Postcolonial girl :Mediated Intimacy and Migrant Audibility
Transcript of Postcolonial girl :Mediated Intimacy and Migrant Audibility
Postcolonial Girl:
Mediated Intimacy and Migrant Audibility
Imogen Tyler (Lancaster University) and Rosalind Gill (Kings
College)
Abstract
In October 2010, Gamu Nhengu, a Zimbabwean teenager, was ejected
from the popular British reality TV talent show, The X Factor, on
which she was a contestant. There was a public backlash to what many
perceived was an unjust eviction. Within days, however, Gamu became
the emblem of a contrasting kind of eviction campaign, when it was
revealed that she and her family were living illegally in Britain.
`Gamu-gate`, as the case was named in the press, animated a wave of
public anger and resistance, as the stakes were raised from eviction
from a TV talent show to deportation from the UK. In this paper we
explore ‘Gamu Gate’, as a way of thinking about postcolonial
intimacies. We do this by setting out three key notions: the notion
of mediated intimacy, the notion of postcolonial girlhood, and the
idea of migrant audibility. Our aim is to explore the political
possibilities of the ‘affective surplus’ produced by `postcolonial
girls’—that is, how as `manufactured intimates’ they potentially
create avenues for new forms of post-colonial migrant audibility,
forms which might trouble the ‘current emergencies’ and neo-colonial
logic of neoliberal capitalism.
Gamu-gate
In October 2010, Gamu Nhengui, a Zimbabwean teenager who had been
resident in the UK for 5 years, was ejected from the popular reality
TV talent show, The X Factor, on which she was a contestant. In a
tearful eviction scene Gamu appeared stunned when she was told by
celebrity judge Cheryl Cole that her rendition of the aptly titled
song ‘Cry Me Out’ was not good enough to get her into the finals.
The public response was immediate and enormous. Angered by Gamu’s
eviction, hundreds of her supporters converged on her Scottish home
in a show of solidarity; thousands more wrote to the TV regulator
Ofcom to complain about unfairness; and within 24 hours a staggering
quarter of a million people joined a Facebook campaign with the
title ‘Gamu should have got through’.
Within days, however, Gamu became the emblem of a contrasting kind
of campaign, when it was revealed that she and her family were
living illegally in Britain, her mother’s visa having expired.
Suddenly, Gamu went from being a disappointed reality TV contestant
to becoming the face of a different kind of reality: the reality of
what it means to be subjected to Britain’s harsh immigration regime,
a regime marked by dawn raids, detention and enforced deportation
(see Tyler 2006, 2010). Although there was some vociferous lobbying
against Gamu, she became, for the most part, the subject of a
passionate campaign against unjust immigration policies and their
often brutal enforcement. Her case animated a wave of public anger
and resistance, as the stakes were raised from eviction from a TV
talent show to deportation from the UK. Would she and her family get
to stay in Britain or would they be deported to an uncertain future
in Zimbabwe?
In this paper we will explore ‘Gamu Gate’, as it became known, as a
way of thinking about postcolonial intimacies. We will do this by
setting out three key notions: the notion of mediated intimacy, the
notion of postcolonial girlhood, and, developing a concept from the
work of Jacques Rancière, the idea of migrant audibility. Our aim is
to explore the political possibilities of the ‘affective surplus’
produced by `postcolonial girls’, their potential as `manufactured
intimates’ to create avenues for new forms of migrant audibility
which might trouble the ‘current emergencies’ (Bhattacharyya, 2011)
of neoliberal capitalism.
Mediated intimacy
For the last two decades 'intimacy' has been on the agenda as never
before. For many, the notion is appealing for its promise to
'liberate' intimate relationships from their 'domestication' within
the heterosexual nuclear family, and for its openness to broader
constituencies, different kinds of affective ties, and more diverse
forms of sexual practice. Feminist research, LGBT and queer
activism and scholarship, and sociological writing about late
capitalism/ late modernity have coalesced around an interest in the
ways in which intimate relationships might be said to be changing.
Some sociological writing has been concerned with charting the new
and 'the emergent' of intimate lives, with an emphasis upon dynamism
and transformation, as if a bright, shiny (and implicitly
egalitarian) new form of 'Intimacy 3.0' were already in play or
just around the corner, waiting to be unleashed upon the world (Beck
& Beck-Gernsheim, 1995; Giddens, 1993). Like other feminist writers
(Jamieson, 1997; Smart, 2007) we remain cautious about this
preoccupation with change, premised, as it sometimes seems to be,
upon a corresponding inattention to things that stubbornly persist
-- 'old' (yet enduring) problems like violence against women and
racism. Our aim here, though, is to open up a different set of
interests, concerned with the mediation of intimacy, and in
particular the potential of the ‘intimate publics’ that reality
media generates, to be transformed from banal sites of pleasurable
entertainment into collective spaces of political antagonism and
hegemonic interruption.
Writing in 1995, Ken Plummer argued that 'sexual stories have become
part of the "mediasation" of society'. Narratives of intimacy, he
contended, have been 'engulfed', as much else, 'in the permeation of
symbolic forms through media technologies' (1995:23). Somewhat
surprisingly -- particularly given the importance of Plummer’s book
-- this claim has provoked relatively little interest or discussion,
especially when compared to the outpouring of writing on
‘transformations of intimacy’. Yet 15 years on, the time to develop
an understanding of mediated intimacy has never seemed more urgent.
There are a number of reasons for this. First, representations of
intimacies clearly seem to dominate mass media – from stories about
politicians’ affairs, celebrity pregnancies and experiences of
heartbreak, to reality shows that are preoccupied with ‘making over’
intimate life. Secondly, and perhaps more significantly, an intimate
gaze, closely linked to the confessional and personalising
tendencies of the media, has come to constitute a kind of grammar of
mediation, such that all mediated life becomes refracted through a
lens of intimacy, in a way that is distinct from earlier moments.
This has been theorised in terms of ‘first person media’ (Dovey,
2000), ‘personalization’ (Fairclough,1995) and is part of a shift in
which even distant Others may be represented through technologies of
intimacy (Orgad, 2012). Further, the marketisation of this intimate
gaze can be seen in the proliferation of `reality mediums`, with
reality TV formats now dominating global televisual ouput and
increasingly extending into newspaper, magazine and social media
forums. Thirdly, the technologies of ‘new media’, particularly Web
2.0 and peer to peer social media have come to the fore as a means
of building and sustaining intimate relationships. In affluent
societies many people now live out their relationships through
technologies of mediation. Whilst social media such as Facebook and
Twitter facilitate state and corporate forms of surveillance, by,
for example, encouraging people to reveal their personal and
political values, beliefs and interests, and expose their friendship
networks, they also enable forms of sousveillance as people amass
online to discuss and interrogate repressive state and corporate
governance from below (Joichi Ito et al 2004). These are all
compelling reasons why intimate media, and mediated intimacies,
require our attention as scholars.
This intensification of intimacy is an outcome of a distinctive
historical moment in which distinctions between public and private
have imploded in social and political life. The shifting boundaries
of public/private life, the rapid making and unmaking of publics and
privates through and in mediation, produces intensely complicated
intimacies that may bring to our attention the erotic conduct of a
President, the sexualized torture of detainees, the agonies of
earthquake survivors, and the real-time revolutions of `the Arab
spring`. We want to suggest that an understanding of intimacy as
mediated makes possible a conceptualisation that can make room for
different affects, emotions and attachments which might in turn
extend postcolonial insights about the entanglement of power,
oppression and desire for the Other. As Sianne Ngai notes in Ugly
Feelings (2002), her study of the aesthetics of negative emotions,
what is at stake in critically examining mediated intimacy is
‘thinking the aesthetic and the political together’ (2002: 3). Ngai
insists on carefully attending to the seemingly banal popular
aesthetic regimes which generate public emotions and emotional
publics. As she suggests, thinking intimacy as mediated is not
simply a case of describing emergent forms of closeness, proximity
or kinship (even 'new' forms of queer or friendly kinship) but about
detailing the ways in which the generation of intimate aesthetics
and technologies is profoundly implicated in processes of Othering
or exclusion, for example racializing discourses or particular
constructions of national belonging. Ngai’s emphasis on the politics
of aesthetics resonates with Ranciére’s argument that the political
is always already aesthetic, in the sense that prevailing regimes of
representation and perception delimit ‘the visible and invisible’
and ‘speech and noise’ in ways which shape ‘the place and the stakes
of politics as a form of experience’ (2004a: 13).
We approach Gamu Nhengu’s melodramatic story, then, as an example of
intimate mediation, a complicated political event marked both by the
typical features of a reality TV talent show with the promise of
‘making it’ as a global celebrity, and by the interruption of this
`neoliberal theater` (see Anna McCarthy, 2007). We will suggest that
the banal but intensive forms of intimate mediation which framed
Gamu as a contestant on The X Factor were reanimated with unexpected
consequences on her eviction from the show, and her subsequent
outing as an `illegal migrant`. We will argue that Gamu – threatened
with deportation and forced repatriation – was transformed from the
status of ‘global girl’ (McRobbie, 2007), iconic poster-child for
neoliberalism, postfeminism and ‘successful’ corporate
multiculturalism, into a ‘postcolonial girl’, exposing the harsh
underside of these comforting fictions and briefly exposing the
political reality and violent apparatus of the neo-colonial British
state which is normally kept a `hygienic distance` from shows like
The X Factor (see Marciniak, 2006).
This paper is concerned then with the ways in which a figure, Gamu,
comes to circulate outside the generic reality TV storyline and
hyper reality of consumerist TV in which she was produced. It
explores how her outing as `an illegal` engenders unexpected forms
of counter-publicity for a subjugated population, which implicitly
challenges political consensus around irregular migration and allows
postcolonial history and the political present tense to seep into a
sphere from which it is ordinarily abjected. To put it another way,
the paper asks: how should we understand the intimate activism in
support of Gamu’s petition to stay in the UK – much of the campaign
conducted through Twitter, Facebook and other social media?
From ‘global girl’ to ‘postcolonial girl’
Angela McRobbie (2007, 2009) has argued that young women are
fetishised as model subjects in neoliberal governmental accounts of
national futures. As she suggests, girls and young women are
imagined as the ideal rational actors who have succeeded in re-
inventing themselves, adapting to shifting global market forces as
the new reflexivity winners in educational achievement and
employment. Of course within this prevailing discourse of
'successful girls' some girls are more ideal than others, and
McRobbie provides a series of typologies of girlhood which
constitute an operational axis of ideal and abject girls. Primary
among these types are the `A1 girl’ typified by ambitious ‘TV
blondes’; `the global girl` who is ‘emblematic of the success of
corporate multiculturalism’ (McRobbie 2009: 88); and `pramfaced`
working class girls whose lack of social mobility is the antithesis
of neoliberal girlhood (see Tyler, 2011). These typologies of
girlhood, whether ideal or abject, are dependent on manufactured
intimacy for their affective purchase within the public sphere.
These familiar figures are highly mediated social types who are
mobilized in policy and popular culture as forms of gendered
governance (and self-governance), constituting fields of
intelligibility for girlhood in the Global North. The figure of the
‘global girl’ is also powerfully brought into play across national
boundaries in projects that produce ‘the girl effect’ by bringing
together transnational actors like the UN, with corporations such as
Nike, and grassroots NGOs. Such strategies result in a ‘girling of
development,’ in which corporate branding, global governance and
activism are yoked in uneasy alliance (Koffman and Gill,
forthcoming). McRobbie’s figure of the global girl is useful for
thinking about the contours of girlhood under neoliberalism, but is
less helpful in terms of thinking `the relations between girlhood,
power, agency and resistance` in the context of the global
inequalities to which neoliberalism gives rise (Gonick, et al.
2009: 1). Gamu Nhengu’s story is interesting because it helps to
illuminate ‘the repressed’ (to borrow Stuart Hall’s phrase) of the
figure of the global girl and in doing so potentially politicizes
this figure of girlhood, making visible a different figure – the
migrant girl from the post-colonies. If the manufactured intimate,
the `global girl`, is the PR-exemplar of migrant post-coloniality,
mobilised in national publicity materials as an alibi for the
gendered, racialized and class-based inequalities of global
capitalism, the ‘postcolonial girl’ raises the `spectre of
colonialization` and highlights the deep gendered and racialised
i All references to `Gamu’ refer to Gamu as a mediated figure: a figure whom assumes meaning and ‘reality’ through the brief but intensive focus on, anddramatization of her story within reality TV, news papers, and in online spaces.
inequalities, the uneven mobilities, and the long histories of
exploitation which separate the global north and south.
The public outcry which greeted the eviction of Gamu from The X
Factor exposed the abject underside of the cosmopolitan face of
Britain. Gamu had been a favourite to win the competition, hotly
tipped to become the next global superstar manufactured by the show.
Indeed, reality genre television is the rasion d’etre of the
multicultural `global girl` described by McRobbie, often
misrecognised as meritocratic on the basis of its inclusion of
`national minorities`, and its adoption of `democratic techniques`
such as voting (see Tyler and Bennett, 2010). Programmes such as The
X Factor form part of a mass entertainment complex in the Global
North which arguably function, in part, to immunise audiences
against the inequalities of the political present tense through the
spectacular staging of a meritocratic multi-culture, a culture which
Ranciére describes as `the radiant luminosity of the public life of
equals’ (Ranciére 2001: 23) The reality TV staging of meritocracy
was challenged by Gamu’s sudden expulsion from the show, and even
further by the subsequent revelation that she was resident in the UK
illegally. In becoming visible as an illegal, Gamu polluted the
space of reality TV with politics and history. Gamu was transformed
from a hygienic immigrant into a foreign body. Katarzyna Marcinak
helpfully develops the concept of `hygienic immigrant identities’ to
explain the process of migrant cultural cleansing which this
cultural performance of meritocracy is contingent upon. As she
notes: `To prove adequate, a legal immigrant is generally required
to occupy the place of a “clean” subject—humble, disciplined,
“invisible”' (2006: 36).
Whilst The X Factor producers denied that Gamu’s citizenship status
played a role in the decision to remove her from the show, many felt
this was the only explanation for her sudden departure. Now
designated ‘illegal’, Gamu and her family became subject to the full
force of Britain’s immigration regime (see Tyler 2006). To compound
the drama, shortly after Gamu’s departure from The X Factor, a long
anticipated legal ruling deemed it now `safe` for Zimbabwean
migrants to be forcibly deported, and suddenly it seemed likely that
Gamu would be evicted not only from a reality show, but from
Britain. The UK Border Agency took the unusual step of commenting
publically on the case by confirming that the Gamu family must leave
the UK voluntarily or face deportation to Zimbabwe. Politicians made
a variety of public statements, some appealing for clemency–some,
notably, on the basis of her `exceptional` talent--and others
arguing that Gamu and her family should not be an exception. Faced
with Gamu’s deportation, The X-Factor audience became the unlikely
site of popular opposition to the British government’s border and
immigration policies, with fans initiating telephone and letter
writing campaigns, online petitions and websites, in an attempt to
persuade the government Home Office and Border Agency not to deport
Gamu and her family. The text of one online petition reads:
Gamu Nhengu, her mother and brothers are facing deportation to
Zimbabwe as a result of administrative error. The family moved
to this country in traumatic circumstances eight years ago.
They are a well known and popular part of the community of
Tillicoultry in central Scotland.
The nation has taken Gamu to its heart following her recent
appearance on the TV show X-Factor. Her brothers are settled
in local schools and know Scotland as their home. Her mother
is a hard working nurse known for her compassionate care for
the elderly in the community.
We believe that the family should be allowed to remain
together in the town they call home. (Gamu Must Stay, online
petition, 2009 http://www.gopetition.com/petition/39599.html)
As this petition suggests, Gamu and her family were repeatedly
figured in online spaces as ideal citizens: aspirational, hard-
working, talented, demure, caring, community orientated, law-abiding
and innocent. This narrative of exception circulated throughout an
extraordinary range of public spaces, from Parliament, newspapers,
websites and social media, to the clothing people wore on the
street. Whilst members of both Houses of Parliament tabled questions
calling on the Government to grant her leave to remain, Web
merchandisers began to sell ‘Don’t Deport Gamu’ t-shirts. X-Factor
media mogul Simon Cowell made a series of paternalistic gestures,
engaging his lawyers to support the Gamu family’s anti-deportation
efforts, whilst also attempting to redraw the boundaries between The
X Factor show, and the political reality of the British deportation
regime. As he noted in a newspaper interview: `We are helping Gamu
and her family as much as possible and have lawyers working with her
lawyers. It's not because we have to but because I really feel for
their situation, and that's outside of the show.’ (Rebecca Lefort,
2010). In Ranciére’s terms, we might understand Cowell’s statement
as an attempt to police the `dissensus` generated by Gamu-gate by
redrawing the boundaries between reality TV and the reality of the
State. Policing, in Ranciere’s work:
does not literally refer to the institution of the police, but
rather to the distribution of institutions, differentiated and
hierarchized social positions, modes of communication, images,
ideas, and ways of speaking that generate what Ranciére calls
‘the given’ – the status quo in which everything and everyone
has a place and everything and everyone is in their place
(Faulkner, 2009).
Despite attempts to police the effects Gamu-gate, the meaning and
forms of intimate attachment which this event generated could not be
easily controlled. Indeed, in being revealed so spectacularly as
`out of place`, the figure of Gamu temporarily displaced prevailing
forms of perception, creating uncertainty about ‘common-sense`
understandings of migrancy and citizenship.
Affective politics
Gamu gate erupted into a context marked by overwhelmingly negative
representations of African migrants. Some of the media coverage drew
on entrenched racist notions and popular opposition to what are
portrayed as ‘undeserving’ migrants in the UK. The following
selection of online comments illustrates the hateful tenor of these
ugly feelings–whose pervasiveness and virulence we would not want to
underestimate.
Gamu the X Factor monkey. Export her and the other 500 000
illegals milking our system! they are half the reason this
country is in so much debt! im sick of going to work to pay
for families like hers getting benefits, houses, healthcare
and education coutesy of us! lets turn this country in to a
proud british nation again! instead of a country that puts
everyone first other than its own people!!!! [errors in
original post]
Gamu and her family are just four of the worthless, scrounging
assorted immigrants who dump themselves on the British people
– their agenda is to grab as much as they can con from the
British taxpayers. Hopefully, Gamu and her family will be
given a sharp boot up their backsides on their way back to
their Zimbabwe slum.
These peoples countries are filthy hell holes because they
have made them so, they have done it to themselves. It is
their values that are bad and they will bring them here. Our
cities are awash with imported gun and knife crime, our home
will be as disgusting as the third world toilets they come
from.
If these extracts are indicative of the online racism which Gamu
gate animated, it is important to note the ways in which this
virulent xenophobia also shaped the pro-Gamu campaigns. For as we
have suggested, the pro-Gamu fandom produced Gamu as a singular,
exceptional,talented ‘global girl’, in ways which reinforced deeply
problematic oppositional notions of deserving and undeserving
migrants. The schizophrenic politics of public support for Gamu is
captured by the following quote from a signatory to a pro-Gamu
social media site:
Deporting Gamu and her family is totally out of order. This
country allows scum bags like criminals from other countries
to come and live here and claim benefits and then deport
someone like Gamu's family who deserve to be here. What the
f*** is going on. I say kick out the undeserving foreigners
and allow the good hard working deserving people to stay.
Nevertheless, Gamu-Gate generated an extraordinary outpouring of
positive and intimate responses which–at least temporarily–
interrupted some of the entrenched and familiar depictions of
irregular migrants as `scrounging scum`. Gamu’s treatment generated
widespread public expressions of outrage and calls for clemency, and
cultivated an unexpected if precarious empathy for the wider
situation of irregular migrants. As journalist Afua Hirsch put it,
under the headline ‘When an “illegal immigrant” has the X Factor’,
Gamu had ‘finally woken Britain up to the injustice of the
immigration system’ (The Guardian, October 8th 2010). Gamu gate
became a dense site of national and global political imagination as
`the reality of reality television` and `the reality of immigration
controls’ combined to produce a dramatic postcolonial storyline: a
media event which journalist Laurie Penny described as ‘pop culture
and radical politics with a feminist twist’ (Penny, 2010).
Gamu gate revealed the national political sphere to be what Berlant
terms `a scene for the orchestration of public feelings—of the
public’s feelings, of feelings in public, of politics as a scene of
emotional contestation` (2005: 47). The manufactured intimacy
animated by the spectacular irreality of emotion-laden reality
television became the catalyst for unexpected modes of collective
sociality and attachment, generating forms of online activism which
troubled the prevailing xenophobic political consensus around
African economic migration from the post-colonies. In particular, we
want to suggest that Gamu’s audibility, an extraordinary singing
voice which reduced the judging panel and audience to tears at her X
Factor auditions, and was captured, edited and replayed many
thousands of times in fan-based video sharing communities, created
an aural porthole for the public where the public might see through,
or rather ‘hear through’, the wall of stereotypes about irregular
migrants. As Marciniak notes, `The hygienic version of the
remodelled self [which it is required for migrants to produce] is a
“clean,” nonthreatening one, one stripped of the often painful
memories of the “Old World” and of discomforting otherness’ (2006:
51). It was precisely this hygienic migrant identity which Gamu
troubled as the semiotics of ‘global girl’ were displaced by those
of `postcolonial girlhood’.
Figure One: ‘Don’t Let Me Face Firing Squad’ front cover of the News
of the World, 10 October 2010 (photograph of cover taken by I.
Tyler)
As we have documented here, Gamu was a divisive figure. On the one
hand, as a reality show participant on the verge of global
celebrity, she embodied the self-actualisation demanded by
neoliberal meritocracy in which girls are imagined as the privileged
agents of social change (McRobbie, 2007). On the other hand, as an
African girl from a British post-colony, she exposed the deep and
persistent inequalities between the global north and south, and in
the particular context of Britain and Zimbabwe, between people of
former colonizer nations and those from former colonies. It is
important to note that prior to November 2002, Zimbabweans were free
to travel to the UK without a visa. Today, the vast majority of
Zimbabweans in the UK are undocumented ‘illegal’ migrants
(International Organization for Migration. December 2006).
Furthermore, whilst the British Government has systematically
restricted movement between Zimbabwe and Britain for Black
Zimbabweans, pursuing a policy of detention and deportation, it has
offered hospitality to a number of mainly elderly White British born
Zimbabweans. This includes in 2009 the creation of the Zimbabwe
Resettlement Programme, a government-funded resettlement package for
British nationals resident in Zimbabwe. Thus ‘Gamu-gate’ might be
read as an allegory of the post-colonial history of citizenship in
Britain in as much as it exemplifies what Kathleen Paul (1997) has
described as `the whitewashing of Britain’ through the mechanisms of
citizenship law. From the 1960s onwards, commonwealth subjects where
systemically denuded of their rights of migration to and residency
in the UK. This ‘scaling of citizenship’ (Tyler, 2010) peaked in the
landmark British Nationality Act of 1981 which was
designed to define, limit and remove the entitlements to
citizenship from British nationals in the Commonwealth (the
former colonies) thereby restricting immigration to the
British Isles and creating ‘aliens’ within the borders of the
nation state. [The 1981] Act instituted a ‘citizenship gap’
within the British state, and between the state and former
British colonies, as large numbers of British nationals found
they had been designed out of citizenship (Tyler, 2010, 62).
The geopolitical relations figured through Gamu should be
interpreted within what Jayne Ifekwunigwe describes as `feminized
circuits of global capitalism and under-development’, a neo-colonial
logic which is secured through citizenship (Ifekwunigwe, 2004).
British citizenship describes a legal, political and social field of
intelligibility, a biopolitics that produces some bodies and groups
as failing, abject or outside of the realm of citizenship
altogether. This might mean failures at mundane and banal levels of
everyday interpellation, such as the failure to have the right kind
of educational aspirations or the right kind of body, or the more
explicit failure illustrated through Gamu-gate, such as the failure
to produce the right kind of paperwork to secure leave to remain in
the UK. However, as Peter Nyers argues, citizenship struggles are
not simply about legal status but are struggles ‘for recognition as
someone with an audible and corporeal presence that can be described
as ‘political’’ (Nyers, 1997: 3). As we have suggested, one of the
interesting things about Gamu-gate is the very different and
conflictual kinds of publics which it brings into play. In
exercising a particular mode of migrant audibility through her
performance, Gamu does not only operationalise the official public
of legal entitlements and border controls, but the affective and
intimate publics of reality TV fandom, online racism and migrant
activism.
Migrant Audibility
In his influential writing on politics and aesthetics, Rancière
argues that `politics is aesthetic in that it makes visible what had
been excluded from a perceptual field, and in that it makes audible
what used to be inaudible’ (2004: 226). In other words, the role and
meaning of politics, in his radical redefinition, is to in some way
transform prevailing forms of perception, and in doing so to create
a breach or space for something or someone else to be seen, heard,
felt or in some way to be perceived otherwise.
Rancière’s thesis speaks to long-standing debates about visibility
and audibility in postcolonial studies. For example, it is the
question of in/visibility which is at the heart of Edward Said’s
(1978) project in Orientalism, which details the crude,
essentialized caricatures of the Islamic world which underpin
European and North American art and scholarship. The question of
audibility occupies Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak who in her essay `Can
the Subaltern Speak?’ (1985), argued that ‘first world’ attempts to
ameliorate the condition of the subaltern through acts of
translation most often reinforce the inaudibility of the subjugated.
Whether the focus is on what we can see, or what we can hear,
postcolonial theory is from its inception concerned with the
question of representation, and thus with the politics of
aesthetics. Imperialistic representational frames screen colonized
and former colonized populations from view and hearing, and in so
doing curtail the political agency of subjugated populations (see
Said 1978). In Frames of War, Judith Butler develops this
postcolonial critique, theorising the epistemological capacity to
apprehend life in terms of perceptual frames of recognizeability
which ‘organise visual experience’ and ‘generate specific ontologies
of the subject’ (2009: 3). For Butler the question is one of how to
produce ‘a more egalitarian set of conditions for recognizeability’
(2009:6). Butler’s account, and in particular her concern with the
possibilities that are generated when majoritarian frames fall apart
or recede, resonates with Rancière’s thesis. In his account however,
it is imperative to begin not from the perspective of the frame
through which the subjugated are perceived (and named as the
subjugated) but with absolute equality as the axiom of all political
life. It is through the force of this emphasis on equality as the
grounds for critical thought that Rancière’s work makes a
contribution to postcolonial theoretical perspectives. What is
additionally important about Rancière’s claims, is that he troubles
an account which is based on the idea that political truth is
obscured behind surface appearances: ‘the hidden beneath the
apparent’ (2004a: 49). On the contrary he suggests that this kind of
revelatory idea(l) is one which remains caught without colonialist
notions of ‘mastery’. For Rancière it is rather a question of
understanding visibility and audibility as part of prevailing
aesthetic systems which are historically contingent, and as such are
subject to disruption, rupture and transformation when their
contingency is exposed. This claim resonates with Butler’s important
account of the social life of norms. For example, whilst for Butler
psychoanalytic laws might operate as normalizing principles which
govern psychic life, and `the social intelligibility of action`
(2004: 41), they are not immutable or a-historical facts, but are
sedimentations of existing social practices (2004: 44). What
Rancière (2004a) adds to these debates, is his emphasis on
aesthetics as the arena of struggle in which a redistribution of
what he terms the sensible (but what might also be conceived as a
perceptual norms), takes place. In turn, this emphasis on aesthetics
allows for a more radical reconsideration of mediation as the form,
space and time within and through which publics and counter-publics
are made and undone.
In the case of antagonisms unleashed by Gamu-gate, we have suggested
thinking about the incompatibility of perspectives represented in
terms of the collision of the figure of global girlhood, one face of
meritocratic globalism, with the figure of the postcolonial girl,
who in our account embodies postcolonial history as well as the
economic inequalities and xenophobic counternarratives of the
political present tense. This is not to say that the prevailing
system of ‘sense’ about postcolonial migrancy is or can be
permanently displaced by an event such as this, rather that these
kinds of ‘scandals’ generate a perceptual ‘shock’ to systems of
perception by bringing incompatible aesthetic and affective regimes
together.
In Rancière’s account, politics is that rare occurrence when a claim
for equality generates a shift in a perceptual field, a rupture in
the prevailing frames of visibility. Politics occurs when those who
have no part, those shadow populations who have been variously
described as ‘the miscounted’ (Rancière 2001), the ‘subaltern’
(Spivak 1985), ‘outcasts’ (Bauman 2004), or the `unintelligible`
(Butler 2009) stake a claim for equality and in so doing become
audible in ways that reveal prevailing norms of perception to be
both contingent and alterable. This is not the same as theorising
the rupture of hegemony in terms of the irruption of subaltern
voices `from below’, but rather conceiving of the ways in which
incommensurable histories of meaning, truth and perception are
already in circulation and collide in ways which activate new kinds
of politics. Politics in this sense might well not take the form of
recognizable acts of political protest (strikes, demonstrations,
etc) but can take place in unexpected sites – even within the highly
orchestrated aesthetics of mass capitalist media.
Capture and Escape
By taking part in a reality TV singing show, Gamu staked a claim for
a slice of the meritocratic dream to which she ‘had no right’: this
is the kind of act that Rancière describes as ‘improper part-taking’
(1999). The happy `intimate multiculturalism` to which reality TV is
yoked, was disturbed by the spectre of `colonialism` which she
embodied. If Gamu was initially configured as one of the neoliberal
‘global girls’ described by McRobbie, one of the growing stable of
post-racial global superstars manufactured by reality TV, then she
later became, unexpectedly, audible as a different kind of figure: a
postcolonial girl fighting for her family’s rights to remain in
Britain. In Gamu’s case, postcolonial audibility was facilitated
both by the distinctive qualities of her beautiful voice, and by her
‘surplus affect’: tearful scenes which momentarily moved audiences
to face the deeply entrenched culture of impunity against unwanted
migrants within the British state. As Gamu moved from
intelligibility as a ‘global girl’ to audibility as a ‘postcolonial
girl’, she troubled prevailing regimes of migrant visibility. Gamu
gate reveals how the same 'sinews of inequality and subordination'
which shaped older colonial mobility flows, such as the
transatlantic slave trade, are in operation in the design of
contemporary regimes of citizenship (Catherine Hall, quoted in
Ifekwunigwe 2004: 400).
However, in becoming a political subject, one also becomes subject
to dominant regimes of power, and the frequent cost of audibility
for the miscounted is that they are recast as those of no account
(Rancière, 1999: 38). In the case study explored in this article, we
can perceive the paradox of manufactured intimacy and its political
potential for interrupting prevailing regimes of audibility, in very
material ways. As soon as Gamu becomes knowable and audible, as an
intimate other, and stakes a claim for a slice of the meritocratic
dream of celebrity, as staged in reality TV, she becomes subject to
racism, state violence and deportation. This paradox brings us back
to Spivak’s conclusion that `the subaltern cannot speak`; for when
such a subject becomes audible they are (re)inscribed as the
subaltern, simultaneously invoked and foreclosed. What Rancière
contributes to this debate is significant, however, for what matters
in his account is not the redistribution of visibility per se, but
the interruption itself. As he writes, `[t]he essence of politics is
the manifestation of dissensus, as the presence of two worlds in
one’ (2001). What matters (and what materialises) is the disclosure
of radical inequality, and the conditions of possibility such
disclosures create for troubling stereotypes and generating
disbelief, outrage and uncertainty.
Gamu gate highlights how non-citizens practice citizenship despite
their lack of formal rights and status, and in doing so might foster
important forms of dissensus which in turn allow for alternative
conceptualisations of migrant agency and resistance. At the same
time we are aware how the argument we are making here stands in
contradistinction to those theoretical accounts which attempt to
push past the perceived limits of representational and identitarian
politics, often through a focus on figures of escape.ii
In this paper, we have focused on the representational struggles
taking place inside neoliberal public culture. Gamu is interesting
as a figure precisely because her story is about migrant desires to
`become majoritarian’, a desire which leads to multiple regimes of
capture as she is variously idealised, abstracted, fictionalised,
loved and abjected in public. Our argument is that the
contradictions, struggles and affects which figures such as Gamu
activate within popular and public imaginaries are important not
only because they expose the inequalities, contingencies and
fantasies of neoliberalism but because in doing so they generate
instability and uncertainity. And as Faulkner notes, `uncertainty is
a first step in a potential process of declassification that is
central to the challenging and reorganisation of the political
given’ (Faulkner, 2009).
Conclusion
In this article, we explored the case of Gamu gate in which a girl
from the post-colonies presents herself as a contestant in a reality
TV talent programme in the Global North in which, because of her
`illegal status’, she cannot be allowed to participate. This case
demonstrates the contradictions between the idea of global
multicultural meritocracy, and the reality of tightly policed
borders and boundaries of inclusion and exclusion. Gamu’s
appearance, and disappearance, from The X-Factor is political in
that it exposes the incommensurability of two orders of reality in
the British state. In particular, we have argued that the forms of
intimate feelings and identifications to which manufactured intimacy
ii For example, in Escape Routes: Control and Subversion in the 21st Century, Dimitris Papadopoulos, Niamh Stephenson and Vassilis Tsianos argue for an ‘outside politics’ or `imperceptible politics’ as a response to the politics of visibility (and identity).. This argument stands in an interesting, if tense relationship to the politics of popular culture and mediated intimacymobilised in this paper. This raises questions, which beyond the scope of this paper, about different disciplinary understandings of ‘representation’itself, understood in both aesthetic and political senses. These theoretical tensions around politics and visibility are further explored ina forthcoming issue of Citizenship Studies on ‘Immigrant Protest’ (2013) edited by Imogen Tyler and Katarzyna Marciniak.
gives rise generate forms of public uncertainty which trouble the
deep inequalities which underpin and sustain British national life.
Gamu Nhengu had no interest in becoming a figure-head for the anti-
deportation movement. On the contrary, in a newspaper interview she
expressed her anger that public visibility had put her family at
risk of removal.
I believe being on the show made all the difference. The Home
Office said everything was fine. But then Boot Camp was
screened and suddenly there were these problems. I would be a
good person to make an example of. Everyone knows me. [...] If
I hadn't been on X Factor everything would have been fine.
Someone else would have been the scapegoat instead of me.
(Gamu in Carmichael 2010)
Despite her retrospective desire for invisibility and escape,
through her participation in The X Factor, Gamu became animated as a
public figure whom exposed the Janus-face of British citizenship:
the global business in immigrant prisons and the vast, monstrous
bureaucracy from which flow categories of postcolonial peoples
marginalised by, excluded or disqualified from citizenship, living
‘unliveable lives’ at the borders of the British state.
Of course, the intimate activism which arose as a consequence of the
waves of sentimental identification with Gamu’s plight does not
offer any lasting challenge to the deep-seated xenophobia which
frames the visibility of irregular migrant populations in Britain,
and, in some ways, as we have noted, was situated within similar
terms of reference. The legions of reality TV fans and online
campaigners who championed Gamu in her battle to remain in the UK in
the main cite not the injustice of postcolonial border controls, but
her exceptional qualities, that `extraordinary talent` which
distinguishes her from the mass of ‘undeserving’ postcolonial
migrants imagined to be pressing at the border. Furthermore, as we
have detailed, alongside a flurry of `counter-publicity for
illegals’, Gamu-gate unleashed an extraordinary amount of ugly
online racism, banal and well-trodden narratives about `illegal
migrants’ which sought to ‘close the gap’ between lived postcolonial
realities and the ahistorical abstraction of reality TV, which
Gamu’s claim for global stardom had wrenched open.
Nevertheless, by trying to pass as a ‘global girl’ and by being
exposed as a `postcolonial girl’, Gamu breached borders, creating
heated debates about immigration and postcoloniality amongst the
most unlikely of audiences. In so doing, `Gamu-gate’ generated, in
the sense Rancière suggests, an aesthetic rupture which affected the
return of a particular imperial spectre which cannot be so easily
dispelled. For our own part, by restaging the melodrama of ‘Gamu-
gate’ in the space of this paper, our aim has been to further make
tangible the neocolonial logic which constitutes populations of
irregular African migrants from the post-colonies in the Global
North as disposable: a `disposability` which the intimate public
spaces of television and social media forums in this case made
audible in an unexpected way (Khanna, 2009).
Meanwhile, the future of the Gamu family remains uncertain. In May
2011, they won an appeal to remain in the UK, but the British
Government immediately announced its intention to contest the
decision of this ruling and the case is ongoing. Like a piece of
grit removed from an eye, these postcolonial melodramas continue to
irritate the body politic long after they are over. As Gamu sings,
`You'll have to cry me out’.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Shani Orgad, Bruce Bennett, Helene Strauss and Sarah
Brophy for their critical feedback.
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Figures
Figure One: ‘Don’t Let Me Face the Firing Squad’ front cover of the
News of the World, 10 October 2010 (photograph of cover taken by I.
Tyler)