Volume XII: 2016 Special Edition

The Future of History VOLUME XII

An annual publication of undergraduate historical scholarship at the University of Toronto Š Copyright 2016 ISSN 1916-5765

A desire to resist oppression is implanted in the nature of man - Tacitus (56-117 AD) Roman Historian & Senator

STAFF & CREDITS

JOURNAL DIRECTORS:

Gonzalez, Ana O’Shaughnessy, Haley

CONFERENCE DIRECTORS:

Shahed, Alif Sparks, Sevda

LAYOUT & DESIGN:

Chowdhury, Mahdi Lee, Janet

It would have not been possible to publish this special issue of The Future of History in conjugation with the HSA Conference without the generous contributions of : Munk School of Global Affairs, Bill Graham Centre for Contemporary International History, The University of Toronto History Department, & Arts and Science Students Union.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1

REDS: ETHNIC INVOLVEMENT & LEADERSHIP IN THE WINNIPEG GENERAL STRIKE Graham Coulter

16

THE UPRISING OF ALL BELIEVERS: AN ANALYSIS ON THE REFORMATION AS A SOCIAL MOVEMENT Keith Garrett

26

RACELESS NATION: RESHAPING MEXICAN AND CUBAN NATIONALISM

34

THE POLITICS OF VISIBILITY, AND THE JOY OF GAY SEX AS A HISTORICAL OBJECT David Marshall

46

WOMEN AS WEAPONS OF WAR IN THE CASE OF BOSNIA

DIRECTORS’ INTRODUCTION This issue’s cover photo is the face of a protestor with cream-covered eyes, a small way to protect from the state’s ongoing assault of its citizenry with tear gas. It was May 1, 2014 in Istanbul, a day where thousands of people joined together to defy Turkey’s ban on May Day rallies, only for the state to deploy riot police and violently attack these anti-AKP activists. As the Journal Directors, we hope to centre these people in this special issue of The Future of History with the theme, “Brutalities of Progress: Revolution, Resistance, and Social Movements.”

After reviewing several submissions, we have chosen five papers that we believe represent the University of Toronto’s Department of History at its finest. We begin with Graham Coulter’s “Reds: Ethnic Involvement & Leadership in the Winnipeg General Strike,” which challenges the traditional narratives of General Strike as a purely English-led movement. In doing so, Coulter refocuses our attention to the role of Ukrainian immigrants, the very same people who were criminalized and deported as “Bolshevik foreigners” under the First Red Scare. Next we turn to Keith Garrett’s “The Uprising of All Believers: An Analysis on the Reformations as a Social Movement,” which maintains that the European Reformation was a bottom-up process in the early 1520s and thus acted as a popular movement. Our third selection is Mariafrancesca Morifini’s “Raceless Nation: Reshaping Mexican and Cuban Nationalism,” which reviews the work of José Martí and José Vasconcelos to discuss the intersection of racial unity and racelessness with nationalism as method of combatting European colonial ideologies and white supremacy. Next we have David Marshall’s “The Politics of ibility and the Joy of Gay Sex as a Historical Object,” which conducts a close reading of Edmund White and Charles Silverstein’s The Joy of Gay

Sex. This work, which was in a defiant response to the gay-shaming of Alex Comfort’s The Joy of Sex, in turn enabled new gay subjectivities and representations. For our last and final piece, we have Adriana Cefis’ “Women as Weapons of War in the Case of Bosnia,” which evaluates the insufficiencies of UN Security Council’s resolution 1820 within its original context, the Yugoslav Wars.

We would like to thank our entire editorial staff, particularly our Design Editors Janet Lee and Mahdi Chowhdury, as well as the HSA President Priya Soundranayagam and the Conference Directors Alif Shahed and Sevda Sparks. Their support and labour was invaluable to the journal.

Equally, we would like to thank the students who provided us with a wonderful range of submissions. We encourage everyone to submit their essays for The Future of History’s annual edition for the 2015-2016 year.

- HALEY O’SHAUGHNESSY & ANA GONZALEZ

REDS: ETHNIC INVOLVEMENT & LEADERSHIP IN THE WINNIPEG GENERAL STRIKE Graham Coulter The Winnipeg Trades and Labour Council (TLC) met on May 6, 1919, as they did every Tuesday in the Labour Temple. After an unusually cold spring night, rain was falling, but the room was crowded to capacity.1 Most of those in attendance were representatives of the Building Trades Council and the Metal Trades Council, there to convince the Winnipeg TLC to support them in their strikes with a general walkout. The General and Building Trades Union was predominantly led by and comprised of Ukrainian immigrants, already on strike for the past five days; the Metal Trades Council had been out since May 2, their third strike in the past three years. Midway through the meeting a note was handed to the secretary, Ernie Robertson, who announced that a “worker of German origin” had been arrested while “visiting” metal trades shops on the instruction of his local. A number of men immediately volunteered to go to the police station and demand that he be freed. They soon returned to the hall with the German worker, at which point he gave an “impromptu” speech, charging government support for the employers.

Although it apparently caused a sensation, “it was nothing, however, to the one delivered by R. B. Russell… the fiery Scot….”2 So goes David Bercuson’s account of the lead up to the Winnipeg General Strike. His description of the anonymous “worker of German origin”--the only non-English striker mentioned in this chapter of Irving Abella’s classic On Strike--as “visiting” rather than organizing for the Metal Trades Council illustrates the propensity by the labour movement and by extension labour historians to ignore the role of non-Anglo leadership in this conflict.

Labour activism was strong among ethnic minorities in 1

Winnipeg, but their role in the Winnipeg General Strike has been underrepresented in traditional analyses. The life of an eastern European working-class immigrant in Winnipeg was characterized by seasonal work, poverty, squalor, and class stratification. The drive to maintain strong ethnic community ties and become involved in the labour movement was therefore reflected in rising rates of union membership and strike action. In this paper, I focus primarily on the role of Ukrainian immigrants in the lead up to the Winnipeg General Strike.3 They not only developed their own ethnic labour and political associations in the city, but were also involved in the wider labour movement in various capacities.

Three main factors would contribute to government and industry suspicion, internment, and even extradition of ethnic minorities during and immediately after the First World War: increased union activity, xenophobia and the rhetoric of eugenics, and the success of the Russian Revolution and vocal support for Bolshevik ideas by both Anglo and non-Anglo workers.4 In the wake of the Russian Revolution, fear of enemy aliens progressed to fear of Bolshevism and union activity within Canada. This was especially true regarding the efforts of unions such as the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), which sought to organize unskilled immigrant labour. Violent anti-alien sentiment, particularly among veterans, culminated in government repression of union activity, which itself served to further unify and radicalize labour in the fight for better working conditions. Despite this unity, “foreigners” were kept out of public leadership positions in the Winnipeg General Strike in order to gain wider popular support. In the end, however, the strike failed.

Because the British trade unionists who filled the leadership roles during the Winnipeg General Strike insisted that no ethnic minorities were involved at higher levels of strike planning and operations, it has been difficult for historians to discover the extent of their role. The stereotype of the “foreign” worker of this period as a disinterested, solitary, ignorant, and willingly exploited “sojourner” rather than an invested member of the working-class community is perfectly illustrated in the description of Bercuson’s German visitor-cum-organizer.5 This is a historically limiting archetype. The role of central and eastern European immigrants in the western 2

Canadian labour movement during and immediately after the war was left ambiguous until the publication of such studies as Donald Avery’s Dangerous Foreigners. This work has heavily influenced consequent scholarship, particularly in the last few years. Ian McKay, Daniel Francis, and Reinhold Kramer and Tom Mitchell follow Avery’s lead, offering a similar yet extended perspective on ethnic involvement in labour activities.

The Winnipeg strikes of the late 1910s could not have been sustained without the support of often uncredited non-British labour activists. It seems likely that the German worker arrested in Bercuson’s account of the May 6 meeting was Jacob Penner, a labour activist of German, Russian, and Mennonite extraction who was linked to the Jewish community. He was active in developing alliances between Jewish, German and English socialist groups, using the Ukrainian Labour Temple as a meeting place. Penner was one of the “young ethnic militants” who appeared at the Immigration Board hearing on December 13, 1918.6 Police reports indicate that he was “fully engaged,” not only with German and English socialist locals and the Labor Church, but also in arranging workers’ meetings during the strike and on the Defense Committee during the trials of the strike leaders. As Ian McKay says of Penner, “it would have been difficult to maintain the strike without drawing upon the experience and energy of radical leaders with roots in ethnic communities, given the demographic composition of the city.”7 Yet even long after the strike, the role of ethnic union activists was minimized by both witnesses and historians. Rev. J. S. Woodsworth long insisted that “the strike had been entirely misrepresented. I know the details intimately. Without hesitation I say that there was not a single foreigner in a position of leadership, though foreigners were falsely arrested to give color to the charge.”8 Although this statement was made long after the end of the strike, it served much the same purpose as the initial attempt to validate the labour movement by disassociating it from “enemy aliens” and “Bolsheviki” ideas in the climate of the Red Scare.

Before the First World War, Winnipeg’s North End was one of the largest immigrant enclaves in Canada, around 50 percent of whom were Slavic and Jewish people.9 The working poor, predomi3

nantly new immigrants, tended to cluster there, where housing was more affordable and community supports were already in place.

Housing was grossly overcrowded, infrastructure such as sanitation was inadequate, employment was often cyclical due to seasonal fluctuations in demand, and wages were tight.10 This fueled their resentment and the drive to organize and establish unions in the period 1907-1921.11 During the First World War, there were few wellpaid munitions jobs in the West, and with the rapidly rising cost of living--between 50 and 75 per cent over the course of the war-real wages declined precipitously.12 Inflation together with widely perceived incidents of war profiteering by industrialists led many immigrant workers to seek redress through more radical means.

Union membership in Canada almost doubled between 1915 and 1919, rising from 143,000 to 378,000. Likewise, strike activity rose significantly, from less than 100,000 lost work days to 3.4 million.13 Like their British counterparts, many continental and eastern European workers had exposure to ideas of collective action.

They had a history of involvement in benevolent societies, socialist parties, trade unions, and labour actions including general strikes in Italy in 1904 and Finland in 1905, and the first Russian revolution of 1905, which began with a series of industrial strikes in Odessa, Kiev and Baku.14 Union action in the old country was not limited to the cities: while there was little industrial development in Galicia and Bukovyna, in 1902 over 100,000 Ukrainian agrarian workers there refused to work on the large estates.15 Many of these workers were therefore quickly integrated into the labour movement in Canada.

In many industry-based unions, however, where Ukrainians represented a minority of the workforce, their election to leadership positions was rare. As a result their involvement often began within ethnic associations, such as the Ukrainian Socialist Labour Committee, formed in Winnipeg in 1907.16 Ukrainian socialists placed considerable emphasis on cultural and ethnic values; though this garnered them a great deal of support within their local ethnic population, it also caused significant tension with the Anglo-Saxon leadership of the Socialist Party of Canada. Consequently, Ukrainian socialists formed the Ukrainian Social Democratic Federation in February 1910 with headquarters in Winnipeg. Members of the USDF were 4

instrumental in the formation of the Canadian Social Democratic Party that same year, and because this federation was less doctrinaire than the SPC, it united the varying ideologies of British labourites and various Eastern European socialist groups.17 Ukrainians were also deeply involved in union organizing and establishment. Matthew Popovitch, William Kolisnyk, and other Ukrainians helped form the General and Building Trades Labourers’ Union in Winnipeg with the collaboration of British unionists in May 1917. By the end of that month, they had almost 650 members, primarily eastern Europeans, as well as French Canadians, Icelanders, and Italians. Because the employers’ association refused to recognize the union on the basis that it contained “enemy aliens” whose wages might be sent back to Germany or Austria, they were forced to strike in June of that year.18 The union won recognition within a month, and afterward Popovich, a Ukrainian, was recognized by the strikers for his leadership. Despite their victory, twenty-three men were arrested, and the unnaturalized strikers among them were sent to an internment camp in Cochrane, Ontario.19 The response of government and employers to the strike is indicative of the even more heavy-handed response that was to come during the general strike two years later, directly targeting radical “enemy aliens” for internment and eventual deportation. Labour activism and strikes were clearly seen as subversive activities of the enemy, intended to hold industry hostage while the nation was at war.

As labour activism and ethnic involvement therein increased during the war years, government and industry became more suspicious of radicalism in ethnic communities. This fear of industry-devastating labour unrest--and worse, even political revolution--would intensify government efforts to spy on, subvert and extradite “enemy alien” radicals after 1917. Canada’s government and business elites and indeed most of the comfortable upper and middle classes blamed the increased labour militancy not on inflation, inadequate wages and working conditions, or class inequality and segregation, but rather on German agents, syndicalist unions such as the IWW, and “foreign” Bolshevik propaganda.20 The huge influx of non-British immigrants provoked anxiety amongst established Canadians that their society was becoming 5

a “mongrel.”21 In a 1919 article in Maclean’s magazine entitled “Is Bolshevism Brewing in Canada?,” the author warned that after the brutal loss of life in World War I, “The country has been stripped of much of the good old Anglo-Saxon stock, and its place has largely been taken by workmen of foreign extraction, many of them of enemy nationality. That is the root of the whole matter.”22 It was widely believed that the “feeble-minded” peasant immigrants were “the degenerates of Europe,” and thus particularly susceptible to Bolshevik ideas. The only way to remove this threat to society was through forced emigration.23 In the minds of many Canadians, hatred of the German “Hun” became synonymous with a fear of Bolshevism, and any east-central European was suspect as a radical “enemy alien.”24 The motivations of unions were increasingly suspect. The same Maclean’s article illustrates not only the fear of Bolshevism in the wake of the Russian Revolution but the fluidity of that term to encompass any sort of labour unrest. The article also accused the IWW of striking not for improved conditions but to deliberately destroy business, the war effort, and indeed democracy itself, thus associating organized labour with the enemy in wartime: Their idea of the strike is not for higher wages or shorter hours, but to make labor so expensive for the employer that he would eventually be obliged to let his workers take the plant. Being international in its scope, [the IWW] has always fought earnestly against the sentiment of patriotism. It is anti-political, being utterly opposed to the ballot. It has conducted a strong anti-military campaign…. The great weapon of the I. W. W. is sabotage.25 It is fitting that Maclean’s targeted the IWW. Unlike traditional craft-based unions, which had little interest in the unskilled, itinerant “foreign” workers, the IWW was a North American syndicalist union that undertook the organization of immigrants in the period leading up to the First World War. The IWW’s structure allowed it to organize these workers: union dues were low, membership was transferable, and it encouraged all members to organize others.26 The effect of their organizing was demonstrated by the 6

Canadian Northern railway strike of 1912, which according to the British Columbia Federationist, mobilized “the most heterogeneous army of slaves that any system of production ever assembled together.”27 As the war progressed, newspapers that published in “enemy alien” languages (such as the USDP’s Robotchny Narod), the IWW, and many socialist and anarchist political parties were banned outright by government order-in-council in September 1918, just before war’s end; most of these organizations were specifically associated with ethnic groups. The deportation of radicals also became commonplace.28 Ethnic groups did not tolerate the increasing repression without opposition, however. By early spring of 1919, the federal government had received numerous petitions from ethnic organizations threatening to leave Canada, thus causing a labour shortage in “certain kinds of work which Anglo-Saxons will not undertake”; they demanded “British justice,” such as freedom of association.29 The repression was actually a unifying force for labour, and it encouraged an environment of confrontation and such radical action as a general strike.30 The frustrations of many of these immigrants would later be expressed in a document prepared by the strike Defense Committee: “The bosses love the alien when they can use him to break strikes. In fact in many cases he was brought here for that purpose.”31 In the months leading up to the strike the government and the Citizens’ Committee of 1000 tried to win the support of the returned soldiers by fanning the flames of nativism among them.32 This was not difficult as resentment for the “Hun” and “enemy aliens” (now directed toward nearly any unnaturalized immigrant) was ingrained in the veterans and exacerbated by the belief that “the enemy” now occupied the jobs that the largely unemployed soldiers felt they deserved. On January 28, 1919, vigilante mobs of soldiers moved throughout the city, attacking foreigners, socialist and ethnic organizations, and private property.33 The business of Sam Blumenberg, a Romanian Jew, was ransacked and his wife pulled into the streets and made to kiss the Union Jack. Although he was not one of the official strike leaders, he was in the upper echelons of Winnipeg’s labour movement and had spoken at a number of meetings 7

in the winter of 1918-19 in support of the Russian Revolution. Two days prior, the veterans ransacked the office of the Socialist Party, “beat up several foreigners,” and threw a piano out of the window of the German club.34 In response, rather than arresting the rioters, the government of Manitoba attempted to appeal to the veterans’ nativism by establishing the Alien Investigation Board, which made it more difficult for unnaturalized immigrants to obtain work or keep existing jobs.35 The board also deported a number of workers they labelled radical “enemy aliens” between February and May.36 Despite the attacks on prominent supporters, the strike committee also felt they needed to curry the veterans’ favour during the Winnipeg General Strike.37 While the three major veterans’ associations eventually agreed to give their “full sympathy with the purpose of the present strike,” they stipulated “...that after the strike is settled labor and the returned soldiers will get together to discuss the deportation of enemy aliens.”38 The strike committee seconded the soldiers’ demand for the deportation of “undesirable aliens” and further restrictions on immigration as it viewed the success of the strike as relying heavily on presenting it as a non-ethnic, Anglo-Canadian struggle. This meant the strike committee was not only espousing internationalism and class solidarity on the one hand, but nativist and borderline xenophobic sentiment on the other.

On May 15 at 11 a.m., 1,500 workers walked off the job at Winnipeg’s Electric Railway Company; by day’s end, they were joined by 30,000 unionized and nonunionized workers, with 94 of 96 unions in the city fully participating.39 That the composition of the strike committee, dubbed the Winnipeg Ten, was completely British in origin was in high contrast to involvement in, and leadership of, recent strikes in the city.40 Why were “foreign elements” virtually excluded from the leadership of this struggle? Ian McKay argues that the strike, if mishandled, “risked bringing armed violence and mass arrests down upon vulnerable people and indispensable allies including countless Jewish and Ukrainian comrades….The ‘foreign radicals’ were… located at the very heart of the struggle; without their support it could not succeed.”41 Because at the outset of the strike, British subjects could not be deported for radical activity, it may have been decided that for the non-Anglos’ safety, all 8

leadership positions should be held by British subjects. This strategy was successful and support for the strike was relatively widespread.

However, the Citizens’ Committee continued to play to fears of alien involvement in the strike. On June 3, it paid for advertisements in many local dailies implicating alien “Reds” as strike leaders and for their subversive wartime activity: There are some 27,000 registered alien enemies in Winnipeg district. The same “Reds” who are prominent leaders in this strike, led them during the war to hamper and block in every conceivable way, recruiting our reinforcements and supplies from going forward to the front. The demand pouring in on our Citizens’ Committee from thousands of loyal citizens that the alien question has reached the limit of endurance and must be dealt with now is receiving your Committee’s grave consideration.42 The strikers’ efforts to both protect and distance themselves were for naught, however. Midway through the strike, at the request of the Citizens’ Committee, the federal government introduced changes to the Immigration Act to increase their power to deport radicals. The next day, after immediate objections from Citizens’ Committee leader A. J. Andrews that the legislation had missed the main point--to deport the British leaders of the strike--an amendment was passed to include British-born radicals. These changes were the least debated in Canadian history, passing in a mere forty-five minutes.43 On June 17, most of the strike leaders were arrested, along with four “foreign” radicals who were not publically affiliated with the strike: the aforementioned Sam Blumenberg; Michael Charitinoff, editor of Rabotchny Narod; an American, Oscar Schoppelrie; and Moses Almazoff, a student of Russian-Jewish origin. All but Almazoff were initially ordered deported by an Immigration Board of Inquiry, but most simply crossed to the United States rather than return to their country of origin.44 The strike Defense Committee later said of these arrests that “the general public conception is that these latter were arrested along with the English-speaking accused, in order to give the much desired foreign coloring to the case.”45 9

That same day, the Ukrainian Labour Temple was raided, their records seized and their printshop destroyed, along with the homes of Matthew Popovich and other Ukrainian activists.46 The end of the strike came on “Blood Saturday,” June 21, when RNWMP and constables of the Citizens’ Committee fired on demonstrators, killing two--Mike Sokolowski and Steve Szczerbanowicz--and wounding thirty others. Thirty-one foreign rioters (most from Ukraine) were arrested, and of these thirteen were sent to an internment camp in Kapuskasing, Ontario.47 Despite the British character of the Winnipeg General Strike’s public leadership, ethnic involvement in labour activism in Winnipeg was extensive during this period, but their involvement in the strike was minimized to secure wider popular support. Participation in the labour movement often began at the community level, through ethnic associations and political groups like the USDP. As well, union membership in general increased from the turn of the century until 1919, in large part due to the involvement of unskilled “foreign” workers through unions like the IWW. The Red Scare and xenophobic sentiment of the time often manifested itself in the form of surveillance, arrest, internment and deportation of radical “enemy aliens.” Combination, protest, and strikes became necessary for many to secure better treatment. With increased activism, however, came increased repression and suspicion of labour, and this disjunct only served to exacerbate relations between workers and their employers and government, culminating in the Winnipeg General Strike of 1919.

10

WORKS CITED Avery, Donald. “Dangerous Foreigners”: European Immigrant Workers and Labour Radicalism in Canada, 1896-1932. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1979.

Bercuson, David. “The Winnipeg General Strike.” In On Strike; Six Key Labour Struggles in Canada, 1919-1949, ed. Irving M. Abella, 1-32. Toronto: James Lewis & Samuel Publishers, 1974.

“Daily Data Report for May 1919,” Climate, Environment Canada, last modified Sept. 22, 2015. http://climate.weather.gc.ca/climateData/dailydata_e.html?timeframe=2&Prov=MB&StationID=3703&dlyRange=1872-03-01|1938-07-31&Year=1919& Month=5&Day=01.

Francis, Daniel. Seeing Reds: The Red Scare of 1918-1919, Canada’s First War on Terror.

Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press, 2010.

Fraser, Thomas M. “Is Bolshevism Brewing in Canada?” Maclean’s 32 (Jan. 1919). https:// archive .org/stream/macleans32torouoft/macleans32torouoft_djvu.txt.

Hiebert, Daniel. “Class, Ethnicity and Residential Structure: The Social Geography of Winnipeg, 1901–1921.” Journal of Historical Geography 17, no. 1 (1991): 56-86. doi:10.1016/0305-7488(91)90005-G, http://resolver.scholarsportal.info/resolve/03057488/ v17i0001/56_cearstsgow1.

Kramer, Reinhold, and Tom Mitchell. When the State Trembled: How A.J. Andrews and the Citizens’ Committee Broke the Winnipeg General Strike. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2010.

Martynowych, Orest T. Ukrainians in Canada: The Formative Period, 1891-1924.

Edmonton: Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies Press, 1991.

McKay, Ian. “The Race Question” and “War, Revolution, and General Strike.” In Reasoning Otherwise, 345-495. Toronto: Between the Lines, 2008.

Penner, Norman. Winnipeg 1919: The Strikers’ Own History of the Winnipeg General Strike. Toronto: J. Lewis & Samuel, 1973.

“Saving the World from Democracy,” The Winnipeg General Sympathetic Strike.

Winnipeg: Defense Committee, 1919. http://brittlebooks.library.illinois.edu/ brittlebooks_open/Books2009-06/winnde0001wingen/winnde0001wingen.pdf.

Williams, Jack. “The Winnipeg General Strike.” In The Story of Unions in Canada, 122-32.

Don Mills, Ont.: J.M. Dent, 1975.

1 “Daily Data Report for May 1919,” Climate, Environment Canada, last modified Sept. 22, 2015, http://climate.weather.gc.ca/climateData/dailydata_e.html?timeframe=2&Prov=MB&StationID=3703&dlyRange=1872-03-01|1938-07-31&Year=1919&Month=5&Day=01.

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2 David Bercuson, “The Winnipeg General Strike,” in On Strike; Six Key Labour Struggles in Canada, 1919-1949, ed. Irving M. Abella (Toronto: James Lewis & Samuel Publishers, 1974), 15, 16.

3 Other ethnic minorities such as Jews also played a significant role in the labour movement in the city, however length restrictions have kept me from exploring both communities and the relationship between them.

4 Orest T. Martynowych, Ukrainians in Canada: The Formative Period, 1891-1924 (Edmonton: Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies Press, 1991), 434-35.

5 See Donald Avery,” Dangerous Foreigners”: European Immigrant Workers and Labour Radicalism in Canada, 1896-1932 (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1979), 49, for a brief description of the sojourner’s disinterest in actions that affected his employment opportunities.

6 Reinhold Kramer and Tom Mitchell, When the State Trembled: How A.J. Andrews and the Citizens’ Committee Broke the Winnipeg General Strike (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2010), 355, n. 146.

7 Ian McKay, Reasoning Otherwise (Toronto: Between the Lines, 2008), 476. Later, in Winnipeg North, Penner was elected as a Workers’ Party candidate, defeating former strike leader Bob Russell, running on behalf of the Socialist Party (Williams, 43). In the 1930s, Penner and Matthew Popovich were involved in the Communist Party in the city (Avery, 127).

8 Jack Williams, “The Winnipeg General Strike,” in The Story of Unions in Canada (Don Mills, Ont.: J.M. Dent, 1975), 131-32.

9 Daniel Hiebert, “Class, Ethnicity and Residential Structure: The Social Geography of Winnipeg, 1901–1921,” Journal of Historical Geography 17, no. 1 (1991), 74, doi:10.1016/0305-7488(91)90005-G, http://resolver.scholarsportal.info/resolve/03057488/v17i0001/56_cearstsgow1; Kramer and Mitchell, “The Winnipeg General Strike,” 32.

10 Avery, “Dangerous Foreigners,” 50.

11 Ibid., 45-47; Heibert, 77.

12 Bercuson, “The Winnipeg General Strike,” 4.

13 Martynowych, Ukrainians in Canada, 434. Williams’s Unions in Canada has slightly different figures: 166,164 in 1914 to 378,047 in 1919 (107).

14 Avery, “Dangerous Foreigners,” 48. Heibert, “Class, Ethnicity and Residential Structure,” 76.

15 Martynowych, 16, 18.

16 Avery, “Dangerous Foreigners,” 63. Martynowych, Ukrainians in Canada, 440-41.

17 Avery, 60. This did not stop scrutiny and bitter mocking of the Anglo union man in Robochny Narod (61).

18 Martynowych, 428-29. In fact, only 16 percent of the union was composed of unnaturalized enemy aliens.

19 Avery, “Dangerous Foreigners,” 72; Martynowych, Ukrainians in Canada, 435; McKay, Reasoning Otherwise, 475.

20 Martynowych, Ukrainians in Canada, 436.

21 Daniel Francis, Seeing Reds: The Red Scare of 1918-1919, Canada’s First War on Terror (Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press, 2010), 179.

22 Thomas M. Fraser, “Is Bolshevism Brewing in Canada?,” Maclean’s 32 (Jan. 1919), 34, https://archive.org/stream/macleans32torouoft/macleans32torouoft_djvu.txt.

23 Francis, Seeing Reds, 179-81.

24 Francis, Seeing Reds, 84.

25 Fraser, “Is Bolshevism Brewing in Canada?,” 35.

26 Avery, “Dangerous Foreigners,” 53.

27 April 5, 1912, ibid., 54. In the face of government collusion in the import of strikebreakers, this strike inevitably failed (56).

28 Avery, “Dangerous Foreigners,” 75; Martynowych, Ukrainians in Canada, 437. Banned groups included: Industrial Workers of the World, Russian Social Democratic Party, Russian Revolutionary Group, Russian Social Revolutionists, Russian Workers’ Union, Ukrainian Revolutionary Group, Ukrainian Social Democratic Party, Social Democratic Party, Social Labour Party, Group of Social Democrats of Bolsheviki, Group of Social Democrats of Anarchists, Workers’ International Industrial Union, Chinese Nationalist League, Chinese Labour Association (Fraser, “Is Bolshevism Brewing in Canada?,” 34).

12

29 Avery, “Dangerous Foreigners,” 78. One Toronto newspaper stated that 150,000 Europeans were preparing to leave. According to a royal commission on many industrial relations, called hastily on April 4, 1919, despite the need for workers to do tasks “that white men don’t want,” many industrialist agreed that the only way to solve the problem of labour unrest was to hire more Anglo-Canadians who would “co-operate.”

30 Francis, Seeing Reds, 89.

31 “Saving the World from Democracy,” The Winnipeg General Sympathetic Strike (Winnipeg: Defense Committee, 1919), http://brittlebooks.library.illinois.edu/brittlebooks_open/Books2009-06/winnde0001wingen/winnde0001wingen.pdf, 77.

32 Kramer and Mitchell, When the State Trembled, 16, 112.

33 Avery, “Dangerous Foreigners,” 76-77; Francis, 93.

34 Francis, Seeing Reds, 96; Kramer and Mitchell, When the State Trembled, 15.

35 Francis, Seeing Reds, 98.

36 Avery, “Dangerous Foreigners,” 81.

37 Norman Penner, Winnipeg 1919: The Strikers’ Own History of the Winnipeg General Strike (Toronto: J. Lewis & Samuel, 1973), 52-54.

38 Ibid., 111-12; Kramer and Mitchell, When the State Trembled, 109.

39 Kramer and Mitchell, When the State Trembled, 11; Bercuson, “The Winnipeg General Strike,” 17.

40 Strike leaders included Roger Bray, George Armstrong, John Queen, Bob Russell, Dick Johns, Bill Pritchard, William Ivens, Abraham Heaps, J. S. Woodsworth, and Fred Dixon (Francis, Seeing Reds, 216).

41 McKay, Reasoning Otherwise, 477.

42 Manitoba Free Press, June 3, 1919, quoted in “Saving the World from Democracy,” 112.

43 Francis, Seeing Reds, 194.

44 Ibid., 209-10.

45“Saving the World from Democracy,” 215 46 Martynowych, Ukrainians in Canada, 441.

47 Ibid, 441.

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14

THE UPRISING OF ALL BELIEVERS: AN ANALYSIS ON THE REFORMATION AS A SOCIAL MOVEMENT Keith Garrett In a bizarre mix of religiosity, apocalypticism, and crudity, the German preacher Thomas Munzter warns in 1524 that God will end the world, if only on account of those “foolish scrotum-like doctors of theology prattle.”1 Here he was referring to the clergy, and in this criticism he was not alone: the sixteenth-century was the period of the Reformation, in which religious upheaval split Christendom into Catholic and Protestant traditions. While calls for change in the clergy like Munzter’s were commonplace, the actual nature of the Reformation remains a major debate within historical scholarship. The traditional understanding describes a magisterial Reformation, that is, a process largely conducted by elites; however, since the 1960s, a revisionist school has instead purported that the Reformation was in fact a bottom-up process.2 This paper will argue in favour of the latter, maintaining that the Reformation was a popular movement.

First, this analysis will be confined to both rural and urban Germany and Switzerland in the 1520s; by the end of the 1520s, the Reformation would indeed become a largely top-down process. Still, while the popular Reformation would eventually succumb to official suppression, this should in no way diminish the fact that a popular Reformation did take place. Nor does this paper deny the presence of reformers amongst the elites, only that alongside them existed a social movement from below. Second, a social movement must be defined. Drawing on sociological sources, a social movement must involve numerous persons that possess a collective identity, and that these collective actors must attempt to transform society through immediate and non-institutional means.3 As such, this paper will 16

demonstrate that the upheaval of the 1520s Reformation constituted a social movement that was evangelical and anti-clerical in nature: broadly speaking, this means it supported some degree of religious renewal based on the gospel.4 In order to be thought of as a cohesive movement, the village and urban unrest of Switzerland and Germany must exemplify a trans-regional evangelical movement beyond localized civil strife. The widespread force of anticlericalism then can serve as an ideological underpinning of popular Reformation in the 1520s, one that stands as a single collective group in opposition to the old Church establishment.5 Evidence of lay urban anticlericalism are abundant enough, yet the writings of Nuremberg’s Hans Sachs give a particularly rich social dimension to the movement. A shoemaker, Sachs in his 1523 allegorical poem “The Nightingale of Wittenberg” compiled grievances against the Church and defended Lutheranism, views which resonated with the urban laity the poem undergoing seven popular editions.6 Notably, Sachs also denounced the clergy for the crushing countryside tithe, which peasants, beginning in 1524, were refusing to pay.7 Yet Sachs was just one of many lay reformers in Nuremberg, with others, including the painter Hans Greiffenberger and lay preachers like Diepold Peringer, reaching illiterate lay audiences through visual and oral communications. Anticlerical sentiment amongst urban laymen can be quickly ascertained through the popularity of anticlerical tracts and preaching, and in turn stress common identity throughout an array of Swiss and German towns.

As for the German and Swiss countryside, anticlericalism manifested through protest of the tithe, as described firsthand by Zwinglian preacher Johannes Stumpf in his “Reformation Chronicle,” which notes a peasantry hostile to the Church.8 This general identity present both in rural and urban Switzerland and Germany should by no means suggest that the popular Reformation was entirely uniform and consistent, as there existed a vast theological variance amongst the common participants.9 Such variance explains why anticlericalism is such powerful tool of analysis: it is inclusive enough to present a single theme of civil unrest and to allow the lay Reformation to be seen for what it was: a popular movement that stood in opposition to the Catholic establishment.10 17

However, the upheavals of the 1520s have to be more than a simple opposition movement in order to be fully linked to a popular Reformation: to qualify as a social movement, a vision or underlying goal is necessary, and to be part of the Reformation, these objectives must be evangelical in nature. And, indeed, the popular Reformation did have an overarching aim: to rebuild society on communal tradition and the gospel and to demand the renewal of Christianity predicated on socioeconomic grievances.11 This concept of a communal Reformation links shared aspirations in town and country with its broad basis in Lutheranism, such as the priesthood of all believers found in Martin Luther’s “Address to the Christian Nobility,” the revolutionary implications of which were harnessed by the lower social strata.12 Yet to be certain, the laity did not simply use religious language to articulate materialistic demands. In their vision, authority was to be fundamentally biblical. The urban communal Reformation from below was realized to a degree in Zurich under the evangelical rule of Ulrich Zwingli, whose religious reforms are surmised in his Sixty-Seven Theses of 1523.While serving a primarily propagandistic function, the Theses nevertheless provided a clear statement of what the popular Reformation sought to achieve, at least in theory.13 The evangelical elements of the Theses were clear enough, with much of the Catholic tradition, such as the mass, steadfastly rejected. Yet the communal elements are also apparent: society was to be based on and governed by Biblical divine law. This meant that all other existing human law and doctrine, including imperial or noble authorities, were deemed irrelevant. This regional autonomy also extended to Rome: Zwingli’s Theses undercut papal authority by recognizing Christ as the only eternal high priest. Zwingli’s reforms had a profound influence on the German popular Reformation, providing a source of inspiration and imitation and serving as an excellent embodiment of the communal evangelical society that the urban popular Reformation strived to attain.14 However, the communal Reformation was by no means limited to townships, with there existing a rural counterpart also defined by a demand for political and social communalism based on an evangelical interpretation of Scripture. As for the rural counter18

part to Zwingli, the German Peasants War of 1524 to 1525 would be defined by a demand for political and social communalism based on an evangelical interpretation of Scripture.15 The peasants’ goals were articulated in “The Twelve Articles of the Upper Swabian Peasants”; though authored by a lawyer, the document was nevertheless popular with the peasantry, undergoing twenty-seven editions and acting as the basis for later, often handwritten, peasant demands.16 The evangelical nature of the document is readily apparent: the prologue drew on the Gospel and proposed exclusively reformist theological mediators. The communal elements were in the articles to follow: the community was to have the right to elect an evangelical pastor and to end the clergy’s extra-legal status. Most radically, Article 3 attacked serfdom with an appeal to Christ’s redemption as the basis for all human freedom. A Lutheran concept, Christian liberty accentuated the significance of evangelical Biblicism as a justification for societal change, with divine law serving as the legitimizing principle of the Peasants War.17 However, this movement should not be misconceived as a demand for freedom for all: the peasants’ main objective was to strengthen the authority of the landholding male peasantry, excluding both the landless and women.18 Nevertheless, the Peasants War, along with other rural disturbances throughout Germany and Switzerland, meets the criteria of demanding social change in the form of evangelical communalism, furthering the Reformation’s position as a social movement.

Finally, and most crucial to its recognition as a popular force, the Reformation must prove to have been involved in immediate and rapid collective action perpetrated through non-institutional means, such as by-passing established procedures and pre-empting the decisions of authorities.19 To see this aspect of the Reformation, one can look to the German town of Zwickau. Despite having a pro-Lutheran city council, a popular evangelical movement arose here independently and indeed in opposition to mainstream officialdom. This was evident through a wave of lay urban unrest in 1522, the most dramatic being the storming of the Cistercian abbey of Grunhain, long a symbol of the old Church. It was a clear protest against the established Catholic tradition by the middling and lower classes, one that in the following year allowed for the holding 19

of weddings and the slaughtering of calves during Lent, a Catholic period of penance during which luxuries, like festivities or the consumption of meat, are prohibited.20 Clearly more than mere riotous behavior, the common people of Zwickau were engaging in targeted public protests, ranging from satires to subversion to violent attack.

This demonstrates a withdrawal of legitimacy from the existing channels of power and a resort to direct action by the laity.21 Importantly, a town elite sympathetic to Lutheranism did not necessarily diminish the strength of the popular movement: if anything, the council’s overall approval of moderate evangelicalism only served to further push the more radical evangelical public towards a direct, non-institutional course.22 These incidents in Zwickau were typical within the broader wave of evangelical urban unrest that swept Germany and Switzerland in the early 1520s.23 While this unrest did not affect every German and Swiss town, with many of the over two-thousand German towns lacking sufficient records, there are significant examples of protests in over two hundred towns.24 Upon analysis, it is fair to conclude the Swiss and German laity, lacking official power but demanding evangelical change, acted out against established authorities, taking direct action to further the Reformation cause.

As for the countryside of Southern Germany and Switzerland, during the German Peasants War, peasants were assembling themselves in “armies” that had a quasi-political status, claiming to express the collective will of regions that, unlike previous rebellions, transpired feudal borders. These communal entities withdrew obedience to landlords, seeking arbitration.25 The most significant organizational form to emerge from the rebellion in Germany was the Christian Union of Upper Swabia in 1525. In a letter written to the local authority Archduke Ferdinand, the association wrote as a single, cohesive group, demonstrating their level of confidence and organization.26While the document’s language accommodated authority, its very existence was a testament to the unconventional, almost revolutionary means utilized by the rebels. Peasants were gathering outside of traditional villages, forming political organizations and making demands of their lords on the grounds of the gospel. Admittedly, the Peasants War did not affect all of Germany 20

or Switzerland, existing primarily in Southern Germany. 27 Nevertheless, the Reformation movement did reach the countryside in a radical, popular and above all non-institutional form.

In conclusion, the Reformation in Germany and Switzerland during the 1520s was largely a process from below: the common people, united in anticlerical sentiment, pushed for the evangelical, communal reform of society through means outside of, and in opposition to, traditional power structures. Thus the Reformation, at least for the common people, was not a movement of a lone charismatic preacher but rather a social movement with a collective actor at its centre.28 No matter how much Martin Luther disavowed it, the popular Reformation did indeed exist and was just as much a part of the history of the Reformation as the events in Wittenberg. Luther may not have grasped this, but the historian certainly should.

21

WORKS CITED Appold, Kenneth G. The Reformation: A Brief History. London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011.

Baylor, Michael, ed., The Radical Reformation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991.

Blickle, Peter. “Communal Reformation: Zwingli, Luther, and the south of the Holy Roman Empire.” In The Cambridge History of Christianity Volume 6: Reform and Expansion 1500–1660, edited by Po-Chia R. Hsia, 73-89. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007.

Cameron, Euan. The European Reformation. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991.

Dixon, Scott. Contesting the Reformation. London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012.

Friesen, Abraham. Reformers, Radicals and Revolutionaries: Anabaptism in the Context of the Reformation Context. Elkhart: Institute of Mennonite Studies, 2013.

Johnston, Pamela and Bob Scribner. The Reformation in Germany and Switzerland.

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993.

Stayer, James M. The German Peasants’ and Anabaptist Community of Goods. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1991.

Scott, Tom. “The Common People in the German Reformation.” The Historical Journal 34 (1991): 183-192. Accessed October 17, 2015. doi:10.1017/S0018246X00013996 Scribner, R. W. Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany.

London: Hambeldon Press, 1987.

Volger, Gunther. “Imperial City in Transition, 1524-1525: The Reform Movement inTransition.” In The German People and the Reformation. Edited by R. Po-Chia Hsia, 33-50.

London: Cornell University Press, 1991.

1 Michael Baylor, ed., The Radical Reformation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 7.

2 Scott Dixon, Contesting the Reformation (London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 89.

3 R. W. Scribner, Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany (London: Hambeldon Press, 1987), 150.

4 Euan Cameron, The European Reformation (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 10.

5 Peter Blickle, “Communal Reformation: Zwingli, Luther, and the south of the Holy Roman Empire,” in The Cambridge History of Christianity Volume 6: Reform and Expansion 1500–1660, ed.

Po-Chia R. Hsia, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 75.

6 Gunther Volger, “Imperial City in Transition, 1524-1525: The Reform Movement in Transition,” in The German People and the Reformation. ed. by R. Po-Chia Hsia. (London: Cornell University Press, 1991), 42.

7 Ibid, 45.

8 Bob Scribner and Pamela Johnston, The Reformation in Germany and Switzerland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 72.

22

9 Ibid, 83.

10 Ibid.

11 Ibid.

12 Euan Cameron, The European Reformation, 50.

13 Johnston and Scribner, The Reformation in Germany and Switzerland, 51-53.

14 James M Stayer, The German Peasants’ and Anabaptist Community of Goods (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1991), 34. To note, following Zwingli’s takeover of Zurich in 1523, reform would be implemented in a top-down approach.#. Nevertheless, prior to this, all the precepts of the popular reform movement existed in Switzerland and thus does little to diminish this paper’s analysis. See ibid.

15 Johnston and Scribner, The Reformation in Germany and Switzerland, 63.

16 Ibid.

17 R. W. Scribner, Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany (London: Hambeldon Press, 1987), 87.

18 Ibid, 90.

19 Ibid.

20 Ibid, 88.

21 Ibid.

22 Ibid.

23 Tom Scott, “The Common People in the German Reformation,” The Historical Journal 34 (1991): 190 Accessed October 17, 2015, doi:10.1017/S0018246X00013996.

24 Kenneth G Appold, The Reformation: A Brief History (London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2011), 43.

25 James M Stayer,. The German Peasants’ and Anabaptist Community of Goods, 43.

26 R. W. Scribner, Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany, 88.

27 Ibid.

28 Ibid.

23

RACELESS NATION: RESHAPING MEXICAN AND CUBAN NATIONALISM

In the final stages of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century, Latin American states were exploited and dominated by European powers and ideas. Though some nations were still colonies while others had already gained independence, prevailing European influences existed due to the historical power of whites born in Latin America, also called Creoles. This Creole ideology had roots in the age of European enlightenment, but it was predominantly influenced by the Social Darwinism and scientific racism that came later in the period. While some continued to justify the supremacy of whites, it increasingly was rejected by independence leaders such as José Martí and influential philosophers like José Vasconcelos. Though these communities had been colonized with European values, their independence movements sought to create their own cultural identity. The rhetoric brought forth by Martí and Vasconcelos, begging their nations to appreciate and build upon their own society rather than replicating foreign ideas, is what shaped the various independence movements of Latin America. This paper will argue that in rejecting the European ideology of Social Darwinism and white supremacy, Martí and Vasconcelos prompted for the creation of a new culture and nationalism that was based on the notion of racial unity, racelessness, and creating a national identity outside of a European context in order to have an effective and democratic government. This would be the major force to the Latin American independence movements and revolutions of the period, particularly for the cases of Cuba (1895-1898) and Mexico (1910-1920).

As Social Darwinism became a spectacle of European science, it was used by Creoles to defend their supremacy in society.

26

Fearful of a Haitian social revolution being replicated in Cuba, the whites worked to maintain strong bonds with the crown in Spain.1 They advocated in support of scientific theories by Charles Darwin and Herbert Spencer, claiming that whites were the strongest, most intelligent race. This ideology gave birth to what was viewed as the “Indian problem,” whereby the indigenous and mestizos were seen as obstacles to progress of society.2 To the misfortune of the Creoles, this idiom backfired, as it elevated the feeling of segregation between races and exploitation by the white minority. As historian Ada Ferrer argues, it was this kind of increased ostracism of racialized people, now the majority, that sparked a Cuban revolution on October 10, 1868.3 Led by the Liberation Army, this revolution was unprecedentedly multiracial and began the nationalistic basis for racial unity. This term is defined as a national solidarity in spite of race, as Cuba was transformed into a land where there were “no whites not blacks, but only Cubans.”4 This was crucial to the formation of a new culture and nationalism because it was rooted in a Latin American refusal to accept the European ideology that justified exploitation.

Thus, Latin America’s newly borne culture and nationalism was based on anti racism, and has acted as the foundation for the state-driven idea of raceless. This concept was coined by Ada Ferrer, but created by José Martí. In his essay Nuestra America, he argued that the Latin American “struggle is not between civilization and barbarity, but between false erudition and Nature.”5 He denied the Darwinist ideology of the supreme race as being responsible for the “civilization” of the Latin Americans, and rather considered it a fabricated knowledge used to justify unmerited acquisition of rule over the continent. As for José Vasconcelos, he brought this rhetoric closer to the notion of racelessness in his essay La Raza Cósmica. specific ethnic groups were either ignored or generalized in Vasconcelos’ vision of a future Latin America. For example, immigrant Asians were never mentioned, while the Mestizos and the Indigenous peoples were both vaguely categorized under “the Indian” and ‘“the Mongol.”6 Still, the historical context surrounding La Raza Cósmica must be considered. Instead of arguing that he merely replaced one racism for another, it would be more appropriate to see his work 27

under the raceless ideology. He portrayed an opportunity for Latin America, explaining a world where “all human types and cultures will be able to fuse with each other.”7 In advocating for the fusion of “types,” he proposed eliminating the differentiations between ethnicities, hence creating a nation where the concept of race did not exist.

The notion of racelessness would play a critical role in the development of independence movements and the creation of Latin American nationalism, particularly in the case of Cuba. In going against European eugenic thought, Martí considered race as a socially constructed concept, eliminating any reason why Cubans should be governed by anyone but themselves. As such, he argued that European ideologies or models of government could not be applied to Latin America, because they did not originate there.8 Martí claimed that, “To know one’s country and govern it with that knowledge is the only way to free it from tyranny.”9 According to him, the art of government was successful only as long as it was conscious of its people, therefore rejecting the presence of foreign and imperialistic elements. How could Spain rule Cuba if it did not know what it meant to be Cuban? This acted as the basis for the independence movement because it questioned the effectiveness and plain fairness of Spanish rule in Cuba. As such, he urged Cubans to study their country and history in order to govern their own people, rather than accept oppressive rule by foreign entities.

This kind of nationalism united the Latin American people, with a thirst to administer themselves rather than by often exploitative foreigners. Octavio Paz, a Mexican writer and diplomat, would write thirty years after the Mexican Revolution ended on the subject of nationalism in his collection of essays, The Labrynth of Solitude.

He praised the work of Vasconcelos, and brought an essential principle to the creation of a new culture and history for Latin America.

He spoke of the relationship between the Spanish-decent tradition and the Latin American one, claiming, “The former … never accepted us, never discovered us, and our whole history.”10 He pushed Martí’s argument of the colonizer not knowing its population further: Spain was not simply unaware of the Mexican people, their culture and history; it was not willing to learn. Social Darwinism 28

ultimately belittled Latin American tradition to such an extent that the government justified denying it entirely. Paz showed how the roots of the new nationalism rejected the foreign elements in their government. This goes back to Vasconcelos’ ideology, given that he also believed in the potential of Latin America if it were to be governed by its own people. While advocating for the “fusion” of cultures, he stressed against the European way of building white nations in South America by exterminating all other races.11 Again, the growth of nationalism was based on the denial of further foreign government. Latin Americans strove to create their own system of administration, refusing to be further subjected to the ways of unknowing rulers.

The nationalist beliefs that shaped the independence movements in Latin America were based on the need to create a new culture outside the boundaries of their European colonizers’ values. In fearing the possibility of a black republic, the whites of Cuba used the new European ideologies of Social Darwinism to justify their exploitation of the darker skinned population. This was detrimental to their position in society, as the resulting increased segregation created a racial unity. This was best presented in the Liberation Army, where Cubans, no matter what race, came together to fight against the imposing Spanish crown. Martí brought forth the idea of Cubanness over race, creating the concept of racelessness. This was different from racial unity because it denied the very existence of race. Rather than uniting because of a common race, Latin Americans were to unite because of a common nationality. This gave rise to the rejection of European presence, because of the idea that an effective government had to know its people. As such, nationalism created a need to for Latin America to create a culture and history of its own.

29

WORKS CITED Burns, E. Bradford. “Neocolonial Ideologies,” in Problems in Modern Latin American History, 91-96. Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014.

Ferrer, Ada. “A Raceless Nation,” in Problems in Modern Latin American History, ed. E. James Woods, 104-109. Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014.

Martí, José. “Our America,” in Problems in Modern Latin American History, 113-115.

Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014.

Paz, Octavio. “Education and the Mexican Revolution,” in Problems in Modern Latin American History, 115-118. Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014.

Vasconcelos, José. “The Cosmic Race,” in The Mexico Reader: History, Culture, Politics, ed. Gilbert M. Jospeh and Timothy J. Henderson, 15-19. NC: Duke University Press, 2003.

1 Ada Ferrer, “A Raceless Nation,” Problems in Modern Latin American History, ed. Woods, E. James (Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014), 104.

2 E. Bradford Burns, “Neocolonial Ideologies,” Problems in Modern Latin American History. (Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014), 92.

3 Ferrer, “A Raceless Nation,” 105.

4 Ibid., 106.

5 José Martí, “Our America,” Problems in Modern Latin American History. (Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014), 114.

6 José Vasconcelos, “The Cosmic Race,” The Mexico Reader: History, Culture, Politics, ed. Gilbert M. Jospeh and Timothy J. Henderson, (NC: Duke University Press, 2003), 15-19.

7 Ibid, 16.

8 Martí, “Our America,” 114.

9 Ibid., 115.

10 Octavio Paz, “Education and the Mexican Revolution,” Problems in Modern Latin American History. (Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014), 117.

11 Vasconcelos, “The Cosmic Race,” 17.

30

31

The Politics of Visibility, and the Joy of Gay Sex as a Historical Object David Marshall

Part 1 “If there’s someone you trust completely, you might ask him to join you in an experiment. Have him sit in a chair and look at you while you study yourself in a mirror. Tell him all the things you like about yourself -- your wry smile, big eyes, powerful neck, skin color, even the chipped tooth that you secretly pride yourself on.

Naturally this orgy of self-regard will embarrass you at first, but it is curative . . . Finally, don’t let anyone put you down. What it all boils down to is setting your own standards for judging your looks rather than submitting to the standards (either real or imagined) of other people. In order to achieve this independence you must begin by wanting to please yourself at least as much as you want to please the people around you.”1 What kind of value did reading this passage have to gay men in 1977?

At this point in history, North America was in the midst of rapid social transformation, but the emerging politicized gay community was not gaining the same degree of social acceptance. The Joy of Gay Sex, written by Edmund White and Charles Silverstein, was a defiant response to the total disavowal and exclusion of non-heterosexual relationships in Alex Comfort’s The Joy of Sex, one of the most central texts in the Sexual Revolution. The manner in which Comfort sheds so much of the shame surrounding heterosexual sex, while still problematizing and ignoring homosexual relationships, is illustrative of the lasting, negative, and pervasive effects 34

of the available cultural discourses on non-heterosexual people in this period. In The Politics of Aesthetics, and other texts referenced

by Tomasz Basiuk, Jacques Rancière theorizes that politics and aesthetics are fundamentally linked, as politics must proceed through aesthetic reconfigurations that enable new kinds of subjectivity, new realms of visibility, and new forms of political intelligibility. “The political is understood as the coming into visibility of a new political subject, which entails a reconfiguration of the aesthetic scene (i.e. that which is seen) as much as of the political scene.”2 The existing sphere of aesthetics and representation in the 1970s not only pathologized and shamed homosexuals, but also kept invisible the alternative ways of conceptualizing gay self and gay lifestyles emerging in large cities.

White and Silverstein use various aesthetic tactics in the writing, structuring, and presentation of The Joy of Gay Sex that result not just in a new gay representation, but also in a new gay ontology, discourse, and political vision. Aesthetic means are used to challenge circulating pathologies, stigmas, relationship norms, ideas of masculinity, and hierarchies of value that previously shamed, inferiorized, and oppressed gay people as homosexuals. The core of its achievement is in its aesthetic-political challenge to circulating understandings of gay sex, in which rather than merely being a source of oppression, shame, and inferiority that homosexuals needed to learn to manage and cope with, it is presented as a lifestyle with the potential to be beautiful, fulfilling, and political.

Valerie Peterson observes that in The Joy of Sex, Comfort imitates the cookbook format as a way of sidestepping the stigmatizing discourses on sexuality available at the time. Rancière argues that successful aesthetic-political interventions work through combining a rational argument with a metaphor that makes the argument intelligible and restages the debate.3 The cookbook structure, with different kinds of sexual activities presented as having different placement within a meal or role in a gourmand sensibility, allows sex in all its variety to be presented with very little implied judgement on the part of the author.4 However, she observes that Comfort still uses this structure to establish a hierarchy of sexual acts, by making acts such as missionary position hetero sex appear as 35

central or fundamental “main dishes” while he presents others such as anal sex or bisexuality as more fringe curiosities.5 It is worth observing that White and Silverstein do not duplicate this structure in The Joy of Gay Sex, but instead organize the book alphabetically by heading, resulting in even less implied judgment on the part of the authors. Unlike The Joy of Sex as well, significant portions of the book are used to discuss ways of coping with the shaming and oppressive effects of living as gay men in a heterosexual society.

The interesting effect of interspersing passages on “Coming Out,” “Cruising,” or “Queer Baiting” with passages on the advantages of particular sex positions is that the sexual activity of gay men itself takes on a political quality. The first political-aesthetic effect is that gay sex is portrayed as having the potential to produce as much connection and intimacy as heterosexual sex, intervening in a circulating idea that gay sex is always anonymous, shame-inducing, and not very meaningful. It also presents gay sex as a way for gay men to connect with and value each other and their community, countering the divisive, pathologizing effects of other discourses at the time.

The physical appearance of The Joy of Gay Sex is also highly significant. In imitating the appearance of The Joy of Sex, White and Silverstein intervene in and appropriate Comfort’s discourse, and radically produce the same visibility of gay sex as Comfort creates of heterosexual sex. Like in the book by Comfort, images of sex between gay men are depicted in an explicit, yet sensitively rendered style by a skilled artist, as other images reference historic instances of homosexuality. The difference between the two is that making gay sex visible in the same way in 1977 was not nearly as neutral or welcomed to the sensibilities of the general public as showing heterosexual sex, as demonstrated by the widespread censorship of books depicting homosexuality. As Sweetland and Christenson point out in a statistical study of purchasing decisions by public libraries, books on homosexuality, or sexuality, especially those with images, are some of the most likely books to be omitted from library collections.6 The same strategy White and Silverstein use to demand visibility can in many cases be used to justify demands to conceal it.

Though The Joy of Gay Sex is strongly connected to the gay liberation movement, White and Silverstein avoid writing in an an36

tagonistic, polemic style, or ever making demands on the reader. Instead, the prose of the book seems meant to bridge multiple kinds of discourse, pioneering a new way of discussing gay sexuality. Similarly, the book cannot be said to present gay sex in a totally shaming or prideful way either, but oscillates between celebration of particular activities or a witnessing of shame experienced by gay men in certain situations. In witnessed shame, as Basiuk describes it, shame experiences of gay men are made visible to the reader, soliciting their empathy.7 When shame is witnessed and described, it is possible for the factors contributing to it to be identified, and so the sources of oppression mapped and also made visible. The much greater representation of shame is another factor differentiating White and Silverstein’s book from Comfort’s.

White and Silverstein also frame the book in a way that challenges the origins and nature of authority. Previous to the gay liberation movement, the only available understandings of homosexuality were inferiorizing, pathologizing discourses such as psychiatry, medicine, the law, sociology, or religion, all of which produced a fixed relationship between homosexual subjects and authorities. In The Joy of Gay Sex, the strategy of making the book a collaboration between a literary gay author and an innovative therapist working with gay patients avoids much of this effect. Rather than drawing authority from institutions which pathologize homosexuality, White and Silverstein draw their authority from their experience in the gay community and working with gay men respectively, producing a more community based, alternative type of authority. By not relying on authority-granting institutions in order to establish an authority/ patient relationship with the reader, readers are invited to establish their own relationships to the book, and acknowledge or withhold recognition of White and Silverstein’s authority. Further, the book proposed a new understanding of authority that is politically powerful: that the gay community does not need to depend on outside institutions in order to understand themselves. In inviting the reader to accept White and Silverstein as authorities on gay sexuality, they are also inviting the reader to question the basis of authority, especially as it applies to gay men or the gay community.

37

Part 2 In order to look through The Joy of Gay Sex, in 2013, I had to request to borrow it from the Restricted or Protected Material section at Robarts. I watched the librarian get up from behind the front desk, walk twenty feet towards a small room next to the revolving doors at the main entrance, and within a minute or so emerge with a copy of the book, which I then got to look through on my bus ride home. At the time I was baffled and annoyed. Was it there to restrict access to it because of its content, or to protect it? Unfortunately the effects of protecting library patrons from particular books or particular books from library patrons are identical. There seems to be a conflict that results from treating the book as historic while it still seems political.

The question of whether the book is mostly of historic interest or has current political value relevant to contemporary academic and political debates. Stated broadly, the current political and academic landscape rightly questions the usefulness or desirability of gay representational politics or gay authorities, especially in circumstances where they do not engage with intersectional concerns such as race, gender, class, or disability.8 Another direction of criticism is concerned with the role therapy and the self-help genre play in the increasing professionalization and disciplining of all aspects of everyday life, which intensified in late twentieth century capitalism.9 A third criticism is a the secondary effect of any engagement with the politics of aesthetics, or of the partition of the perceptible, observed by Rancière: any change to the partitioning of the perceptible produces new realms of invisibility as it makes new representations intelligible.10 The political field of aesthetics and visibility always requires continual challenging from the unsatisfied and unheard. This is very similar to a deconstructionist critique of identity politics by Judith Butler. In a passage from Bodies That Matter referenced by Basiuk, Butler imagines an appropriate representational vision for queer political struggles, in which representations are always made while preserving the perceptibility of an outside to their vision, and so a limit to the representation. It would also be vital that there be a continuing accountability of the inside of the representation to the 38

outside, and so a perpetual challenging to the status of the representation.11 Another critique to the value of the book is a historic and sociological one, concerning what value the book had to homosexuals in the 1970s. Some scholarship observes that the responses of many homosexuals to gay liberation politics and the Sexual Revolution were not uniformly positive. In a sociological study done of gay men in the Los Angeles area over the age of 65 in the late 1990s, Dana Rosenfeld observed a significant cultural and identity divide between homosexual men who embraced the developments of the gay liberation and those who rejected them.12 John Grube observes that the replacement of the private network-based traditional gay community with a more open, political, and organized gay community along with the associated influx of gay businesses led to a divided gay community along generational lines, as well as a decline in the degree of cultural transmission through the mentor/ protege pair as was common in the “traditional� homosexual community.13 David Bergman and Anna Ward both observe that, while The Joy of Gay Sex includes some depictions of black people in its images, race, and potential issues that could arise related to racial difference in gay relationships are not acknowledged.14 Further, in presenting the book as a representation of gay men, Edmund White and Charles Silverstein fail to position themselves as white and middle class.15 It can be argued that the projected representation of gay masculinity in the book is also of a white, middle class reader, in that the book is able to discuss beauty and body image in relationships without engaging with race, or in the dynamics affecting gay relationships derived in culturally constructed ideas of beauty.16 By discussing beauty and body image in universalizing terms, the authors also contribute to the invisibility and perpetuation of these dynamics.

In an article on gay relationship guides throughout the 80s and 90s by Christian Klesse, he observed that while these guides included sections on polyamorous or open relationships, they were presented as having different degrees of stability, desirability, or naturalness versus pathology which devalued polyamorous relationships or promiscuity in favour of stable, romantic relationships.17 39

However, I think if he had examined The Joy of Gay Sex, which Edmund White dedicates “to my tricks”, he would not have been able to extend this observation to it.18 The authors’ positive portrayals of non-monogamous sexual relationships and sexually based lifestyles, including headings on “Cruising”, “Hustlers”, and “Tricking”, are one of the most strikingly countercultural aspects to the book. Further critiques of the self-help genre in that they contribute to the individualizing and disciplinary governmentality of the capitalism, being a central aspect of the “Me” generation observed by Tom Wolfe in the 70s, also seems less relevant to The Joy of Gay Sex.19 Throughout, White and Silverstein demonstrate a central concern with politics, oppression, and the relationships between gay selfhood and the emerging lifestyles in the gay community.

The value of queer authority, and its occasional necessity, needs to be considered. Commenting on a censorship trial at the level of the B.C. Supreme Court between Little Sister’s Bookstore and Art Emporium and Canada Customs in 1995, Janine Fuller observed that: many of the people who have become queer academics find themselves in a court of law testifying on behalf of a huge community which they have no chance of representing each and every person and their ideas of sexual imagery. Often they are very respectful of that and not willing to take on that representative role, but they realize they are in the very privileged and very important position of actually being heard by the court.20 There are uses for the recognition, assumption, and validation of queer authority, though it is essential that these be treated as provisional, and that the accountability of the authority to challenges preserved. In The Joy of Gay Sex, measures towards assuming a more provisional, community-based kind of authority are taken by the authors by not using authority-giving medical, academic, legal, or psychological discourses, and instead adopting a casual tone. The authors also present the book in a cookbook format, suggesting that the book is intended to be used as desired or relevant rather than absorbed and followed. Throughout, the tone of the book also centres 40

the reader and his immediate community as its subject and source of authority, enabling a transformed relationship between reader and authority, self and community, and community and authority.

What kind of value does reading The Joy of Gay Sex have to queer activists, academics, and communities today? It is vital that the nature of the representation The Joy of Gay Sex produces be reframed and properly labeled in order for it to have any relevance.

The outsides to its representation need to be called attention to, as well as aspects of the representation that are present but not perceptible, such as the race and class of the writer, or the projected race and class of the book’s gay representation. For these reasons alone The Joy of Gay Sex cannot be understood as an essential or universal representation of the sexuality of gay men.

Despite its lack of universal relevance however, there are uses of The Joy of Gay Sex appropriate to contemporary, postmodern, and queer political imperatives. Importantly, it is necessary to challenge our ideas of history being teleological, representing progress.

In many ways the role of sexuality, and the positioning of the self in relation to community and society, have become less radical and more depoliticized in the current queer political and academic landscape. The particular reconfiguration of self, authority, sexuality, and community in The Joy of Gay Sex are still of high political value. The ways White and Silverstein achieved the aesthetic-political impacts of the book are vital to understand, since the key battlegrounds in the creation and promotion of queer, intersectional, and postmodern political imperatives are still the those of presence, perceptibility and intelligibility.

41

WORKS CITED Basiuk, Tomasz. Exposures: American Gay Men’s Life Writing Since Stonewall. Frankfurt, M: Peter Lang GmbH, 2013.

Bergman, David. The Violet Hour: the Violet Quill and the Making of Gay Culture. New York: Columbia University Press, 2013.

Cameron, Heather E. “Queer Experts at the Little Sisters Trial: An Interview with Janine Fuller.” Canadian Woman Studies/ Les Cahiers de la Femme 16 no. 2 (1996): 80. http://simplelink.library.utoronto.ca/url.cfm/493197.

Grube, John. “Natives and Settlers: An Ethnographic Note on Early Interaction of Older Homosexual Men with Younger Gay Liberationists.” Journal of Homosexuality 20, no. 3 (1991): 119-136. doi: 10.1300/J082v20n03_08.

Klesse, Christian. “‘How to be a Happy Homosexual?!’Non‐monogamy and Governmentality in Relationship Manuals for Gay Men in the 1980s and1990s.”

The Sociological Review 55, no. 3 (2007): 571-591. doi: 10.1111/j.1467954X.2007.00722.

Peterson, Valerie V. “The Sex of Joy: A Gourmet Guide to Lovemaking Rhetoric.” Popular Communication 6, no. 1 (2008): 3-19. doi: 10.1080/15405700701697595.

Rancière, Jacques, and Gabriel Rockhill. The Politics of Aesthetics: The Distribution of the Sensible. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013.

Rosenfeld, Dana. The Changing of the Guard: Lesbian and Gay Elders, Identity, and Social Change. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2003.

Silverstein, Charles, and Edmund White. The Joy of Gay Sex: An Intimate Guide for Gay Men to the Pleasures of a Gay Lifestyle. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1977.

Sweetland, James H., and Peter G. Christensen. “Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual Titles: Their Treatment in the Review Media and Their Selection by Libraries.” Collection Building 14, no. 2 (1995): 32 - 41, doi: 10.1108/eb023399.

Ward, Anna E. “Sex and the Me Decade: Sex and Dating Advice Literature of the 1970s.”

WSQ: Women’s Studies Quarterly 43, no. 3 (2015): 120-136, http://muse.jhu.edu. myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/journals/wsq/v043/43.3-4.ward.html.

1 Edmund White and Charles Silverstein, The Joy of Gay Sex (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1977), 46.

2 Tomasz Basiuk, Exposures: American Gay Men’s Life Writing Since Stonewall (Frankfurt: Peter Lang Gmbh, 2013), 34 3 Basiuk, Exposures, 35.

4 Valerie V. Peterson, “The Sex of Joy: A Gourmet Guide to Lovemaking Rhetoric,” Popular Communication 6, no. 1 (2008): 9, doi: 10.1080/15405700701697595.

5 Ibid, 10.

42

6 James H. Sweetland, and Peter G. Christensen, “Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual Titles: Their Treatment in the Review Media and Their Selection by Libraries,” Collection Building 14, no. 2 (1995): 33, doi:10.1108/eb023399.

7 Basiuk, Exposures, 376.

8 Basiuk, Exposures, 88. See also David Bergman, The Violet Hour: the Violet Quill and the Making of Gay Culture (New York: Columbia University Press), 114 and Anna Ward, “Sex and the Me Decade: Sex and Dating Advice Literature of the 1970s,” WSQ: Women’s Studies Quarterly 43, no. 2 (2015): 132, http://muse.jhu.edu.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/journals/wsq/v043/43.3-4.ward.html.

9 Christian Klesse, “‘How to be a Happy Homosexual!?!’: Non-Monogamy and Governmentality in Relationship Manuals for Gay Men in the 1980s and 1990s,” The Sociological Review 55, no. 3: 574, doi: 10.1111/j.1467-954X.2007.00722. See also Ward, “Sex and the Me Decade,” 133.

10 Basiuk, Exposures, 373.

11 Ibid, 371.

12 Dana Rosenfeld, The Changing of the Guard: Lesbian and Gay Elders, Identity, and Social Change (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2003): 2 13 John Grube, “Natives and Settlers: An Ethnographic Note on Early Interaction of Older Homosexual Men with Younger Gay Liberationists,” Journal of Homosexuality 20, no. 3 (1991): 122, doi: 10.1300/J082v20n03_08.

14 Bergman, The Violet Hour, 174. See also Ward, “Sex and the Me Decade,” 132.

15 Ibid.

16 Basiuk, Exposures, 88. See also Klesse, “‘How to be a Happy Homosexual!?!’,” 578.

17 Ibid, 572.

18 White and Silverstein, The Joy of Gay Sex, 8.

19 Ward, “Sex and the Me Decade,” 120. See also Klesse, “‘How to be a Happy Homosexual!?!’,” 584.

20 Heather E. Cameron, “Queer Experts at the Little Sisters Trial: An Interview with Janine Fuller.”

Canadian Woman Studies/ Les Cahiers de la Femme 16, no. 2 (1996): 4, http://simplelink.library. utoronto.ca/url.cfm/493197

43

Women as Weapons of War in the Case of Bosnia

“You will see, you Muslim. I am going to draw a cross on your back. I am going to baptize all of you. You’re now going to be Serbs.”1 These words were spoken by Witness 50 as part of her testimony against Dragoljub Kunarac, Radomir Kovač, and Zoran Vuković who were brought before the International Criminal Tribunal of the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) for their roles in crimes committed against Bosnian Muslim civilians between April 1992 and February 1993. This trial played an important part in shaping international policy on human rights because the sentencing that these three men faced on February 22, 2001 marked the first time in European legal history that men were convicted for rape and torture under the legal definitions of crimes against humanity, along with other convictions such as slavery and outrages upon human dignity.2 In light of this verdict and other atrocities, the UN Security Council unanimously voted to classify rape as a weapon of war on June 18, 2008 through the adoption of resolution 1820. This resolution: “[…] Calls upon Member States to comply with their obligations for prosecuting persons responsible for such acts, to ensure that all victims of sexual violence, particularly women and girls, have equal protection under the law and equal access to justice, and stresses the importance of ending impunity for such acts as part of a comprehensive approach to seeking sustainable peace, justice, truth, and national reconciliation.”3 While the judgment made at the Kunarac et al. trial demonstrated an important step in the definition of human rights, international 46

policy has largely been shaped around international politics, thus creating important gaps in protocol that pose a threat to women’s security based on two main issues. Firstly, when it comes to conflict rooted in biopolitics4, policy changes are not sufficient to amend a particular mindset. Secondly, the impunity granted to designated “peacekeepers” is limiting in terms of awareness and the prevention of rape during peacetime.

One issue that continues to threaten women’s security is that policy will not change fundamental beliefs rooted in ethnic superiority. This is demonstrated by the actions of Bosnian Serb troops and their objection to assuming accountability for their actions – notably, ethnic cleansing. During the Bosnian War, the Army of the Republika Srpska (VRS) carried out gender-based sexual violence in the form of genocidal rape against Bosniak Muslims. Of the men tried in the Kunarac et al. trial, Kovač was the sub-commander of the VRS military police, Kunarac was the leader of a VRS unit, and Vuković was a member of the VRS and of a paramilitary group in Foča.

In addition to the Muslim armed forces, Muslim civilians, especially Muslim women, were made primary targets of VRS campaigns. One of the primary methods employed by the VRS was expulsion through terror. It is estimated that approximately 20,0005 Bosnian women were raped during this conflict and that Serbian troops who invaded Bosnia-Herzegovina always carried out an “ethnic cleansing” of the territory that was consistently combined with mass rapes.6 Historical evidence demonstrates that rape has not only been used as a weapon of war to reward the victorious soldiers, but also as a means of destroying the social fabric of the defeated population.

The latter often occurs by driving a wedge between the “polluted” females and the “emasculated” males who were helpless in protecting “their” women.7 In that sense rape, as historian Lene Hanson argues, “serves as a means for destruction of a nation.”8 This policy was demonstrated by the actions of the defendants who imprisoned Muslim women and young girls, enslaved them, tortured them, and raped them. The Foča case itself serves as an example of rape camps established by members of the VRS. In these camps hundreds of women were held like animals, barely fed and kept in extremely poor sanitary conditions, herded to a different location like cattle when 47

help was suspected to be near. They faced daily humiliation and deliberate impregnation – a form of psychological terror in itself. One witness recounted that: “[…] the camp was like a fruit stand… or to put it better a livestock stand. Anyone could pass by and just take whatever he wanted, just do whatever he wanted. The Serbs had the power.”9 Though the perpetrators sometimes told the girls and women that they were free to leave, or put them in a position where fleeing was made possible, conditions were unsafe. There were Serb soldiers on the streets, and as Witness 87 testified: “there weren’t many Muslims left at the time, so it wasn’t safe to go out into the street.”10 Even with the testimonies heard during the Foča case, Justice Mumba stated that the evidence brought forward was insufficient to prove that rape was used as a weapon of war in that it would be misleading to conclude that Bosnian Serb armed forces took a concrete approach or were given the order to rape women as part of their combat activities.11 While it is true that soldiers were not given specific orders to rape, they were generally encouraged to do so as an effective means of terror and humiliation.12 Despite Justice Mumba’s statement on the count of rape as a weapon of war, it was clear by their systematic nature that these mass rapes were conducted as a mechanism to facilitate genocide, and this was reflected by the UN Security Council’s decision to pass resolution 1820. Why else would the soldiers give these rape camps a personal, dividing, ethnic touch by forcing their prisoners to dance naked on a table at gunpoint to the tune of traditional Bosnian folk music – “our music” as Witness 87 pointed out?13 Why else would the rapists threaten to baptize their prisoners as Serbs by drawing a cross on their backs?14 Mass rapes committed by soldiers are not new to history.

Both the Vikings and the Mongols had a reputation for “rape and pillage”; rape was so extensive when the German troops marched through Belgium during World War II that the term “Rape of the Hun” became a presiding metaphor; and the Japanese occupation of China’s wartime capital in 1937 became known as “the Rape of Nanking.” Nevertheless, historical memory is short - when Bangladesh appealed for international aid in 1971, the mass rapes performed by Pakistani soldiers were called “unprecedented.”15 In history books great military battles become legend, but the accounts of mass rape 48

as a means to these victories are discounted as exaggerations, and consequently these stories do not get told.16 Rape has been used as ammunition during wartime and dismissed as a certain outcome of conflict for thousands of years, yet only recently has it officially been classified as a war crime. The question is: will the classification of rape as a war crime prevent rape from being carried out as an act of war? On the one hand it might act as a disincentive, especially if other perpetrators guilty of the same crimes are convicted, and it certainly prevents assailants from justifying mass sexual violence during wartime. On the other hand, perhaps it is too much to hope that legal policy will limit sexual violence as a means to victory during conflict when such violence is the product of competitive ethnic-based attitudes, so deeply rooted in the assailant’s psyche that it negates their sense of accountability.

Accountability is lost in a conflict when one group inherently believes that their lives are more valuable and seeks to eliminate a second group whose mere existence is detrimental to the first group’s survival.17 From the Kovač et al. trial it becomes evident that the perpetrators rationalized their actions, both during the conflict and as a defense in court, by stating that they could have done worse.

Once, after raping Witness 50, Vuković turned to the girl and told her that he could do “much more” but that she was about the same age as his daughter – fifteen years old - so he wouldn’t do anything at the moment.18 In her judgment, Justice Florence Mumba recognized that Vuković mocked the victim’s grief, not taking it seriously19, and thus demonstrated a lack of self-perceived culpability. During the trial, it became clear that the men did not know why they were being tried. One of them attempted to absolve himself of these atrocities by saying: “But I could have killed them,” as if to say “Rape? What kind of a crime is that compared with killing people?”20 For his part, Kovač claimed that by detaining the girls in his apartment he was saving their lives.21 Furthermore, Kovač appealed the trial Chamber’s definition of rape and contended that: “resistance must be real throughout the duration of the sexual intercourse because otherwise it may be concluded that the alleged victim consented to the sexual intercourse.”22 As the Croatian author Slavenka Drakulić has pointed out, these men, from their small town in the mountains, would 49

have never imagined that the world would be interested in the sexual crimes that they had committed or that a special court would be formed to accuse them of rape as a crime against humanity.23 It is noteworthy that this logic extends to a greater, national mindset. Back home, these men were heroes who were simply doing their duty – fighting for a cause to ensure the survival of their cohort.

In line with this thinking, the ICTY court is perceived as a mechanism used to punish and humiliate Serbs24. In fact, a 2002 study based on interviews with 10,000 people found that 51% of those interviewed in the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina trusted the ICTY while in Republika Srpska only 4% did.25 Thus, to stand up against the tribunal became a sign of patriotism26 and Drakulić, who observed part of the proceedings in The Hague, stated that she could tell that these men convicted of rape as a crime against humanity, “would serve their sentences regretting only that they had been stupid enough to get caught or being tricked into surrendering.”27 Thankfully, Justice Mumba’s verdict and the ensuing UN Security Council resolution mean that no man can defend himself by saying that he hadn’t killed a woman, he had “only” raped her.28 However, the creation of a legal policy on international sexual violence by no means ensures that the perpetrators who commit such actions based on an inherent racist mindset assume responsibility for their actions and, by extension, such a policy cannot ensure that mass rapes during wartime will cease.

International policy itself has created a further risk for women’s security because international protocol, particularly the peace treaty negotiated in Dayton Ohio and signed in Paris on December 14, 1995, was not created with women in mind. The UN’s decision to collect evidence and hold trials for sexual atrocities was a big step because it recognized that the rape of women is a violation of humanity.29 However, much in the same way that any of the defendants from the Kunarac et al. trial absolved themselves of the crimes for which they were accused, any government can lean on the excuse that it is not governments who rape but individuals. In consequence, governments hold sway over the success of the sexual atrocity claims that aim to protect women.

This is especially problematic as national security problems 50

run the risk of silencing women’s security problems when the latter conflicts with the former.30 Therefore it is necessary for a higher, overarching power to step in and assure that women’s safety is preserved. However, negotiators at the General Framework Agreement for Peace in Bosnia and Herzegovina (GFAP) were nearly all men. No women were present during the negotiations procedures and gender issues never surfaced during the drafting process. Consequently, women’s security problems were overlooked. This is especially true when it comes to peacekeeper impunity - Appendix B to annex 1-A of the Dayton agreement gave NATO personnel legal immunity for their actions “under all circumstances and at all times” and made them subject to the “exclusive jurisdiction of their respective national elements” regarding criminal or disciplinary offences in Bosnia.31 This left a gap in protocol for international personnel to abuse the system, and they did.

The Dayton Peace Agreement brought 50,000 international personnel to Bosnia-Herzegovina, most of them males.32 In the immediate postwar period of 1995-1996, this group constituted the main clientele of the human trafficking industry – mainly of women and children for purposes of enforced prostitution. In fact, human rights officers in the IPTF estimate that the international community constitutes thirty percent of the customers of this sex trade but accounts for eighty percent of the revenue accruing to the men who manage them.33 Despite the fact that the Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms section of the Dayton Peace Agreement states that all persons within the territory of Bosnia-Herzegovina have the right to not be subjected to torture, inhumane treatment, held in slavery or servitude, or forced to perform compulsory labour, this cannot become a reality until military and civilian men no longer have the potential of abusing women with impunity.34 In an anarchic system at the international level where international policy makers represent the closest model to a multi-national leadership, it is imperative that the issue of women’s security is not disregarded – especially since mass gender-based atrocities will continue. Consequently, though resolution 1820 aims to legally prevent mass rape and impunity, women’s security will continue to be at risk so long as racist mindsets that justify genocide exist and interna51

tional protocol continues to exclude women from the international peacemaking process. Much in the same way that women’s security is influenced by Kunarac and the like’s refusal to admit accountability, it is also harmed by the international community’s refusal to take responsibility for their role in mass gender-based sexual atrocities.

52

WORKS CITED Primary sources: “Case Information Sheet: Kunarac, Kovač and Vuković.” UN ICTY. Accessed January 2015. http://www.icty.org/x/cases/kunarac/cis/en/cis_kunarac_al_en.pdf.

“General Assembly Fiftieth Session Agenda Item 28 – The Situation in Bosnia and Herzegovina.” United Nations General Assembly Security Council. November 30th, 1995. Accessed March 16th, 2015. A/50/79C/S/1995/999.

“Kunarac et al - Judgement.” UN ICTY, February 22nd, 2001. Accessed March 5th, 2015. http://www.icty.org/x/cases/kunarac/trans/en/010222it.htm.

“Kunarac et al – Witness 50 – Full Testimony_EN.” UN ICTY, March 29th and 30th, 2000. Accessed March 5th, 2015. http://www.icty.org/sid/188.

“Kunarac et al – Witness 87 – Full Testimony_87.” UN ICTY, April 4th and 5th 2000, October 23rd, 2000. Accessed March 5th, 2015. http://www.icty.org/sid/10117.

“Resolution 1820.” United Nations Security Council. June 19th, 2008. Accessed March 21st, 2015. http://www.securitycouncilreport.org/atf/cf/%7B65BFCF9B-6D274E9C-8CD3-CF6E4FF96FF9%7D/CAC%20S%20RES%201820.pdf.

Secondary Sources: Brownmiller, Susan. “Making Female Bodies in the Battlefield.” In Mass Rape, Edited

by Alexandra Stiglmayer. Translated by Marion Faber, 180-182. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994.

Copelon, Rhonda. “Surfacing Gender: Reconceptualizing Crimes Against Women in Time of War.” In Mass Rape, edited by Alexandra Stiglmayer, translated by Marion Faber, 197-218. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994.

Drakulić, Slavenka. “Bosnian Woman Witness.” The Nation, March 19, 2001. http://www.thenation.com/article/bosnian-women-witness#.

Drakulić, Slavenka. “Boys Just Had Fun.” In They Would Never Hurt a Fly: War Criminals on Trial in the Hague, 46-58. London: Abacus, 2004.

Drakulić, Slavenka. “Rape as a Weapon of War.” The New York Times, June 26, 2008. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/26/opinion/26iht-eddrakulic.1.14013076. html?_r=1&.

Drakulić, Slavenka. “Why the Hague.” In They Would Never Hurt a Fly: War Criminals on Trial in the Hague, 9-17. London: Abacus, 2004.

Foucault, Michel. “Right of Death and Power Over Life.” In The History of Sexuality,

53

Volume I: An Introduction, 135-150. Translated by Robert Hurley. New York: Vintage Books, 1990.

Hansen, Lene. “Gender, Nation, Rape: Bosnia and the Construction of Security.”

International Feminist Journal of Politics 3, no.1 (2000): 55-75. doi:10.1080/14616740010019848.

Kerr, Rachel. “The Road from Dayton to Brussels? The International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia and the Politics of War Crimes in Bosnia.” European Security 14, no.3 (September 2005): 319-337. doi: 10.1080/09662830500407788.

MacKinnon, Catherine A. “Rape, Genocide, and Women’s Human Rights.” In Mass Rape, edited by Alexandra Stiglmayer, translated by Marion Faber, 183-196.

Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994.

Rees, Madeleine. “International Intervention in Bosnia-Herzegovina: The Cost of Ignoring gender.” In The Postwar Moment: Militaries, Masculinities, and International Peacekeeping, edited by Cynthia Cockburn and Dubravka Zarkov, 51-67. London: Lawrence and Wishart Limited, 2002.

Robson, Tony. “Bosnia: the United Nations, Human Trafficking and Prostitution.”

World Socialist Web Site, August 21, 2002. http://www.wsws.org/en/ articles/2002/08/bosn-a21.html.

Stiglmayer, Alexandra. “The Rapes in Bosnia-Herzegovina.” In Mass Rape, edited by Alexandra Stiglmayer, translated by Marion Faber, 82-169. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994.

1 “Kunarac et al – Witness 50 – Full Testimony_EN,” UN ICTY, March 29th and 30th, 2000, accessed March 5th, 2015, 1277-1278, http://www.icty.org/sid/188.

2 Slavenka Drakulić, “Rape as a Weapon of War,” The New York Times, June 26, 2008, http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/26/opinion/26iht-eddrakulic.1.14013076.html?_r=1&.

3 “Resolution 1820,” United Nations Security Council, June 19th, 2008, accessed March 21st, 2015, http://www.securitycouncilreport.org/atf/cf/%7B65BFCF9B-6D27-4E9C8CD3-CF6E4FF96FF9%7D/CAC%20S%20RES%201820.pdf.

4 Intersection between biology and politics.

5 Lene Hansen, “Gender, Nation, Rape: Bosnia and the Construction of Security,” International Feminist Journal of Politics 3, no.1 (2000): 56, doi:10.1080/14616740010019848.

6 Alexandra Stiglmayer, “The Rapes in Bosnia-Herzegovina,” in Mass Rape, ed. Alexandra Stiglmayer, trans. Marion Faber (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994), 102.

7 Hansen, “Gender, Nation, Rape: Bosnia and the Construction of Security,” 56.

8 Ibid., 60.

9 Stiglmayer, “The Rapes in Bosnia-Herzegovina,” 116.

10 “Kunarac et al – Witness 87 – Full Testimony_87,” UN ICTY, April 4th and 5th 2000, October 23rd, 2000, accessed March 5th, 2015, 1688, http://www.icty.org/sid/10117.

11 “Kunarac et al – Judgement,” UN ICTY, February 22nd, 2001, accessed March 5th, 2015, 6559, http://www.icty.org/x/cases/kunarac/trans/en/010222it.htm.

12 Slavenka Drakulić, “Boys Just Had Fun,” in They Would Never Hurt a Fly: War Criminals on Trial in the Hague (London: Abacus, 2004), 53.

54

13 Kunarac et al – Witness 87 – Full Testimony_87,” 1716.

14 “Kunarac et al – Witness 50 – Full Testimony_EN,” 1277-1278.

15 Susan Brownmiller, “Making Female Bodies in the Battlefield,” in Mass Rape, ed, Alexandra Stiglmayer, trans. Marion Faber (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994), 182.

16 Ibid.

17 Theory discussed by Michel Foucault, “Right of Death and Power Over Life,” in The History of Sexuality, Volume I: An Introduction, trans. Robert Hurley (New York: Vintage Books, 1990).

18 “Kunarac et al – Witness 50 – Full Testimony_EN,” 1263.

19 “Kunarac et al – Judgement,” 6574.

20 Drakulić, “Rape as a Weapon of War.” 21 Drakulić, “Boys Just Had Fun,”54.

22 Hans Holthuis, “In the Appeals Chamber,” United Nations, June 12th, 2002, accessed March 21st, 2002, 38, IT-96-23 & IT-96-23/1-A. 23 Ibid., 51.

24 Slavenka Drakulić, “Why the Hague,” in They Would Never Hurt a Fly: War Criminals on Trial in the Hague (London: Abacus, 2004), 15.

25 Rachel Kerr, “The Road from Dayton to Brussels? The International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia and the Politics of War Crimes in Bosnia,” European Security 14, no.3 (September 2005): 325, doi: 10.1080/09662830500407788.

26 Drakulić, “Why the Hague,” 15.

27 Drakulić, “Boys Just Had Fun,” 58.

28 Drakulić, “Rape as a Weapon of War.” 29 Catherine A. MacKinnon, “Rape, Genocide, and Women’s Human Rights,” in Mass Rape, ed. Alexandra Stiglmayer, trans. Marion Faber (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994), 195.

30 Hansen, “Gender, Nation, Rape: Bosnia and the Construction of Security,” 58-59.

31 “General Assembly Fiftieth Session Agenda Item 28 – The Situation in Bosnia and Herzegovina,” United Nations General Assembly Security Council, November 30th, 1995, accessed March 16th, 2015, 28, A/50/79C/S/1995/999.

32 Madeleine Rees, “International Intervention in Bosnia-Herzegovina: The Cost of Ignoring gender,” in The Postwar Moment: Militaries, Masculinities, and International Peacekeeping, ed. Cynthia Cockburn and Dubravka Zarkov (London: Lawrence and Wishart Limited, 2002), 61.

33 Ibid., 63.

34 “General Assembly Fiftieth Session Agenda Item 28 – The Situation in Bosnia and Herzegovina,” 61-62.

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