean cartographies, in poetry, and even in the naming practices of sugar plantations as "Eden" and "Hope," a suppression of the violence of genocide, diaspora, and slavery. It also permeated British poetry about the region, in which eighteenth-century writers such as James Grainger could wax on in Georgic prose about the "the cultured soil" that "charms the eye" in his epic "The Sugar Cane: A Poem, in Four Books." This figuring of the Caribbean as a pastoral allegory is decidedly about the suppression of colonial modernity, the use of allegorical master narratives from Christian, classical Greek, and western European contexts to cover over the rupture of colonial violence. It is precisely this tension between "paradise and plantation," to draw from Ian Gregory Strachan's book title, that has informed a large body of work in Caribbean island writing. Authors such as Jamaica Kincaid, Olive Senior, Lorna Goodison, Shani Mootoo, and Merle Collins have turned to the allegory of the island garden and "excavated" the soil to explore the violent process of sedimentation and creolization. While the complex diasporas of plants and peoples in the Caribbean problematize the notion of "natural" history and its segregation from human agency, this historical process is also tied to particular literary forms, especially allegory.
Since allegory signifies a rupture between the present and the past even as it attempts to place them in symbolic relation, it has become an important narrative mode for Caribbean writers concerned with historiography. This engagement with history is figured through constellations of the present, as Édouard Glissant argues in Caribbean Discourse:
The past, to which we were subjected, which has not yet emerged as history for us, is, however, obsessively present. The duty of the writer is to explore this obsession, to show its relevance in a continuous fashion to the immediate present. This exploration is therefore related neither to a schematic chronology nor to a nostalgic lament. It leads to the identification of a painful notion of time and its full projection forward into the future, without the help of those plateaus in time from which the West has benefited, without the help of that collective density that is the primary value of an ancestral cultural heartland. That is what I call a prophetic vision of the past.
While Benjamin's "Angel of History" is the witness to the wreckage of the debris of the past as he is blown backward into the future, Glissant's allegory of progress is constituted by an "obsession" with the past because it has not yet been excavated and narrated. He contends that Caribbean history is characterized by "ruptures" and "brutal dislocation," where "historical consciousness could not be deposited gradually and continuously like sediment." Here the soil is both material and a vital allegory for excavating the violence of the past. Not only is the narrative result is a "tormented chronology of time" and space, but it suggests that the (subjugated) past, suppressed in dominant historiography, becomes "obsessively present." This history of empire, diaspora, and resettlement necessarily foregrounds the ways in which the violence of plantation societies ruptured continuous human relationships to place and thus to earth (soil) and Earth (planet). Here I want to tie this particular experience of rupture to allegory and its uses in one particular novel of speculative fiction by the Jamaican author, sociologist, and historian Erna Brodber, which allegorizes Caribbean historiography through the gendered figures of Earth, soil, plot, and plantation.
Published to commemorate the bicentennial of the British abolition of the slave trade, Brodber's novel The Rainmaker's Mistake (2007) stages a kind of "pilgrim's progress" as her multiple characters move from their understanding of the plantation as an island "paradise" to their awakening to a recognition of slavery, freedom, sustainable agriculture, reproductive futurity, and mortality. Like Anthropocene discourse, it is very much concerned with beginnings and uses allegorical narratives to uncover the various origin stories of the people's broken relationship to agriculture, to the soil, and to the Earth. One of her characters becomes an archeologist, literally exhuming the soil for traces of their genealogical past and their subterranean slave mothers. Like the larger genre of speculative fiction to which it belongs, the novel utilizes many of the characteristic elements of allegory — the story is staged like a quest, and there is ample semiotic play between the concepts of planting and transplantation, roots and rot, seed and semen. Brodber engages the allegories of empire that constituted the naming of enslaved plantation workers by including a cast of characters named Cupid, Essex, London, Jupiter, Venus, Queenie, and Little Congo. Like Anthropocene narratives, the novel is concerned with locating and memorializing the particular history of a rupture between humans and place, earth and Earth, "species" and planet. It is by locating this rupture that her characters feel they are able to enter history. The narrative they uncover, the "rainmaker's mistake," has ecological implications that unleash what Glissant has called a "prophetic vision of the past."
The historical entanglements and ruptures I have foreground here take on spatial effects. Brodber's allegory of Caribbean history is spatialized across different islands; the characters move from their plantation past to a subterranean realm where their entombed slave mothers are buried in the sediment of history. Other locations include the "Norm," the "Future" and the "Pluperfect," a temporalizing of space that the characters visit in their travels and travails to achieve "naturalness." This quest for "naturalness," a place and time when the human was not figured outside of nonhuman nature, is both a concern of Anthropocene writing as well as a larger issue for thinking about how diaspora influences a people's relationship to land, and by extension, narrative. It is integral to Glissant's contention that the violence of plantation modernity alienated humans from nature, a point made all the more visible in the body of Caribbean literature that engages nonhuman nature through the narrative tropes of plants and transplantation and through the figure of the island garden as world. I would like to add to this body of work by engaging Brodber's excavation of an alternative history of roots that are located outside the plantation fields. The Rainmaker's Mistake thus imagines the sustaining roots of the slave provision grounds, allegorizing the concept of roots as it is imagined through one African transplant — the yam — and its acclimatization to Caribbean soil. Her novel provides a vital interrogation of Caribbean historiography, that "instinct and root impulse which returns the better West Indian writers back to the soil," as George Lamming observed, and complicates the recent turn to the Plantationocene which overlooks the more sustaining — and feminized — underground narratives of earth/Earth.
Roots, Plots, and Provision Grounds
Caribbean historical production has mainly focused on the cultural economies of the plantation, turning to the racial terrors of forced agricultural labor to produce such important theories as "transculturation," creolization, and "nation language." In the wake of this production, John Parry has countered that that Caribbean history should be "the story of yams, cassava and salt fish, no less than of sugar and tobacco," suggesting that models of Caribbean historiography have prioritized metropolitan frames of the plantation rather than local production. This remapping has narrative effects. As Sylvia Wynter has argued, Caribbean history and literature can be understood in the socioeconomic divisions between the master's plantation, on the one hand, and the slaves' provision grounds, on the other. Wynter's insights are relevant to how scholars excavate Caribbean history and the ground on which cultural archeology is conducted. In general terms, the plantation is understood to represent Euclidean grids of monoculture, defined as a European social hierarchy and as the commodity cultivation of nonsustainable crops such as sugar and tobacco for external markets. The provision grounds, with their diverse intercropping of Indigenous and African cultivars, are understood as the often unseen — but no less integral — voluntary cultivation of subsistence foods such as yams, cassava, and sweet potatoes that represent edible staples and the economically viable roots of the internal markets. Plantation monoculture drove the logic of the external markets and became the primary lens through which Caribbean historiography was initially written. Yet the diversity of crops grown in the provision grounds was integral to the diets of all social strata of Caribbean slave states and provides a broader ground for cultural archeology, figuring as an important "root" allegory in Brodber's novel. Moreover, this movement to rethink the material histories of the Caribbean outside the plantation system (or through its peripheries) points us to a more complex and lateral understanding of the earth/Earth than the terms "Plantationocene" or "Capitalocene" can provide.
(Continues…)
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Table of Contents
Acknowledgments viiIntroduction: Allegories of the Anthropocene 1
1. Gendering Earth: Excavating Plantation Soil 33
2. Planetarity: Militarized Radiations 63
3. Accelerations: Globalization and States of Waste 98
4. Oceanic Futures: Interspecies Worldings 133
5. An Island Is a World 165
Notes 197
Index 257
What People are Saying About This
“Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey is one on the world’s leading authorities of island cultures and imaginaries in the context of modern imperial history and of economic and environmental globalization more generally. Her innovative, indispensable, and inventive book, Allegories of the Anthropocene, will immediately become a must-read in the environmental humanities, taking its place as an instant classic.”
“Allegories of the Anthropocene is a book of oceanic reach, in every sense. Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey's transformative thinking will reverberate across the environmental humanities, postcolonial studies, and the Anthropocene debates for many years to come.”