Transformative Justice, Transitional Justice, Peacebuilding Activism, Reparations, Development
For a decade, transformative justice has become a lens to critique traditional transitional justice approaches, one than emphasises bottom-up approaches, socio-economic rights and social mobilisation instead of purely legalistic approaches. In this entry we discuss some of the limitations the transformative justice agenda still faces, and we discuss some entry points to start addressing these challenges: developments on the issue of reparations, the Colombian experience, and reinvigorating the role of social mobilisation in aiming at transformative goals.
A Self-Disclosure
POSITIONALITY, EUROPEANNESS, ORIENTALISM, SOCIOLOGY, GLOBAL INEQUALITIES
This text was originally published in German with the title Autor*in werden in Zeiten asymmetrischer Ignoranz: Eine Selbstanzeige in SOZIOLOGIE (2024, Soziologie 53 (4): 404-416).
It was translated for the Virtual Encyclopaedia on Peace and Conflict (Rewriting Peace and Conflict) by Jake Schneider. Special thanks to Giulia Forsythe for the illustrations and to Maya Didoss for her work on the illustrations and references.
© Raj Kumar Pan, Kimmo Kaski & Santo Fortunato (2012): World citation and collaboration networks: uncovering the role of geography in science. Scientific Reports, 2(1). DOI: 10.1038/srep00902.
“Figure 1: Properties of the world citation network. (A) Citation map of the world where the area of each country is scaled and deformed according to the number of citations received, which is also represented by the color of each country.” (p. 3)
Manuela Boatcă is a Professor of Sociology and Head of School of the Global Studies Programme at the University of Freiburg, Germany. She has a degree in English and German languages and literatures and a PhD in sociology.
As we all know, writing – and by extension, becoming an author – begins with reading. And still, on occasion, scholars sheepishly confess to never having read certain foundational or canonical texts – a show of modesty intended to underscore their competence in other areas. Take, for example, a sociologist who has never read Weber’s Protestant Ethic or a philosopher who has never sat down with Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. Assuming the person has already achieved a certain status in their discipline, such gaps in education can be spun as a creative virtue. Yet plenty of scholars have never read a single text from whole regions of the non-Western world and rarely feel such shame about it, as no one expects them to be familiar with such works as a standard of competence in their field. This shamelessness signals what postcolonial theorists have described as “sanctioned ignorance” among elite theorists (Spivak, : x), or an asymmetrical ignorance between the European centre of knowledge production and its “Third World” periphery – an asymmetry that, according to Dipesh Chakrabarty, constitutes “the very nature of social science pronouncements”:
For generations now, philosophers and thinkers who shape the nature of social science have produced theories that embrace the entirety of humanity […] in relative, and sometimes absolute, ignorance of the majority of humankind – that is, those living in non-Western cultures. […] Third-world historians feel a need to refer to works in European history; historians of Europe do not feel any need to reciprocate. […] This is a gesture, however, that ‘we’ cannot return. We cannot even afford an equality or symmetry of ignorance at this level without taking the risk of appearing “old-fashioned” or “outdated”. (Chakrabarty, : 29, 28)
In this case, the magnitude of the knowledge gap is turned on its head: instead of a single core text, the person has passed over most, if not all, of them. This gap reproduces a structurally unequal distribution of attention, which favours well-known works at the expense of the neglected works and their contexts of origin (see Boatcă & Parvulescu, ). The premise of this essay is the notion that within a structurally unequal system of global knowledge production, scholars cannot become authors until they have asserted their own authorship in the face of asymmetric ignorance. This proposition will be considered alongside another related question: how does sociology position itself within the intellectual division of labour in the social sciences and humanities? I will also reflect on my own personal position within the German and international academic system.
The academic division of labour that emerged in the late nineteenth century formed disciplines in which the Western world was simultaneously the locus of enunciation and the object of study, an overlap the international discourse has been examining for at least as long as asymmetric ignorance, if not longer. Back in 1996, the Gulbenkian Commission’s report “Open the Social Sciences” pointed out that within this departmental logic, sociology – self-defined as the science of modern societies – was juxtaposed against ethnography and Oriental studies (Wallerstein et al., ). The last two disciplines were tasked with explaining why the “non-Western world” was not – or could not become – modern (Boatcă & Costa, : 69). On the one hand, this division anchored sociology—both empirically and theoretically—in the historical and socio-economic context of its emergence: the industrial societies of Western Europe (Kreckel, ). On the other, it decisively severed sociological authorship from the “non-Western world”, within Europe or beyond.
In its portrayals of capitalist modernity, sociology gradually shifted its gaze away from processes associated with non-Western European locations, spanning from the specific historical conditions of European colonial expansion in the Americas, to the colonial and imperial conquest of the non-European world, to the impact of enslaved plantation labour on the development of Western societies (Wallerstein et al., ; Randeria, ; Patel, ). The situation in which central fields of social science theory and research were rooted in the epistemological assumptions of the Western European context thus systematically produced a sanitised version of modern “Europe”, which Chakrabarty has called “hyperreal Europe”: “a Europe constructed by the tales that both imperialism and nationalism have told the colonized” (Chakrabarty, : 40). Not only did this representation fail to mention colonial violence, genocide, or looting, it left out any experiences of the “majority world” (Connell, ): the millions of people who, for centuries, were violently exploited or forcibly transported between continents for the benefit of Western European institutions such as the Catholic Church, the corporations such as the British or Dutch East India Company and all the European states competing for overseas territorial control. Also absent from this prevailing image of Europe – both as the subject of sociology and its object – was the voluntary emigration of up to fifty million Europeans to the Americas between 1840 and 1930 (Therborn, : 40; Trouillot, : 31). At the very moment when Marx and Engels, writing from the British context, identified class struggle as the central conflict of European bourgeois society, and proletarianisation as its outcome (Marx & Engels, ), twelve per cent of the continent’s population – no less than fifty per cent of Britain’s – were beginning to emigrate to Europe’s colonies in the Americas to escape poverty. The mass emigration and the decline of ethnic diversity in Europe brought about by nationalism, expulsions and waves of ethnic cleansing extending into the 1950s led to theorising processes of collective organisation and social stratification in terms of class interests and class conflict instead of along ethnic or racial lines (Boatcă, ; ).
One particularly revealing example of how sociology has been system(at)ically tethered to a modernity defined exclusively in Western terms is a special “symposium” issue of European Journal of Social Theory, published after the turn of the millennium, which treated the global reach of sociology as a new phenomenon from the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries (Caillé, : 182). In it, prominent Western European and U.S. sociologists presumed that sociology had been absent in colonised and totalitarian countries – that is, until independence or democratisation finally allowed them to become recipients of the sociological thought that had been produced and disseminated in Western Europe and the United States. From this asymmetrically ignorant perspective, the issue had no problem portraying Latin America as a passive recipient of Western social theory and as a region that only started to produce its own sociological works after the Second World War (Touraine, : 186). Sociological authorship was thus framed as an achievement of delayed modernisation. An analysis of the production and reception of Latin American and Caribbean sociological texts in the journal SOZIOLOGIE recently illustrated, though a few striking examples, just how much sociological authorship of Latin American provenance, which has long contributed to diverse strands of sociological thought, had been effectively written out of existence by such exclusions (Oettler, Ruvituso & Santos, ). This way of negating authorship by severing sociological knowledge production from non-Western societies is encapsulated by a verb that is appropriately common in Latin American Spanish: ningunear meaning “to pass over”, “to fail to consider”, or more literally to “declare [someone] a nobody.”
Yet even knowledge of European contexts, such as Eastern Europe, also falls under the scope of asymmetric ignorance, as shown by another two-part symposium published in SOZIOLOGIE in 2023 (Worschech, Korablyova & Langenohl, ; Büttner et al., ). In contrast to the peripheral “Orient”, constructed as Europe’s incomplete Other and as the locus of barbarism, irrationality and mysticism, the semi-periphery in Eastern Europe—imbued with many of the attributes that helped construct the white, Christian, Western European self—has taken on the role, in the Western imagination, of Europe’s incomplete self. In Maria Todorova’s terms, Eastern Europe has functioned in Western academic discourse “as a repository of negative characteristics against which a positive and self-congratulatory image of Europe and the ‘West’ has been constructed” (Todorova, : 235; translated for this essay). In particular, the Balkans, due to their geographical proximity to Asia and the legacy of Ottoman rule, have been cast as a transitional zone between Orient and Occident – perceived as semi-developed, semi-colonial, semi-civilised, or semi-Oriental. This characterisation as a liminal space remains current – including in sociological knowledge production – as evidenced by the continued conflation of the sociology of “Eastern Europe” with the field of Transformationsforschung (transformation research) in the decades since 1990. The German usage of the term Transformation – framed as a set of “catch-up processes in underdeveloped societies” aimed at achieving “modern society with political democracy, a market economy and widespread prosperity” (Zapf, : 169; translated for this essay) – was explicitly conceived as a project of belated modernisation for “another” Europe (Langenohl, ). In light of Eastern Europe’s ongoing underrepresentation in academic publications, research topics and professorships – and the even greater neglect of social concerns of other world regions – Klaus Schlichte warned in the SOZIOLOGIE symposium that “German social science still has its own globalisation ahead of it” (: 416; translated for this essay).
On an international level, the “majority world” is still scarcely represented. This is partly due to global asymmetric ignorance, but it does not end there. Not having read primary sources, not knowing the relevant histories and, above all, not engaging with theories written in the languages of peripheral and semi-peripheral regions – these remain legitimate options within an academic division of labour structured by the legacies of colonialism and imperialism. On the one hand, the theory-producing metropole – largely associated with the Global North – is credited with having produced science, concepts and methods, having penned the literary and social-scientific canon and written the legitimate historical narratives. On the other hand, the periphery is reduced to its roles as a data source and a repository of myth, folklore and Indigenous art. No concepts or canonical texts are expected to emerge there, however. Moreover, research policy too often adheres to a theoretical canon in only one or two languages, reflecting the international distribution of knowledge production (Connell, ; Keim et al., ); Schlichte, ). Yet adequate representation is just one part of the solution to this unequal economy of attention. When Edward Said, echoing Marx’s Eighteenth Brumaire, opened his study of Orientalism () with the quote “They cannot represent themselves, they must be represented”, he was implicitly raising the question of authorship. Who is allowed a voice within an unequally structured academic system? Drawing on Gramsci’s notion of the subaltern, Gayatri Spivak formulated this question in the title of her landmark essay: Can the Subaltern Speak? In the German-speaking world – and with regard to female-coded authorship – the question was already reframed two decades ago in the anthology Spricht die Subalterne deutsch? (Does the Subaltern Speak German?), edited by Encarnación Gutiérrez Rodríguez and Hito Steyerl (). The volume asked whether postcolonial critique could be translated into the German context – and offered a variety of answers. However, the very fact that only immigrants and racialised authors were invited to reflect on the German context marked a turning point in the possibilities of sociological authorship – a turn that, although slow, has since grown increasingly visible. For an entire generation of social scientists seeking their place in the German academic system – as well as for my own sociological voice and authorship – this shift came in time.
POSITIONALITY AS SELF-MAPPING
As a Romanian scholar in Germany, I have spent over two decades thinking and writing from the border between Western Europe and its Other – that which has, at various historical junctures, been designated as “Eastern Europe” and, as such, is still often reduced to a epigonal Other. Like all approaches, mine is situated geopolitically, intellectually and epistemically. But it took me many years to realise that articulating my own positionality as a migrant scholar within German sociology was a necessary step toward claiming my voice as a sociologist.
I grew up in Bucharest, in a white Romanian middle-class family during the final decade of Ceaușescu’s regime. My parents, both teachers of Romanian language and literature, both passionate about grammar and history, came from Moldavia, in the northeast of present-day Romania. Before 1989, they had few opportunities to travel abroad. Nevertheless, they took great pains to ensure that I learned Western languages from an early age, especially English and French – unlike them, who had been forced to learn Russian before they could start studying Romanian language and literature. Their decision was, implicitly, a statement against Soviet-imposed education, which had shaped the state-socialist part of Europe for half a century, and a for access to the cultural capital of “Western Europe” within the ongoing geopolitics of knowledge between East and West. At the University of Bucharest, in 1993, I decided to study English and German studies, with an elective in Spanish – thus remaining squarely within a Western European framework. Yet more than languages or foreign literatures for their own sake, I was drawn to the patterns of social inequality that surfaced in the novels I read, and to the power structures embedded in the languages we studied – a reality made visible to me through a course in sociolinguistics. After completing my philology degree in Bucharest, this interest eventually led me to pursue sociology in Germany – initially, I thought, as a Master’s degree, though Germany did not offer M.A. programs in 1998. I ended up enrolling in a doctoral programme in sociology, with electives in modern German literature and American studies at the Catholic University of Eichstätt-Ingolstadt. Suddenly, my abstract interest in social difference and inequality became a lived experience. I had grown up understanding myself as a European. And living in central Bucharest during my childhood, I had the privilege of not having to ponder whether or not I was white – not least because the state-socialist regime had erased racialised differences from the public discourse. But when I migrated to Germany in the years preceding the so-called “Eastern enlargement” of the European Union, I experienced how “Europeanness” was increasingly being reduced to EU citizenship – and how the whiteness of Eastern and Southern Europeans was being called into question. All at once, it was no longer clear whether I was in fact white in the German context – and I certainly was not a citizen of my new country of residence. People’s struggles to spell my surname abroad and the repeatedly unpleasant encounters prompted by my Romanian passport – not only at border checks, but during my travels more generally – brought home to me how little I appeared “European” in the Western European gaze at the time. It took me several years and a doctorate in sociology to fully grasp that I had, in fact, migrated – and would be staying in Germany. But I lacked the analytical framework to make sense of these new experiences. The German sociology of the 1990s could not accommodate a critical analysis of transnational migration, racialisation and exclusion. The history of German colonialism was considered insignificant in scale and duration compared to that of other European empires, and was discussed far less than the Nazi past. Postcolonial perspectives were only beginning to be articulated in sociology, and even then, mostly remained marginal or were relegated to the realm of anthropology. It was in the United States, on a research stay shortly before 11 September, that I first encountered analyses of the modern world system and became acquainted with the Latin American decolonial perspective. In both approaches, the experiences of the periphery and global structural dependencies were immediately apparent – as was their marginalisation in dominant theories of society. I had finally found a plausible global logic that made sense of the state socialism of my childhood: according to world-systems analysis, it was a political strategy by semi-peripheral Eastern European states to prevent their own economic decline into the periphery while maintaining a foothold in the capitalist world-system. History, it seemed, was far from over – despite what Francis Fukuyama had famously proclaimed in 1991 (and later recanted in 2019).
My dissertation, which examined theories of social change in nineteenth-century Romania after independence from the Ottoman Empire, explored their elective affinities with Latin American dependency theory and world-systems analysis (Boatcă, ). It was, at best, a poor fit for German sociology at the time. It was my first publication in Germany, released the same year as the aforementioned volume Does the Subaltern Speak German? However, I had written it in English so that it could be read in Romania, whose realities it addressed, as well as the United States and Latin America, whose theoretical traditions it drew upon. Published in English by a German press and dealing with historical debates in an Eastern European context, the book appealed to only a small group of specialists here in Germany who mostly came from other disciplines such as history, area studies, or international relations. In the eyes of the (few) Eastern European institutes in Western Europe, the book was considered too narrowly focused on Romania to be representative of the region. After all, Romania was linguistically distinct from the Slavic bloc, had politically distanced itself from Moscow during the state-socialist period, and had not been the regional blueprint of Orthodoxy in religious terms either. And I, having been deliberately raised with Western languages, did not speak Russian. Back then, a German professor of cultural sociology once asked me whether Romanian was a Slavic language – because an essay of mine on Eastern European and Latin American theories of modernity had contained so many diacritics that the proofs required extensive corrections. Despite this asymmetrical ignorance, I regrettably spoke no Slavic languages at all.
I did, however, speak Spanish. The Spanish skills I had acquired during my studies in Bucharest facilitated my access to dependency theory and the decolonial perspective, both of which had been primarily developed by Latin American scholars and were not adequately available in English or German translation. In this sense, Spanish became a vital research skill. A 2005 conference in Brazil – where I had naïvely hoped to find lingering traces of 1960s and ’70s dependency theory – opened my eyes to the pervasive Eurocentrism that had long steeped sociological knowledge production in the region and was at risk of blotting out all continuity with that theoretical tradition. The conference also paved the way to a period of research and teaching in Rio de Janeiro in 2007–08, during which Brazilian colleagues and I co-organised a symposium in the hopes of sparking dialogue with representatives of the decolonial perspective from Latin America and its US diaspora. And so, rather than following the road to “Eastern European” studies, I evolved, semi-deliberately, into a “Latin Americanist.”
This shift also called my sociological authorship into question: are area studies scholars still “at home” in a discipline? From 2010 to 2015, I was affiliated with the Institute for Latin American Studies at Freie Universität Berlin – first as a research associate, then as a research fellow on a collaborative project and finally as a fixed-term professor of the sociology of global inequalities. I had to lobby for that exact title, as the original job description did not mention any discipline, only a regional focus on Latin America – and I was afraid that I would gradually be unable to engage with multiple world regions and their global entanglements as a sociologist. With this in mind, my second monograph, originally conceived as a post-doctoral habilitation thesis, avoided focusing on a particular region – to prevent further provincialising my sociological authorship in the eyes of potential employers. Instead, it was devoted to the sociology of global inequalities, grounded in postcolonial and decolonial critiques of canonical sociologists (Boatcă, ). Given the uncertainty about whether global and relational perspectives would open up any viable career path in Germany, I again wrote it in English. I already knew that publications in Spanish or Portuguese would not be of much professional “value”, nor would they be recognised as “international”. It was only in 2015, with my appointment to a professorship in sociology and the directorship of the Global Studies Programme at the University of Freiburg, that I formally obtained a position that was not tied to any specific region – either by birth or by choice. Global entanglements had, at last, become the official and thus legitimate focus of my teaching and research. Nevertheless, I have so far only published a collection of my English-language essays about the mutual relation between Latin America and Eastern Europe in Romanian translation, as I perceived the level of interest in a relational approach to two non-Western regions to be vanishingly small here in Germany (see Boatcă, ). What the professional security of tenure did allow me, however, was to redefine sociological authorship as a form of migration across and connection between regions and disciplines. My latest monograph, co-authored with Anca Parvulescu – who, like me, is from Romania, but is now a professor of English and comparative literature in the United States – examines the historical region of Transylvania from both sociological and literary perspectives. We ask what forms of modernity are possible in rural areas that are not organised along national lines, in a region located within a colonial world-system that, in Eastern Europe, remained long defined by an inter-imperial position. We viewed the book – and ourselves as its authors – as symptomatic of the globalisation of the scholarship around small, peripheral places and minor literatures. Our respective positions within institutions of knowledge production meant that we were sometimes able to locate a text from nineteenth-century Transylvania more easily via interlibrary loan from a US institution than we could in the region itself. The research funding we relied on for the project was also more accessible to US- or Germany-based scholars than to those in Romania or Hungary. Although we wrote the book in English, it has since been translated into both Romanian and German (Parvulescu & Boatcă, , ; Boatcă & Parvulescu, ). However, our application for funding to support the German translation had to include a justification of why a publication already available in English should be translated into German – since English is considered the contemporary lingua franca of academia.
Thus, my sociological practice has been shaped by a long search for a migrant identity, a theoretical affiliation, a political position and an intellectual “home” that could accommodate multiple regions, historical periods, and worlds. And this practice, too, has had its own blind spots. My critique of conventional understandings of Europe, grounded in a semi-peripheral Eastern European perspective, at times obscured other possible points of departure – and therefore generated omissions of its own. While I highlighted the internal diversity and inequalities of “Europe” from the east of the continent, I also neglected to mention the remaining colonial territories of European states – from Guadeloupe, Martinique and Curaçao in the Caribbean to Mayotte in the Indian Ocean – and was thus complicit in their enforced invisibility within the discourse on Europe. Only by analysing the relational production of both epigonal, semi-peripheral Eastern Europe and peripheral, forgotten Europes as inferior Others did a coherent picture begin to emerge (Boatcă, ). The necessity of navigating this long and winding road toward claiming authorship in a discipline still dominated by precarious employment, as remains common in the German academic system, makes it particularly difficult to find one’s own voice and to define authorship on one’s own terms in times of asymmetric ignorance. Whether this act of finding and defining succeeds should therefore not depend on one’s professional standing (in the Weberian sense). The much-needed internationalisation of the social sciences in Germany – of which the relational perspective on (semi)peripheral spaces outlined here forms a part – must be accompanied by the equally overdue implementation of international standards in academic career planning.
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How to cite this entry:
Boatcă, M. 2025: Becoming an Author in Times of Asymmetric Ignorance: A Self-Disclosure. Virtual Encyclopaedia – Rewriting Peace and Conflict. 22.04.2025. https://rewritingpeaceandconflict.net/asymmetric-ignorance/.
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