book reviews
Global Language Justice – review
In Global Language Justice, Lydia H. Liu and Anupama Rao bring together contributions at the intersection of language, justice and technology, exploring topics including ecolinguistics, colonial legacies and the threat digitisation poses to marginalised languages. Featuring multilingual poetry and theoretically rich essays, the collection provides fresh humanities perspectives on the value of preserving linguistic diversity, writes Andrew Shorten.
Global Language Justice. Lydia H. Liu and Anupama Rao (Eds.)with Charlotte A. Silverman. Columbia University Press. 2023.
Find this book: 
Recently, scholars have been paying closer attention to the relationships between language and justice, leading to two separate but related strands of academic research. On one side, applied linguists are increasingly preoccupied with issues connected to social justice, race and gender. An example of this is Ingrid Pillar’s influential book Linguistic Diversity and Social Justice (Oxford, 2016), which explores how language hierarchies, ideologies and expectations affect people’s access to meaningful work and social participation. On the other side, political theorists are incorporating language into discussions about democracy and distributive justice, exploring how political communities should handle multilingualism and questioning whether people have justice-related claims or duties tied to the languages they use. A well-known example of this is Philippe Van Parijs’s book Linguistic Justice for Europe and the World (Oxford, 2011), which provocatively argues that native English speakers have a duty to compensate non-native English speakers since the latter group’s efforts contribute to a tremendously beneficial public good.
Political theorists are incorporating language into discussions about democracy and distributive justice, exploring how political communities should handle multilingualism
Bringing together linguists with scholars from across the humanities, Global Language Justice throws new light on these and other, related, topics. Emphasising the relationships between language, environment and technology, and featuring both poetry and academic essays, this edited collection brings a fresh perspective on the emerging “ecolinguistics” research agenda, which explores the entanglements amongst struggles to protect biological, linguistic and cultural diversity. The book succeeds in bringing new issues to the fore, especially regarding the challenges of digitisation for language justice and the connections between coloniality and language justice. Another laudable feature of this book is that, far more than is typical for an edited collection of this type, it has the feel of a genuinely collaborative project, with frequent cross-referencing across the different chapters, most of which were first presented at a Mellon Foundation Sawyer Seminar, hosted by Columbia University.
The book succeeds in bringing new issues to the fore, especially regarding the challenges of digitisation for language justice and the connections between coloniality and language justice.
Many of the chapters centre the predicament of Indigenous languages and the experiences of Indigenous language activists. This marks a contrast with both strands of research mentioned earlier, which tend to focus on the claims of sub-state national minorities and, to a lesser extent, immigrants. Careful engagement with Indigenous scholars, activists and communities should prompt a reconsideration of some dominant linguistic and political categories. For instance, Wesley Leonard’s insightful contribution demonstrates how creative attempts to revitalise the once dormant myaamia language, led by Miami people themselves, destabilise assumptions about linguistic purism, language extinction, and the connection between language and identity. Furthermore, situating issues of language justice within a broader context of Indigenous politics and experiences can foreground phenomena often neglected by linguists and language rights scholars. For instance, Daniel Kaufman and Ross Perlin’s chapter reveals how bureaucratic and academic practices can render Indigenous languages invisible in urban metropolises like New York. They argue that this erasure can have material as well as recognitional costs, threatening the health and human rights of Indigenous people.
Whilst the importance of literacy for personal wellbeing, economic growth and gender equality are now well understood, the importance of mother-tongue education for developing literacy in the first place is less widely appreciated.
A second theme that emerges is the importance of language for sustainable development. Suzanne Romaine’s powerful chapter points out that although the most linguistically diverse places are inhabited by some of the world’s poorest people, development policies and practices generally neglect language. For instance, whilst the importance of literacy for personal wellbeing, economic growth and gender equality are now well understood, the importance of mother-tongue education for developing literacy in the first place is less widely appreciated. As a result, schools, states and international agencies still often prioritise the teaching of official and colonial languages, which results in low literacy rates and can have devastating effects for both individuals and society. Particularly striking are the facts that, globally, 40 per cent of people lack access to education in their own language, a proportion that rises to 87 per cent in Africa, where 90 per cent of people also cannot understand the official language(s) of their state.
Some lesser-used languages are virtually impossible to use online because their writing systems are not supported in Unicode, the international standard that ensures text can be reliably transmitted across devices and programmes.
A third theme explored relates to the presence and visibility of minoritised languages online. Isabelle A. Zaugg’s chapter discusses some of the ways in which digital technologies discourage the use of lesser-used languages online and thereby reinforce sociolinguistic inequalities. Part of the explanation for this is that only languages spoken in wealthy countries enjoy a full suite of digital supports, such as tailor-made fonts and keyboards, as well as tools like spellcheck, predictive typing and voice recognition. By contrast, as Deborah Anderson explains in her clear and useful chapter, some lesser-used languages are virtually impossible to use online because their writing systems are not supported in Unicode, the international standard that ensures text can be reliably transmitted across devices and programmes. In the future, encoding the scripts used by minority languages will become ever more essential for language maintenance and vitality, since Unicode underpins a myriad of important practices, from word processing and searching the internet to emailing and posting on social media. However, this process is both technically challenging and resource hungry, raising questions of justice for minority language speakers.
Though it is surely true that language justice requires thinking carefully about other political concepts […] we should be reluctant about abandoning rights-talk altogether.
Finally, a fourth theme of the book is a broad scepticism about language rights, primarily because of the ways in which rights are thought to be bound up with liberal individualism. This is suggested in a few contributions and defended most fulsomely in the chapter by L. Maria Bo. Though rights scepticism has a respectable tradition in political theory, this was one of the less convincing aspects of the collection, not least because the linguistic human rights approach, championed elsewhere by Robert Phillipson and the late Tove Skutnabb-Kangas, was never given a serious run for its money. Though it is surely true that language justice requires thinking carefully about other political concepts (such as democracy, as Madeline Dobie argues in her enlightening chapter on language politics in Algeria), we should be reluctant about abandoning rights-talk altogether. For one thing it is often favoured by language activists themselves, such as Gluaiseacht Cearta Sibhialta na Gaeltachta (The Gaeltacht Civil Rights Movement) active in Ireland in the 1960s and 70s. Furthermore, as Tommaso Manfredini demonstrates in his moving contribution about shortcomings in translation services for asylum seekers in Italy, rights and especially human rights cannot be ignored, since they provide the context and means with which language injustices can be most effectively challenged today.
Liu and Rao’s Global Language Justice is a stimulating addition to the burgeoning academic field of linguistic justice. It offers a fresh perspective from the humanities that will be especially welcome for scholars already immersed in the literatures in applied linguistics or normative political theory. Meanwhile, other readers will find much in its theoretically rich reflections on the predicament of minority languages, and their users, in the twenty-first century.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
Image Credit: Alexandre Laprise on Shutterstock.
Online Philosophy Resources Weekly Update
The weekly report on new and revised entries at online philosophy resources and new reviews of philosophy books…
(If we missed anything, please let us know.)
New:
Freedom of Speech by Jeffrey W. Howard.
Intertheory Relations in Physics by Patricia Palacios.
Revised:
Richard Sylvan [Routley] by Dominic Hyde, Filippo Casati, and Zach Weber.
Biological Individuals by Robert A. Wilson and Matthew J. Barker.
Church’s Type Theory by Christoph Benzmüller and Peter Andrews.
IEP ∅
The Future of the World Is Open: Encounters with Lea Melandri, Luisa Muraro, Adriana Cavarero, and Rossana Rossanda by Elvira Roncalli is reviewed by Chiara Bottici.
Aristotle’s De Motu Animalium: A New Critical Edition of the Greek Text by Oliver Primavesi, translated by Benjamin Morison is reviewed by Pavel Gregoric.
Laisser Être et Rendre Puissant by Tristan Garcia is reviewed by Oliver Feltham.
Seemings: Justifying Beliefs Based on How Things Seem by Kaj André Zeller.
Mary Astell, Philosopher of Education by Michael Vazquez.
Open-Access Book Reviews in Academic Philosophy Journals ∅
Recent Philosophy Book Reviews in Non-Academic Media
A Terribly Serious Adventure: Philosophy and War at Oxford, 1900-1960 by Nikhil Krishnan is reviewed by Michael Dirda at The Washington Post.
Spying Through a Glass Darkly: The Ethics of Espionage and Counter-Intelligence by Cécile Fabre is reviewed by Tamsin Shaw at The New York Review of Books.
Failures of Forgiveness: What We Get Wrong and How to Do Better by Myisha Cherry is reviewed by Gregory Laski at the Los Angeles Review of Books.
Compiled by Michael Glawson
BONUS: The epistemology of romance
The post Online Philosophy Resources Weekly Update first appeared on Daily Nous.
Subversive Archaism: Troubling Traditionalists and the Politics of National Heritage – review
In Subversive Archaism: Troubling Traditionalists and the Politics of National Heritage, Michael Herzfeld considers how marginalised groups use nationalist discourses of tradition to challenge state authority. Drawing on ethnography in Greece and Thailand, Olivia Porter finds that Herzfeld’s concept of subversive archaism provides a useful framework for understanding state-resistant thought and activity in other contexts. A longer version of this post was originally published on the LSE Southeast Asia Blog.
Subversive Archaism: Troubling Traditionalists and the Politics of National Heritage. Michael Herzfeld. Duke University Press. 2022.
“The nation-state depends on obviousness because, in reality, its own primacy is not an obvious or logical necessity at all. It is presented as a given, and most people accept it as such. Implicitly or explicitly, subversive archaists question it” (123).
The excerpt above encapsulates the central thesis of the social anthropologist and heritage studies scholar Michael Herzfeld’s Subversive Archaism: Troubling Traditionalists and the Politics of National Heritage. That being said, that the modern nation-state is widely accepted as the primary unit of territorial and cultural organisation, but that there are a group of people, subversive archaists, who question this rhetoric. Subversive archaism challenges the notion that the nation-state, constrained by bureaucratic organisation and with an emphasis on an ethnonational state, is the only acceptable form of polity. Subversive archaists offer an alternative polity, one legitimised by understandings of heritage that date back further than the homogenous ‘collective heritage’ proposed in state-generated discourses for the purpose of creating a ubiquitous representation of national unity (2). As Herzfeld suggests, subversive archaists instead reach into the past to reclaim older and often more inclusive polities and understandings of belonging, and in doing so, they utilise ancient heritage to challenge the authority, and very notion, of the modern nation-state.
Subversive archaists instead reach into the past to reclaim older and often more inclusive polities and understandings of belonging
Herzfeld examines the concept of subversive archaism through comparative ethnography, drawing on long-term ethnographic fieldwork with two communities: the Zoniani of Zoniana in Crete, Greece, and the Chao Pom of Pom Mahakan, Bangkok, Thailand. At first, the two communities appear geographically and culturally distinctively dissimilar. However, they share one important feature neither country has ever been officially colonised by a Western state. Herzfeld ascribes the term “crypto-colonialism”, a ‘disguised’ form of colonialism, to both Greece and Thailand, as states that despite never being officially colonised, were both under constant pressure to conform to Western cultural, political, and economic demands. Herzfeld explains that such countries place a great emphasis on their political independence and cultural integrity having never been colonised, yet many forms of their independence were dictated by Western powers.
In identifying themselves with the heroic past of the nation state, [subversive archaists] legitimise their own status as rightful members of the nations in which they now find themselves marginalised.
In Chapter Two, Herzfeld explores the historical origins of the images and symbols mimicked by subversive archaists to challenge the dominant, often ethnonationalist, narrative of the nation-state. Subversive archaists ransack official historiography and claim nationalist heroes as their own, and in identifying themselves with the heroic past of the nation state, they legitimise their own status as rightful members of the nations in which they now find themselves marginalised. Rather than reject official narratives, subversive archaists appropriate them, in ways that undermine state bureaucracy. For example, the Zoniani (and many Cretans) do not reject the official historiography of the state, which emphasises continuity with Hellenic culture. In fact, they fiercely defend it, and go one further, by citing etymological similarities between Cretan dialects that bear traces of an early regional version of Classical Greek. In doing so, they make claims that they have a better understanding of history than the state bureaucrats.
Chapter Three explores belonging and remoteness through kinship structures and geographical location. Herzfeld highlights how the nation-state uses the symbolic distancing of communities as remote or inaccessible as a tool to marginalize communities. Pom Mahakan is located on the outskirts of Bangkok, the capital of Thailand, and nowadays Zoniana is accessible by road. Herzfeld argues that the characterisation of these communities as remote and inaccessible is applied by hostile bureaucracies rather than by the communities themselves as an extreme form of intentional political marginalisation.
Zoniani society is still structured by a patrilineal clan system, and Chao Pom society by a mandala-based moeang system. These structures represent an older, and alternative, system of polity to the modern bureaucratic nation-state.
In Chapter Four, Herzfeld proposes that we reframe the assumption that religion shapes cities and instead think about how cosmology shapes polities. In particular, how Zoniani society is still structured by a patrilineal clan system, and Chao Pom society by a mandala-based moeang system. These structures represent an older, and alternative, system of polity to the modern bureaucratic nation-state. For example, the Chao Pom embrace religious and ethnic minorities, arguing that diversity is representative of true Thai society, and that tolerance and generosity are true Thai ideals. The notion of polity itself is the focus of Chapter Five which explores how Pom Mahakan and Zoniana have cosmologically distinct identities that, when conceptualised as part of the same system as the nation-state, both mimic and challenge the state’s legitimacy, thus inviting official violence.
Herzfeld argues that what sets subversive archaists apart from the “state-shunning groups” described by Scott […] is their ‘demand for reciprocal respect and their capacity to play subversive games with the state’s own rhetoric and symbolism’
Herzfeld explains how neither the Zoniani nor Chao Pom fit into the James C. Scott’s concept of “the art of not being governed,” applied to Zomian anarchists who flee from state centres into remote mountainous regions in northeastern India; the central highlands of Vietnam; the Shan Hills in northern Myanmar; and the mountains of Southwest China. Herzfeld argues that what sets subversive archaists apart from the “state-shunning groups” described by Scott, but also makes them representative of a widespread form of resistance to state hegemony, is their “demand for reciprocal respect and their capacity to play subversive games with the state’s own rhetoric and symbolism”. Arguably, the reason that the Zoniani and Chao Pom can demand ‘reciprocal respect’ is related to their ethnic, historical, and cultural affiliation with the majority that marginalises them. The ethnic minorities of Zomia do not benefit from the same types of affiliation.
Ultimately, Herzfeld’s model of subversive archaism offers us an example of understanding how marginalised groups challenge and subvert authority
Ultimately, Herzfeld’s model of subversive archaism offers us an example of understanding how marginalised groups challenge and subvert authority. Herzfeld is not proposing that any given group needs to fit neatly into the category of subversive archaists, but rather how some groups reach back into the past to offer an alternative future. In Chapter Eight, Herzfeld explores the future of subversive archaist communities, and also how subversive archaism might mutate into nationalist, and potentially dangerous, movements. The Chao Pom embrace ethnic and religious minorities on the grounds that acceptance and inclusion are true Thai ideals. However, there are dangers to invoking ideologies attached to ‘true’ ideologies of national cultures and traditions, and other types of communities can utilise the rhetoric of subversive archaism. For example, in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, “antimaskers” use the language of “liberty” and “democracy” against the modern bureaucratic state, seeking to transform the present into an idealised national past.
I was initially sceptical about who qualified as a subversive archaist. At first, the term seemed too rigid, a community had to be marginalised by the state authority, but associate themselves with the majority and use the language of the state to legitimise themselves their alternative polity. Then, the term seemed too broad, it is not specific to a certain geography, ethnic identity, or religion, and can apply to religious and non- religious groups. Subversive archaism might help us make sense of the Chao Pom and the Zoniani, but who are the subversive archaists of the contemporary world? Then, one morning, when listening to a podcast from the BBC World Service covering the inauguration of India’s controversial new parliament building, I heard a line of argument, from the Indian historian Pushpesh Pant, that struck me as being rooted in subversive archaism.
When asked about the aesthetics of the new parliament building, Pant remarked “I think it is a monstrosity… If the whole idea was to demolish whatever the British, the colonial masters, had built, and have a symbolic resurrection of Indian architecture, I would even go, stick my leg out and say Hindu architecture, it should have been an impressive tribute to generations of Indian architectural tradition Vastu Shastra. Vastu Shastra is the Indian science of building, architecture.” He goes on to say: “How does this symbolise India?”
I suspect that given the rise of nationalist movements across the globe, the tools of subversive archaism, rather than subversive archaists groups per se, will become all the more visible.
In invoking the Vastu Shastra, the ancient Sanskrit manuals of Indian architecture, and the Sri Yantra, the mystical diagram used in the Shri Vidya school of Hinduism, Pant demonstrates his deep understanding of ancient Indian architecture and imagery. And in doing so, he highlights the missed opportunities of the bureaucratic state in designing their new parliament building to create a building that was truly representative of archaic Indian architecture. He does what Herzfeld describes as “playing the official arbiters of cultural excellence [here, the BJP] at their own game”. I suspect that given the rise of nationalist movements across the globe, the tools of subversive archaism, rather than subversive archaists groups per se, will become all the more visible.
This book review is published by the LSE Southeast Asia blog and LSE Review of Books blog as part of a collaborative series focusing on timely and important social science books from and about Southeast Asia. This review gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, the LSE Southeast Asia Blog, or the London School of Economics and Political Science.
Main Image Credit: daphnusia images on Shutterstock.
More than a Glitch: Confronting Race, Gender, and Ability Bias in Tech – review
In More than a Glitch: Confronting Race, Gender, and Ability Bias in Tech, Meredith Broussard scrutinises bias encoded into a range of technologies and argues that their eradication should be prioritised as governments develop AI regulation policy. Broussard’s rigorous analysis spotlights the far-reaching impacts of invisible biases on citizens globally and offers practical policy measures to tackle the … Continued
Spiritual Contestations: The Violence of Peace in South Sudan – review
In Spiritual Contestations: The Violence of Peace in South Sudan, Naomi Pendle dissects the interactions between Nuer- and Dinka-speaking communities amid national and international peacebuilding efforts, exploring the role of spiritual culture and belief in these processes. Based on extensive ethnographic and historical research, the book offers valuable insights for scholars and policymakers in conflict management and peace-building, writes Nadir A. Nasidi.
Spiritual Contestations: The Violence of Peace in South Sudan. Religion in Transforming Africa Series, Vol. Number: 12. Naomi Ruth Pendle. James Currey. 2023.
Find this book:
The history of South Sudan includes a series of protracted conflicts and wars, which have attracted the attention of many researchers covering their socio-economic and political dimensions. Following in this vein, Pendle’s Spiritual Contestations explores the interactions between Nuer- and Dinka-speaking communities within the context of national and international peace-making processes. This also includes the role of the clergy and traditional rulers in such processes, which is complicated by politics, sentiments, and the urge to profit from the South Sudan’s protracted conflicts. Pendle also assesses the experiences of ordinary South Sudanese people in peace-making, including their everyday peace-making meetings. The book is divided into three sections and 14 engaging chapters based on the author’s ethnographic and historical research conducted between 2012 and 2022 among the Nuer- and Dinka-speaking peoples.
Pendle’s Spiritual Contestations explores the interactions between Nuer- and Dinka-speaking communities within the context of national and international peace-making processes
Chapter one describes the historical evolution of the hakuma (an Arabic-derived, South Sudanese term for government) in the 19th century and the physical violence which South Sudan has experienced through its mercantile and colonial history, as well as many years of war that influenced contemporary peace-making. It also shows how the hakuma claimed “divine” powers (as a result of god-like rights the government arrogated to itself). Chapters two, three, four and five discuss the contemporary making of war and peace, oppositions to the Sudan government’s development agenda, the 1960s and 1972 Addis Ababa Peace Agreement and South Sudan’s 2005 Comprehensive Peace Agreement. These chapters also examine the Wunlit Peace Meeting, which was a classic example of what the author calls “the ‘local turn’ in peace-making whereby international actors championed ‘local’ forms of peace-making” (35-119).
Chapter seven largely focuses on the escalation of violence in Warrap State as a result of having an indigenous hakuma alongside ever-evolving ideas of land, property, resources, and cattle ownership. Chapters seven to fourteen then focus on the proliferation of peace meetings in Gogrial and the cosmological crisis brought by the years of war (which involves the disruptions or perceived threats to cosmic order and by overarching beliefs about the universe held by the Nuer- and Dinka-speaking communities), a crisis which was met with a proliferation of prophets. This section also covers wars in South Sudan since 2013, the prevalence of revenge in giving meaning to armed conflicts, the post-2013 power of the Nuer prophets, the post-2013 era in Warrap State, and the role of the church in South Sudan’s peacekeeping through the activities of Dinka priests who are popularly known as the baany e biith.
Although the title of the book appears oxymoronic, the author argues that peace remains violent when understood in a context wherein the methods employed to establish or foster peace involve force, suppression, and coercion
Although the title of the book appears oxymoronic, the author argues that peace remains violent when understood in a context wherein the methods employed to establish or foster peace involve force, suppression, and coercion. This is especially true in the context of South Sudan’s “unsettled cosmic polity”; a polity characterised by periods of questioning, restructuring or conflict in response to perceived disruptions of cosmic order and balance, which further push the boundaries of contemporary discourse on the meaning and conceptualisation of peace and peace-making (179-189).
The author further explains how […] religious connotations are used to contest the moral logic of government, particularly in the rural areas of South Sudan
Pendle bases her arguments on the “eclectic divine” and religious influences among communities located around the Bilnyang River system. The author further explains how these religious connotations are used to contest the moral logic of government, particularly in the rural areas of South Sudan. Through this means, the author clarifies how religion and religious assertions shape the peoples’ social and political life. This includes issues such as spiritual and moral contestations, as well as the making and unmaking of norms within the “cultural archive” (including traditional, economic and historical recollections) that reshape the violence of peace, feuds, and its associated political economies. She advances this argument in her study of conflicts over natural resources and cultural rights that are understood as cosmological occurrences by the people of South Sudan, the meanings of war and peace, and the assertion of power within these events.
Pendle states that to understand the real politics and violence of peace-making, one must also understand ‘how peace-making interacts with and reshapes power not only in everyday politics’, but also ‘in cosmic polities’
Pendle states that to understand the real politics and violence of peace-making, one must also understand “how peace-making interacts with and reshapes power not only in everyday politics”, but also “in cosmic polities” (75-99). Looking at the nature of human societies, she concludes that they are largely hierarchical, mostly located within the purview of a cosmic polity that is populated by “beings of human attributes and metahuman powers who govern the people’s fate” (7).
Basing her arguments on Graeber and Shalins’ research, Pendle observes that South Sudanese society’s secular governments and self-arrogating divine powers can pass for a cosmic polity. It is within this context that the South Sudanese Arabic term for government, ‘hakuma’ operates; the term refers not only to government, but to a broad socio-political sphere including foreign traders and slavers.
Pendle also documents the various ways in which South Sudanese people use cultural symbols, rituals, norms, and values, as well as theology, to contest ‘predatory power and to make peace’
Pendle also documents the various ways in which South Sudanese people use cultural symbols, rituals, norms, and values, as well as theology, to contest “predatory power and to make peace” (75). Examples include the Dinka use of leopard skin (which is used for conflict resolution between two warring factions), cultural diplomacy through festivals, as well as the ceremonial blessings of cattle as a symbol of wealth.
The book is not without flaws. The author often oscillates between the use of ordinal and cardinal numbers when a chapter is mentioned Even if this is done for convenience, it is at the expense of chronology and consistency. Although written in plain and straight-to-the-point language, the author’s use of compound-complex sentences throughout the book makes it difficult for readers to comprehend easily.
Considering the ongoing conflicts and wars in and around the South Sudan region, Pendle’s Spiritual Contestations is a timely work. Using a close analysis, the author provides incisive insights into the changing nature of wars and conflicts, as well as the violence of peace among the Nuer- and Dinka-speaking communities. The book is a significant resource for scholars in the field of conflict management and peace-building, international organisations, policymakers and anyone interested in considering the interplay of religion, governance, tradition, peace-making, and conflict management.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
Image Credit: Richard Juilliart on Shutterstock.
Language and the Rise of the Algorithm – review
In Language and the Rise of the Algorithm, Jeffrey Binder weaves together the past five centuries of mathematics, computer science and linguistic thought to examine the development of algorithmic thinking. According to Juan M. del Nido, Binder’s nuanced interdisciplinary work illuminates attempts to maintain and bridge the boundary between technical knowledge and everyday language.
Language and the Rise of the Algorithm. Jeffrey Binder. The University of Chicago Press. 2023
Find this book:
Arguably, the history of what we now call algorithmic thinking is also the history of the consolidation of algebra, mathematics, calculus and formal logic as tools for composing, enunciating, and thinking about abstractions such as “some flowers are red”. But in less obvious ways, Language and the Rise of the Algorithm shows, it is also the history of trying to compute with, and often in spite of, language, to convey a meaningful proposition about the world. In other words, it is the history of ensuring that “red” actually means red – that we are all clear on who sets what red means (for example, experts through definition or ordinary people through usage) and agree on it – and of whether agreeing about these things is what matters when we use language.
The history of what we now call algorithmic thinking […]is also the history of trying to compute with, and often in spite of, language, to convey a meaningful proposition about the world.
Harking back to the 1500s, the first of the book’s five chapters examines attempts to use symbols to free writing from words at a time when vernaculars where plentiful, grammars unstable and literacy rates low. Algebra was not then considered part of mathematics proper but its rules, expressed in spoken language, were used for practical purposes like calculating taxes and inheritance. From myriad writing experiments emerged algebraic symbols: uncertain and indeterminate, they enabled computational reasoning about unknown values, a revolution that peaked when Viète first used letters in equations in 1591 (33-36).
Algebra was not [In the 1500s] considered part of mathematics proper but its rules, expressed in spoken language, were used for practical purposes like calculating taxes and inheritance
Chapter Two explores Leibniz’s attempts to produce a philosophical language made of symbols and unburdened by words, such that morals, metaphysics, and experiences are all subject to calculation. This was not an exercise in spitting out numbers, but with the aim of demonstrating the reasoning behind every step of communication: a truth-producing machine (62-64). The messiness of communication struck back: how can one ensure that all terms and their nuances are understood in the same way by different people? Leibniz argued that knowledge was divinely installed in us, waiting to be unlocked by devices such as his, but Locke’s argument that knowledge comes from sensory experience and requires an agreement over what things mean won the day (79), paving the way towards an emphasis on concepts and form.
Leibniz argued that knowledge was divinely installed in us, waiting to be unlocked […] but Locke’s argument that knowledge comes from sensory experience and requires an agreement over what things mean won the day
Leibniz also sought to resolve political differences through that language. Chapter Three argues Condorcet shared this goal and the premise that vernaculars were a hindrance, but contrary to Leibniz, he believed universal ideas needed to be taught, not uncovered. Condillac’s and Stanhope’s experiments with other logical machines – actual, material devices designed to think in logical terms through objects – epitomised two tensions framing the century after the French Revolution: first, the matter of whether the people, and their vernacular culture, or the learned, and their enlightened culture, should govern shared meanings – that is to say, give meaning – and second, whether algebra should focus on philosophical and conceptual explanations or on formal definitions and rules (121).
The latter drive would prevail, and as Chapter Four shows, rigour came to emanate not from verbal definitions or clarity of meanings, but from axiomatic systems judged on consistency: meanings are irrelevant to the formal rules by which the system operates (148). Developing this consistency would not require the complete replacement of vernaculars Leibniz and Condorcet argued for: rather, symbolic forms would work alongside vernaculars to produce truth values, as with Boolean logic – the one powering search engines, for example. The fifth and last chapter, “Mass Produced Software Components”, rise of programming languages, in particular ALGOL, and the consolidation of regardless of specifics: intelligible, actionable results within a given amount of time (166).
Binder’s rigorous dissection of debates over language, philosophy, geometry, algebra, history and culture spanning 500 years integrates debates that most disciplines today, aside from some strands of media studies and Science and Technology Studies, tend to treat separately
This book is a tightly packed, erudite contribution to the growing concern in the Humanities with algorithms. Binder’s rigorous dissection of debates over language, philosophy, geometry, algebra, history and culture spanning 500 years integrates debates that most disciplines today, aside from some strands of media studies and Science and Technology Studies, tend to treat separately or with a poor sense of their inbuilt connections. A welcome result of this exercise is the historicisation of certain critiques of technological interventions in politics that, generally lacking this kind of integrated, long-range view, we tend to treat as novel and cutting-edge. For example, an 1818 obituary for Charles Mahon, third Earl of Stanhope and inventor of the Demonstrator, a “reasoning machine”, already claimed that technical solutions for other-than-technical problems such as his tend to replicate the biases of their creators (113), and often the very problems they intended to solve. This critique of technoidealism is now commonplace in the social sciences.
A second benefit of the author’s mode of writing is not explicit in the book but is arguably more consequential. From Bacon’s dismissal of words as “idols of the market” in 1623 (15) to PageRank algorithm’s developers’ goal to remove human judgement by mechanisation in the 1990s (200), the book traces attempts across the centuries to free reason and knowledge from language and rhetoric. In doing this, Language and the Rise of the Algorithm effectively serves as a highly persuasive history of the affects, ethics and aspirations of technocratic reason and rule. The book cuts across the histories of bureaucracy and expertise and the birth of governmentality to tell us how an abstraction in how we make meaning work emerged – an abstraction we are asked to trust in, and argue for, partly because it is the kind of abstraction it ended up being.
The book traces attempts across the centuries to free reason and knowledge from language and rhetoric
This is a rich and nuanced book, at times encyclopaedic in scope, and except for a slight jump in complexity and some jargon in the fifth and last chapter, it will be accessible to readers lacking prior knowledge of algorithms, mathematics or language philosophy. It will be of interest to scholars across the social sciences and humanities, from philosophy and history to sociology and anthropology, as well as readers in political science, government studies and economics for the reasons listed above. It could work as course material for very advanced students.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
Image Credit: Lettuce. on Flickr.
Online Philosophy Resources Weekly Update
The weekly report on new and revised entries at online philosophy resources and new reviews of philosophy books…
(If we missed anything, please let us know.)
New:
Revised:
- Feminist Perspectives on Objectification by Evangelia (Lina) Papadaki.
- Implicature by Wayne Davis.
- The Unity of Science by Jordi Cat.
- Max Scheler by Zachary Davis and Anthony Steinbock.
- Aristotle: Epistemology by Joshua Mendelsohn.
- Rational Sentimentalism by Justin D’Arms and Daniel Jacobson is reviewed by Jonas Olson.
- Analytic Philosophy and Human Life by Thomas Nagel is reviewed by A. W. Moore.
Open-Access Book Reviews in Academic Philosophy Journals ∅
Recent Philosophy Book Reviews in Non-Academic Media
- Unshrinking: How to Face Fatphobia by Kate Manne is reviewed by Regan Penaluna at The Chicago Review of Books and by Emmeline Clein at LA Review of Books.
- Why? The Purpose of the Universe by Philip Goff is reviewed by Keith Ward at Church Times.
Compiled by Michael Glawson
The post Online Philosophy Resources Weekly Update first appeared on Daily Nous.
When Disasters Come Home: Making and Manipulating Emergencies In The West – review
In When Disasters Come Home: Making and Manipulating Emergencies In The West, David Keen considers how powers in the Global North exploit, or even manufacture, disasters in the Global South for political or economic gain. Though taking issue with Keen’s engagement with psychoanalysis, Daniele-Hadi Irandoost finds the book an insightful exploration of the global power dynamics involved in disasters and their far-reaching repercussions.
When Disasters Come Home: Making and Manipulating Emergencies In The West. David Keen. Polity. 2023.
Find this book:
In When Disasters Come Home: Making and Manipulating Emergencies In The West anthropological writer David Keen attempts to show how disasters are exploited for political and economic gain. A disaster, as defined by Keen, is “a serious problem occurring over a short or long period of time that causes widespread human, material, economic or environmental loss”. Keen’s analysis deals with two types of disaster in the Global North. The so-called “sudden” or “dramatic” disasters are caused by stark terrorism (eg, the 9/11 attacks), natural causes (Hurricane Katrina), financial and economic recessions (crash of 2007–8), migration crises (Calais), Covid-19, and the war in Ukraine.
Keen attempts to show how disasters are exploited for political and economic gain.
On the other hand, “extended” or “underlying” disasters derive from long-smouldering conditions of economic disparity (eg, globalisation and inequality), considerable changes in climate (deficiencies in the domestic infrastructure), as well as political fragmentation (erosion of democratic norms, etc).
Colonial historiography assumed that disasters were usually confined to the Global South. Incidentally, in his investigative research in the Global South, especially in Sudan, Sierra Leone, Sri Lanka, Keen discovered that the politics of that world were disposed to deliberately make, manipulate and legitimise “famines, wars and other disasters”. This state of affairs enabled certain beneficiary actors to extract political, military and economic benefits.
In his investigative research in the Global South, especially in Sudan, Sierra Leone, Sri Lanka, Keen discovered that the politics of that world were disposed to deliberately make, manipulate and legitimise famines, wars and other disasters
Here, Keen sounds a note of warning. Democracies provide only a fragile protection against disasters, and for six reasons (according to examples across the globe): disasters might be deemed “acceptable”, vulnerable groups do not always have the “political muscle” to guard against disasters, opportunists may seek to maximise profit through the suffering of certain groups, “elected politicians” may “distort” information about a disaster, democracies “may give false reassurance in terms of the apparent immunity to disaster” (emphasis in original), and, finally, a democracy may itself erode over time.
In theorising disasters, Keen endeavours to advance beyond the traditional distinction between the Global North and the Global South.
In theorising disasters, Keen endeavours to advance beyond the traditional distinction between the Global North and the Global South. His purpose is to show that, in the Western world, disasters have “come home to roost”, that the violence of “far away” countries (“whether in the contemporary era or as part of historical colonialism”) has found its way back into the Global North in the form of “various kinds of blowback”.
These “boomerang effects”, to use Keen’s words, “take a heavy toll on Western politics and society” when they are “incorporated into a renewed politics of intolerance” (“internal colonialism”). In particular, Keen says that, in the Global North, we find there is an increasing drive for security by “allocating additional resources for the military, building walls, and bolstering abusive governments that offer to cooperate in a ‘war on terror’ or in ‘migration control’ – … [which] tend not only to bypass the underlying problems but to exacerbate them” (emphasis in original). Additionally, Keen alleges that the expenses of “security systems” suck “the lifeblood from systems of public health and social security, which in turn feeds back into vulnerability to disaster”.
there is an increasing drive for security […which] tends not only to bypass the underlying problems but to exacerbate them
As Keen sees it, disasters either “hold the potential to awaken us to important underlying problems”, or “keep us in a state of distraction and morbid entertainment”, finding it important to consider their causes rather than their consequences.
Keen draws upon a wide selection of literature, covering authors including Naomi Klein, Mark Duffield, Giorgio Agamben, Ruben Andersson, Amartya Sen and Jean Drèze, as well as Michel Foucault, Susanne Jaspers, Arlie Russell Hochschild, Richard Hofstadter, and Nafeez Ahmed, among others. He pays particular attention to the work of Hannah Arendt. Her 1951 work, The Origins of Totalitarianism is a powerful and permanently valuable account of the way in which politics is framed “as a choice between a ‘lesser evil’ and some allegedly more disastrous alternative”.
[Arendt’s] 1951 work, The Origins of Totalitarianism, is a powerful and permanently valuable account of the way in which politics is framed ‘as a choice between a ‘lesser evil’ and some allegedly more disastrous alternative’.
Keen competently summarises her exposition of “action as propaganda,” upon which reality is prepared to conform to “delusions”. From his point of view, “action as propaganda” is represented by five distinct methods namely, “reproducing the enemy” (war on terror), “creating inhuman conditions” (police attacks in Calais), “blaming the victim” (austerity programmes in Greece), “undermining the idea of human rights” (the growing emphasis on removing citizenship in the UK), and “using success to ‘demonstrate’ righteousness” (Trump’s self-proclaimed powers of prediction).
Keen’s discussion of these strategies to exert control resonates with contemporary politics in the UK. One is reminded of the retrogressive character of Home Secretary Suella Braverman’s article for the Times on 8 November 2023, in the context of the Israel-Hamas war and the Armistice Day, suggesting that pro-Palestine protesters are “hate marchers”, and that the police operate with a “double standard” in the way they handle pro-Palestinian marches. This is, of course, one example of the insidious process of “painting dissent as extremism”.
Nevertheless, Keen’s use of “magical thinking”, or “the belief that particular events are causally connected, despite the absence of any plausible link between them”, is one aspect of his argument that struggles to convince. Keen is persuaded that “magical thinking” links up with a well-developed science of psychoanalysis in accordance with Sigmund Freud’s conception of the magical and how people affected by neurosis may turn away from the world of reality. But the impression given by Keen’s economic or anthropological perspective is that he may have overlooked the complexity of psychoanalysis.
Keen is persuaded that “magical thinking” links up with a well-developed science of psychoanalysis in accordance with Sigmund Freud’s conception of the magical and how people affected by neurosis may turn away from the world of reality
Here, we come to two of the chief problems of what “magical thinking” really means. First, according to Karl S. Rosengren and Jason A. French, magical thinking is “a pejorative label for thinking that differs either from that of educated adults in technologically advanced societies or the majority of society in general”. Second, they found, “it ignores the fact that thinking that appears irrational or illogical to an educated adult may be the result of lack of knowledge or experience in a particular domain or different types of knowledge or experience”. It is necessary, therefore, to understand the writings of Freud as the product of their locus nascendi. That is to say, it is dangerous to politicise the processes of psychology, or, to be more exact, to apply them outside the formalities of therapy.
To conclude, When Disasters Come Home is a book to which all those interested in current affairs, geopolitics and development studies must come sooner or later, abounding in illuminating extrapolations on the ruling and official class’s exploitation (or even manufacture) of disasters.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
Image Credit: Kenneth Summers on Shutterstock.
Random Walk: Memoir of an Itinerant – review
In Random Walk: Memoir of an Itinerant, economist Richard Dale reflects on his life and career, tracking his intellectual shift from a believer in free-market economics to a proponent of more stringent regulation. An accessible and engaging read, Dale’s autobiography shares significant insights for those interested in the complexities of financial markets, writes Nicholas Barr.
Random Walk: Memoir of an Itinerant. Richard Dale. Tricorn Books. 2023.
Find this book:
Richard Dale’s autobiography raises an interesting conundrum. He describes jobs in financial markets and academia (many, often multiple), homes (I lost count), properties contemplated (uncountable), academic disciplines explored (economics, law, finance), books authored (nine, including law and finance, and in retirement history and fiction).
The conundrum is whether the story is the “random walk” of the book’s title or something more deliberate. An early chapter describes Dale’s undergraduate days at LSE. Then, as now, LSE was about analytical training, aiming to give students broad, flexible skills applicable to problem solving in whichever areas they ended up. At the time, unlike now, there was relatively little teaching support – in some courses students were given a book list, ie, a list of books, in which they were encouraged to forage to complement lectures.
Dale used the resulting analytical self-sufficiency [from his undergraduate degree at LSE] to qualify as a barrister via self-study, posing the question of whether his account is less random than an early example of a portfolio career.
Dale used the resulting analytical self-sufficiency to qualify as a barrister via self-study, posing the question of whether his account is less random than an early example of a portfolio career. His early career was in financial markets, including working for the Moscow Narodny Bank, Cripps Warburg, and Rothschild’s, a combination of hard work and high living. Partly for health reasons, the second part was primarily academic, initially at the University of Kent, later at the University of Southampton. And threading throughout were entrepreneurial activities such as establishing the International Currency Review, setting up a credit rating service sponsored by the Financial Times, and suggesting and then editing the FT Financial Regulation Report – a life of career success and latterly of financial comfort.
That said, Dale is open about the role of luck (on which see Robert Frank’s excellent book). He describes a childhood heavily financially constrained, but as the book makes clear, the family had solid social capital, so his early life was eased by advice from family contacts and financial help from relatives for school fees (like his father, he went to Marlborough College). Luck also included legendary teachers at LSE, notably the economist Richard Lipsey and political philosopher Michael Oakeshott. As it turned out, a further piece of luck was the departure of his sponsor at Kent University just after Dale arrived, leaving him with an unstructured two years of funding, which he used to write his first well-received book (a reminder of the famous golfer Gary Player’s dictum that “he harder you work, the luckier you get”). Also lucky was the new appointment at Kent University of the eminent lawyer, Rosalyn Higgins, who supported Dale’s attempt to start an academic career, and sponsored him for a two-year Rockefeller Foundation Fellowship. A third view of Dale’s journey, therefore, is as a rolling stone (Mick Jagger was one of his fellow students).
Given my own work on the role of markets – when they work well, and when they don’t – I was particularly interested in Dale’s intellectual journey. In his words,
“Since LSE days I had always had a great admiration for Milton Friedman and the free-market economics of the Chicago School. However, over the years I became increasingly sceptical about the periodic boom-bust cycles of financial markets and the propensity of both equity and credit markets to succumb to bouts of euphoria and panic… I experienced for myself as a fund manager the mad boom-bust years of 1973/76 and I observed the absurd stock market valuations of dot.com and technology companies in the late 1990s which was followed by a spectacular collapse” (200).
That change of view, based on practical experience, was supported by academic research on market failures – imperfect information, behaviour different from narrow economic rationality, search frictions (eg, the fact that it takes time to find a new job) and incomplete contracts – recognised by multiple Nobel prizes this century. Thus, over time Dale moved from a view based on what economists call a rational expectations model, to the more recent emphasis on behavioural finance.
A further reinforcement of Dale’s views is the distinction between risk (where the likelihood of different outcomes is well known, eg, the probability of breaking a leg during a skiing holiday) and uncertainty (where there is a clear risk but little knowledge of its likelihood, eg, future rates of inflation) or whether, when and how artificial intelligence will be beneficial or harmful.
A further reinforcement of Dale’s views is the distinction between risk (where the likelihood of different outcomes is well known, eg, the probability of breaking a leg during a skiing holiday) and uncertainty (where there is a clear risk but little knowledge of its likelihood, eg, future rates of inflation) or whether, when and how artificial intelligence will be beneficial or harmful. It is a fundamental error to conflate risk and uncertainty when analysing financial markets.
Dale became convinced of the need for more stringent regulation, and was prescient in predicting the 2008 financial and economic crisis.
Thus, Dale became convinced of the need for more stringent regulation, and was prescient in predicting the 2008 financial and economic crisis. In doing so, as one of very few experts to sound a warning, he faced considerable – at times personal – pushback, both from finance academics and from practitioners.
During his academic career, Dale straddled the worlds of scholarship and practice. He established a successful MSc in International Banking and Financial Studies at Southampton. In parallel was policy work, including talks at the World Bank and International Monetary Fund, testifying before US Congressional Committees, membership of the European Shadow Financial Regulatory Committee, specialist adviser to the Treasury and Civil Service Committee, and writing books and policy papers (on the last – to my great envy – he developed an ability to write fast with no need for drafts, a skill he shared with his LSE mentor Alan Day who was his tutor and subsequently supported some of his policy activities).
Which brings the story to the third part of Dale’s career, so-called retirement, giving him freedom to pursue a long-standing interest in history, writing a series of books, including on Walter Raleigh, those writings being sufficiently acclaimed to bring him election to a Fellowship of the Royal Historical Society.
Running through the career narrative is Dale’s personal life: a pre-university spell on a kibbutz, influenced by his father, a man with strong socialist views (which made for interesting subsequent conversations with a son working in finance); a long first marriage with children, including “too many jobs [and] too many house moves” and a long, happy second marriage in which he had, “only one employer … and owned only one house (plus a share in another)” (246). He had a very active social life, including meeting friends abroad, sometimes for shared holidays, often with lifelong friends from his student days and early career.
So, a career straddling economics, law and finance, retirement as historian with considerable holiday travel, and a full personal and social life – what, if anything, might be missing?
So, a career straddling economics, law and finance, retirement as historian with considerable holiday travel, and a full personal and social life – what, if anything, might be missing? Some readers might wish to see more context around external events. Dale recounts childhood memories of the 1952 Great London Fog and 1953 coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, but makes little mention of other events relevant to the economy and financial markets such as the collapse of the communist economic system in the USSR and Central and Eastern Europe and the highly consequential Deng Xiaoping economic reforms in the 1970s that underpinned the economic rise of China.
Also relevant are the dramatic changes in technology. Around the time Dale was an undergraduate, LSE installed a new machine; it was called a photocopier. Staff were sent on training courses on how to use and maintain it; students were not allowed anywhere near it. The timeline from there to Facetime (or listening to Test Match Special on a transatlantic flight) is also directly relevant to the operation of financial markets, for example the possibility of high-speed trading.
An engaging and non-technical read, accessible to anyone with an interest in financial markets.
All in all, this is an engaging and non-technical read, accessible to anyone with an interest in financial markets. For me, the core message of the book, which comes through loud and clear, is that financial market regulation matters big time. With complex products, sellers are often better-informed than buyers, creating space for misselling (think 19th century snake-oil salesmen). Precisely for that reason, products like pharmaceutical drugs are heavily regulated. With analogous complexities, the case for regulating financial products is equally compelling.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.
Image Credit: dgcampillo on Shutterstock.
Own This! How Platform Co-operatives Help Workers Build a Democratic Internet – review
In Own This! How Platform Co-operatives Help Workers Build a Democratic Internet, Trebor Scholz presents platform co-operativism as a fairer, more sustainable alternative to the extractive capitalist model digital work. While he acknowledges the challenges of building a movement to compete with platform capitalism, Scholz persuasively argues that embracing diverse forms of co-operativism can create a more democratic digital future, writes Lola Brittain.
Own This! How Platform Co-operatives Help Workers Build a Democratic Internet. Trebor Scholz. Verso. 2023.
In the past few years, the new forms of work ushered in by the hyper-extractive business model of “platform capitalism”, have come under increased scrutiny. This has generated interest in paths of contestation and potential alternatives. One such alternative is platform co-operativism. Fusing the co-operative ownership structure, most commonly associated with the Rochdale pioneers of 1840s England, with the technology of digital platforms, platform co-ops promise to deliver a fairer and more sustainable form of digital work.
Fusing the co-operative ownership structure, most commonly associated with the Rochdale pioneers of 1840s England, with the technology of digital platforms, platform co-ops promise to deliver a fairer and more sustainable form of digital work.
The fusion was first proposed in concrete terms by Trebor Scholz in 2014. Since then, Scholz has done much to conceptualise and popularise the practice as the head of the Platform Cooperative Consortium; a digital space dedicated to supporting the establishment, growth, and conversion of platform co-ops.
Own This! How Platform Co-operatives Help Workers Build a Democratic Internet is his latest contribution. The book offers a panoramic overview of platform co-operativism and a vision for what its future might entail, drawing on case studies from Cape Town to Manhattan. It claims that platform co-ops are not a “figment of utopian imagination” but a reality that are already transforming the digital economy and that, with the right help, support and ecosystem, they can achieve a significant impact at a global scale.
The book offers a panoramic overview of platform co-operativism and a vision for what its future might entail, drawing on case studies from Cape Town to Manhattan
The book begins with an analysis of the issues faced by platform workers that will now be familiar to many: meagre wages, extreme risk, excessive surveillance, and management via algorithm. For Scholz, this is a consequence of the lack of workplace democracy that is attributable to the concentration of ownership within the hands of a few. This is not a new issue, of course, but it has been taken to the extreme by major technology corporations in the past two decades.
The solution to abject exploitation, according to Scholz, is for workers to collectively leverage platform technologies to forge democratically owned and governed businesses.
The solution to abject exploitation, according to Scholz, is for workers to collectively leverage platform technologies to forge democratically owned and governed businesses. Through analyses of many thriving real-world examples, such as Up&Go (an umbrella domestic work co-operative) and the Drivers Co-operative (a ride-hailing co-operative), he demonstrates that worker-ownership offers more equitable value distribution, higher pay, increased algorithmic transparency and security, a greater sense of dignity and improved wellbeing.
The potential of platform co-operativism to deliver improved outcomes for workers is contrasted to alternative attempts to elicit change, specifically by “compelling” major technology corporations to do better. He argues that several of the largest players have actively sought to prevent pro-worker legislation and that they are unwilling to democratise the workplace or improve conditions.
This is of course true in some cases. But there are examples where platform companies have been forced and/or persuaded to alter their practices, through direct worker action, community pressure and action-research. Scholz discusses prospects for worker action in chapter five. Here, he argues that even “successful strikes” do not necessarily generate workplace power and control and that, in turn, unions should embrace co-operativism as an alternative mode of platform worker organisation.
This is a pertinent suggestion, especially considering the recent ruling by the UK Supreme Court that Deliveroo workers cannot be recognised as employees or represented by trade unions in collective bargaining. But, of course, starting a co-operative is not possible for all, and Scholz acknowledges that platform co-operatives should not be expected to out-compete the major platform companies. To that extent, change – as he has noted elsewhere – will require a combination of strategies.
Starting a co-operative is not possible for all, and Scholz acknowledges that platform co-operatives should not be expected to out-compete the major platform companies. To that extent, change […] will require a combination of strategies.
The book is not solely focused on platform worker co-operatives, though. Conceptualising platform co-operativism as the Swiss army knife of organisational models, Scholz touches on an array of different forms, from producer co-ops to multi-stakeholder co-ops and data co-ops. This is all to say, that platform co-operatives are far from a “homogenous force”; they come in a variety of shapes and sizes and produce a variety of benefits, not simply for workers but for communities and consumers too.
Chapter three, in which Scholz tackles the perceived challenges of size (or, indeed scalability), is particularly interesting. Here, he confronts both a critique of platform co-operativism and an ongoing debate within the movement. The critique is that platform co-operatives are unlikely to scale. The debate is whether they should even attempt to; is scale simply growth in new clothes? He claims not, arguing that co-operative scaling is about securing “the best possible overall outcome/return”. This can be achieved by scaling “up” via the expansion of the size of the operation; but also “out” through the replication of a model in different geographic location; and “deep” by nurturing the existing organisation to create added value for stakeholders. This nuanced three-dimensional framework is an appreciated intervention in debate that often tends to focus, narrowly, on size alone.
More generally, it speaks to his broader strategy for the growth of the platform co-operative movement, which can be summarised, simply, as pragmatism. He is clear, at several points within the book, that his intention is to expand the movement and attract as many “allies” as possible. This means creating ample space for different approaches and experiments. It also means rejecting ideological fixity. In chapter seven – a letter set in the year 2035, written in the tradition of social speculative fiction – he rejects James Muldoon’s association of platform co-operativism with socialism, arguing that the movement must remain a “big tent” under which many political philosophies can exist.
Not only does Own This! advocate for a collective appropriation of platforms themselves; it also seeks to wrestle ownership of the imaginaries surrounding the development of the platform economy out of the hands of major corporations.
Thus, while he is pragmatic in his approach, his vision is incredibly ambitious in scope. He imagines a near-future, twelve years from now, in which an international network of co-operatives, containing socialists, anarchists, disgruntled VC (Venture Capitalist) bros and everything in-between, is thriving. In Scholz’s vision, this network is being actively promoted and supported by 80 governments around the world, as a pivotal pillar of the response to climate change and poverty elimination. In this respect, not only does Own This! advocate for a collective appropriation of platforms themselves; it also seeks to wrestle ownership of the imaginaries surrounding the development of the platform economy out of the hands of major corporations.
Is the network that Scholz envisions possible? There are certainly many green shoots. But, as an “unfinished story of co-operative principles in the digital economy,” the book shows that there are many questions that the movement is yet to confront. This includes the ways in which regulation could be designed to support platforms co-operatives, and how democratic governance can be managed and maintained if platform co-operatives do scale.
Overall, though, the book is a critical documentation of an evolving and genuinely impactful movement. Weaving multiple real-world examples through analyses of key topics – not simply scale and union relations, but also value and prospects for data democratisation – it succeeds in vividly bringing the concept to life, whilst identifying paths for future research. As such, it will no doubt serve as a call to action for those interested in constructing an alternative digital future.
This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science.
Image Credit: Roman Samborskyi on Shutterstock.