Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found athttps://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=raag21

Annals of the Association of American Geographers

ISSN: 0004-5608 (Print) 1467-8306 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/raag20

Speaking Without Voice: Participatory Planning,Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity inBarbados

Jonathan Pugh

To cite this article: Jonathan Pugh (2013) Speaking Without Voice: Participatory Planning,Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity in Barbados, Annals of the Association of AmericanGeographers, 103:5, 1266-1281, DOI: 10.1080/00045608.2012.706571

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/00045608.2012.706571

Published online: 27 Aug 2012.

Submit your article to this journal

Article views: 1900

View related articles

Citing articles: 16 View citing articles

Speaking Without Voice: Participatory Planning,Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity

in BarbadosJonathan Pugh

School of Geography, Politics and Sociology, Newcastle University

As elsewhere, participatory planning in Barbados aims to give more people a say in planning. Yet, there is adifference between people having the opportunity to speak and them having discovered a voice. This articleexamines the precarious relationship between voice, acknowledgment, and latent subjectivity in Barbadianfisherfolk during participatory planning. It is influenced by Stanley Cavell, pragmatic planning traditions, andpostcolonial literature. Structurally, the analysis is split into four sections. First, the theme of fisherfolk exclusionfrom the west coast of Barbados is contextualized. Attention is given to the Folkestone Marine Park and Reserve(FMPR) participatory planning initiative. Second, the article analyzes how fisherfolk express alienation. A seriesof examples demonstrate how fishers become victims of their own words, because the signature of their linguisticauthority always seems to lie elsewhere, with something or someone else. The causes analyzed include discoursesof development and modernity; the culture of Barbados’s political independence from the United Kingdom in1966; a lack of political alternatives; the nature of creolization; Afrocentrism and negritude; how civil servantsbehave during participatory planning projects; and perceptions of fishing communities. A coherent story buildsas the article progresses, of the linguistic authority of fishers’ words being beyond their control. Finally, thearticle analyzes how empirical research influenced pragmatic solutions developed by fisherfolk with the author.These involved working with British High Commissions to change thinking about what Caribbean developmentconsultancy means. Key Words: Barbados, participatory planning, Stanley Cavell, voice, Wittgenstein.

������,������������������������������������������

���������������������������, ��������������� ���

���������·��� (Stanley Cavell)�����������������, ������������:

����������������������, ������������� (Folkestone Marine Park and

Reserve)���������������������������������,�����������

���������������������������������������� 1966�����

�������������������������������������������, �����

���������,���������������������������������������

����������,������������, �������������� ���:���,��

���,���·���,��,�����

Como ocurre en otras partes del mundo, la planificacion participativa en Barbados busca mayores oportunidadesde intervencion de la gente en la planificacion. Al respecto, existe una diferencia entre decir que la gente tengala oportunidad de hablar a que ellos hayan descubierto la manera de hacerse oır. Este artıculo examina la precariarelacion que existe entre vocerıa, reconocimiento y subjetividad latente entre los pescadores de Barbados enterminos de planificacion participativa. El artıculo es influido por Stanley Cavell, las tradiciones de planificacionpragmatica y la literatura poscolonial. Estructuralmente, el analisis se divide en cuatro secciones. Primero, secontextualiza el tema de la exclusion de los pescadores de la costa oeste de Barbados. Se le presta atencion ala iniciativa de planificacion participativa del Parque y Reserva Marina de Folkestone (PRMF). Segundo, elartıculo examina la manera como los pescadores expresan su alienacion. Una serie de ejemplos demuestra comolos pescadores se convierten en vıctimas de sus propias palabras, por cuanto la firma de su autoridad linguısticasiempre parece encontrarse en otra parte, a cargo de algo o de alguien mas. Las causas que se analizan incluyencosas como los discursos sobre desarrollo y modernidad; la cultura de la independencia polıtica de Barbados delReino Unido en 1966; una falta de alternativas polıticas; la naturaleza de la criollizacion; el afrocentrismo y lanegritud; el modo como los servidores publicos actuan en los proyectos de planificacion; y las percepciones de las

Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 103(5) 2013, pp. 1266–1281 C© 2013 by Association of American GeographersInitial submission, June 2011; revised submissions, November 2011, January 2012; final acceptance, January 2012

Published by Taylor & Francis, LLC.

Participatory Planning, Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity in Barbados 1267

comunidades de pescadores. A medida que se avanza en el artıculo se va construyendo una historia coherenteen la que la autoridad linguıstica de las palabras de los pescadores aparece fuera de su control. Por ultimo, elartıculo analiza de que manera la investigacion empırica influyo las soluciones pragmaticas desarrolladas porlos pescadores con el autor. Aquellas implicaron trabajar con las Altas Comisiones Britanicas para cambiar elmodo de pensar sobre lo que quiere decir la consultorıa sobre el desarrollo caribeno. Palabras clave: Barbados,planificacion participativa, Stanley Cavell, voz, Wittgenstein.

When yuh poor, yuh very speech poor.

—Barbadian colloquialism

Recent years have seen a growing number of pub-lications examining Caribbean participatoryplanning (Conway 1998; Klak 1998; Pelling

2002; Pugh and Potter 2002; Besson and Momsen 2007;Sletto 2009). Barbados in particular is considered asuccess story by organizations like the United NationsSmall Island Developing States Network (2011). De-spite problems in other regions of the world, those sup-portive of participatory planning, such as the UnitedKingdom Department for International Development(2011, 6), reported in 2011 that they would “maintainthe Caribbean regional programme.” Talking about theUS$180 million in Inter-American Development Bank(IDB) loans Barbados presently receives, IDB PresidentLuis Alberto Moreno has said the “IDB is firmly com-mitted to a strong partnership with Barbados” (IDB2011). Interest in Caribbean participatory planning islikely to be maintained.

As elsewhere, participatory planning in Barbadosaims to give more people a say in planning. Yet, asthis article demonstrates, there is a difference betweenpeople having the opportunity to speak and themhaving discovered a voice. The repression of voice is ofcentral concern to both participatory planning theory(Hillier 2002; Forester 2009; Healey 2010; Innes andBooher 2010) and postcolonial studies literature (J.Scott 1990; Mbembe 2003; Henke 2004; Meeks 2007).This article analyzes the relationship between voice,acknowledgment, and latent subjectivity in Barbadianfisherfolk during participatory planning. In doing so,it also introduces the work of the philosopher StanleyCavell (1979, 1988, 2005, 2010) to the participatoryplanning tradition.

Structurally, the article is split into four sections.First, the theme of fisherfolk exclusion from the westcoast of Barbados is contextualized. Particular attentionis given to the Folkestone Marine Park and Reserve(FMPR) participatory planning initiative. Second, Iinvestigate how fisherfolk express feelings of alienation.The analysis demonstrates how they do not so muchfeel manipulated or misunderstood by others involved

in participatory planning. More fundamentally, theyoften feel worthless to society. Third, underlying causesof this alienation are analyzed. A series of examplesillustrate how fishers become victims of their ownwords, because the signature of their linguistic author-ity always seems to lie elsewhere, with something orsomeone else. That is the central theme of the article. Ianalyze a number of causes, which include discourses ofdevelopment and modernity; the culture of Barbados’spolitical independence from the United Kingdom in1966; a lack of political alternatives; the nature ofcreolization; Afrocentrism and negritude; how civilservants behave during participatory planning projects;and perceptions of fishing communities. In differentways, these conspire to remove the linguistic authorityfrom fishers’ words when they speak. Although fisherscan speak during participatory planning, for thesevarious reasons they have no voice. A coherent story istherefore gradually built up, as the article progresses, ofthe linguistic authority of fishers’ words being beyondtheir control. The causes are necessarily wide ranging,because, as will be shown by drawing on Cavell, linguis-tic authority can never be tracked down to one phe-nomenon, one person, or one group of people. We mustinvestigate a variety of factors. Fourth and finally, I ana-lyze how that story of the empirical research influencedpragmatic solutions developed by fisherfolk from sevenCaribbean countries with the author. A new approachto development consultancy was created throughworking with British High Commissions in the region.

This article reports twelve years of empiricalresearch undertaken between 1998 and 2011.1 Docu-menting two years in the field (1998–1999, 2003 and2011), this has included interviews with 114 Barbadianfisherpeople, 123 people connected to the FMPR,and ten focus groups with Barbadian fisherpeople(average attendance was ten participants). I collectedrelevant plans, documentation, and archival materialsand observed participatory meetings. In addition, 128fisherpeople, split equally between Barbados, St. Lucia,Antigua, St. Kitts, Dominica, St. Vincent, and Carria-cou, were interviewed as part of the pragmatic solutionsto fisherfolk alienation developed by fisherfolk and theauthor and funded by the British High Commissions

1268 Pugh

of these countries. The next section sets the scene forthese subsequent sections by introducing the theme offisherfolk exclusion from Barbados’s west coast.

Exclusion and Alienation

To feel emancipated, to feel independent, we need toknow . . . that Barbados is our country. (Fisherperson fromwest coast)

Barbados is the easternmost Caribbean country. Itis 431 km2 and is a parliamentary democracy. Gainingindependence from the United Kingdom in 1966, inJuly 2011 it had a population of 287,733 (CIA WorldFactbook 2011). Fishing is largely artisanal in Barbados.The majority of fishers operate on a small-scale basis,concentrating on primary production, using traps,cast nets, hooks, and lines. The fishing industryemploys 6,000 people (in fish processing, distribution,retailing, wholesaling, exporting, and boat building,including 2,000 active fishers; “Reducing Our FishImports” 2011). It is valued at US$26 million. Fishingcontributes about 1 percent of gross domestic product(GDP), compared to 14 percent for tourism (CIAWorld Factbook 2011). Around 75 percent of thepopulation is employed in services, particularly off-shore finance and tourism. Tourism-related activitiescover most of Barbados’s west coast in particular (seeFigure 1).

In the 1980s the chairman of the Barbados TouristBoard, Jack Dear, introduced beach wardens to preventlocals from harassing tourists. Although acknowledgingthat tourism is vital, many Barbadians interpreted thisas a step too far. There was also concern that somehotels were developing properties down to the water-front, excluding locals further. One night in the 1980s,a young Calypso singer, “The Mighty Gabby,” whoworked in a west coast hotel, was asked by a tourist tosing a local song. With reference to Jack Dear, he sang:

I want Jack to know that the beach belong to me

That can’t happen here over my dead body

Tell Jack that I say that the beach belong to me (TheMighty Gabby 1996)

Bolstered by support for what became the Caribbeanhit song “Jack,” the “Windows to the Sea” movementof the 1980s, supported by Christian Action for Devel-opment, sought to maintain coastal access (Hutt 1980).When I interviewed Gabby twenty years later in 2003,however, he said that much of the west coast does not

feel like “Barbados” anymore.2 A fisher in his youth,Gabby said fishing villages were particularly alienated.

This is a growing theme in Caribbean environ-mental and coastal zone management (Goodbody andThomas-Hope 2002; Pugh and Potter 2002; Pugh andMomsen 2006). Fishing is excluded through environ-mental management and participatory planning inBarbados. In 1980 the Marine Areas Preservation andEnhancement Act (Government of Barbados 1980)established the FMPR (see Figure 1). It excluded fisher-folk from the reserve, establishing a recreational zone,science zone, and northern and southern water sportszones for tourism. After enforcement failures, in 1997the government obtained funding from the CanadianInternational Development Agency and the CaribbeanDevelopment Bank, developing the FMPR’s capacitythrough participatory planning. A total of US$1.99million, half from the government, was allocated tothis and two other tourist designations: Harrison’s Caveand Carlisle Bay. After nearly two years of stakeholdermeetings (involving fishers, snorkelers, catamarans,divers, large and small boat operators, jet ski users,operators of full and semisubmersibles, operators ofglass-bottom boats, and marine scientists working alongthe west coast) in 1999 a draft report was produced(Axys Environmental Consulting [Barbados] 1999).This expands the reserve from Weston to Fitts Village,from 11 percent to 20 percent of the island’s west coast,further excluding fishing. When interviewed, mostpeople involved in the FMPR said the reason was toinclude the Stavronikita dive wreck for tourists. Unlesstied into a wider system of protected areas, the FMPRwould not significantly improve fish stocks. Moreover,most fisherfolk only fish for sprats and bait in the area.

Although the draft 1999 plan was not formallyadopted, the participatory process had one importantconsequence: It clearly demonstrated to many fishersthat, although they can speak freely, they have novoice. This was apparent at many stakeholder meet-ings I observed. At the first FMPR meeting in 1998,the facilitator told the assembled group of stakehold-ers “everything is on the table,” the FMPR’s future isopen. Yet, one fisher’s intriguingly cryptic response tome as an aside was this: “But who will bring the cut-lery?” When I asked the fishers what they meant, theysaid that their tools of negotiation, their words, werenot “my own.” They went on to say “Others own mywords” because “we have not discovered our voice.” Asanother fisher said at that meeting, “I want to speak,but cannot. I am already done.” A Weston fishermansaid, “Every time I speak at their meetings, my lack of

Participatory Planning, Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity in Barbados 1269

Figure 1. Folkestone Marine Park andReserve, 2011.

1270 Pugh

voice is clear.” Similar sentiments were expressed by 80percent of fishers interviewed.

The next section analyzes how fishers express thatalienation in detail. The article then examines somecauses of alienation, finally investigating pragmaticsolutions that fishers have developed with the au-thor, specifically rethinking Caribbean developmentconsultancy. Kobayashi (2007) said that geographersshould reflect on who their readers are. Given mypersonal involvement in the solutions discussed later,positionality is important. I am a white English maleand my involvement did not initially challenge howWestern people and ideas often dominate Caribbeanparticipatory planning (Pugh 2005; Few 2006; Sletto2009). The Windows to the Sea movement was givenimpetus by Christian Action for Development. Partic-ipatory planning itself also has strong North Americanand European trajectories (Fallov 2010). Later I explainhow the rationale for pragmatic solutions we developedturned to how fisherpeople should be their own paiddevelopment consultants. This was not a simplereappropriation of existing rules for development con-sultancy. If the aim is to address alienation and releaserepressed subjectivities, then only fisherpeople can dothis themselves. This requires looking at developmentdifferently, taking people out of their traditional rolesand comfort zones. That can raise difficult questionsfor donors, academics, and universities. The principleof local solutions to local problems can conflict withthe harsh realities of cash-starved universities, withyounger academics seeking to secure jobs and olderones seeking promotion, through generating personalincome from research grants. It can also clash withdonors’ needs to justify high budgets and maintain en-trenched relationships with governments (see Ellerman2006). As explained later, this is why it was necessaryto adopt a new approach to development consultancy.Before that conclusion, however, it is most informativeto take a few steps back by first analyzing the specificways in which fisherfolk express their alienation.

Expressions of Alienation

After examining my interviews, it became apparentthat fishers were less concerned with being misunder-stood and manipulated by others involved in the FMPRthan with feeling worthless to society. Specific injusticesand power plays were less prominent themes than thisdeeper lack of acknowledgment. Fishers often focusedon this sense of repressed subjectivity when describing

how they were excluded from the coastline. As onefisherperson said:

Every choice is a bad choice. Sell my land to foreigners,I lose my soul. Stay a fisher, society say that bad, too. Itrip me apart inside. . . . I feel shame. I love Barbados. Butthat the real problem, right there. It my home.3

Overwhelmed by false choices, struggle is internal-ized. The fishers turn in on themselves. They cannotimagine an argument that could be won with soci-ety. The limits of acknowledgment have been reached.There is a sense of being distant from the rest of soci-ety. Fishers express shame and even internalize personalresponsibility for choosing to live in a place that can-not acknowledge them. They turn inward because thereare no obvious alternatives in society for them to turnto. Over 60 percent of fishers interviewed expressedthe feeling of internalized alienation in similar ways.Describing what it meant to be a fisher, some furtherresponses were as follows:

� “To live in shame.”� “To never be able to win.”� “To get in the way of others.”� “Speakin’ without voice.”

When struck by melancholy in others, the temptationis to dismiss them as dramatic. The limits of expres-sion and acknowledgment have already been reached. Itseems too difficult to reach out further to these people.Moreover, why should participatory planning addressvague feelings of latent subjectivity and impotence?Obvious conflicts already exist on the west coast tobe mediated. Many people do confine the aspirations ofparticipatory planning in this way. The tendency is toaddress only how conflicts can be mediated or to showconcern for how words and ideas are manipulated ormisunderstood and circulated through power. I arguethat participatory planning can and should do more. Itcan address deeper feelings of latent subjectivity as well.

Participatory planning theory often implies that itcan be a process of transformation for those involved.Healey (2010, 1), for example, asserted that throughplanning struggles “we form and re-form our ideas ofourselves.” Innes and Booher (2010) discussed howplanning involves learning to see oneself in a freshlight. Forester (2009, 177) described how we cometo “see ourselves anew.” Throgmorton (1996, 107) be-lieved that planning is a process of personal transforma-tion. Given the empirical evidence documented earlieron fisherfolk, this would seem an important line to

Participatory Planning, Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity in Barbados 1271

pursue. Indeed, this article puts forward the idea that itshould be pursed more vigorously in participatory plan-ning theory and practice.

Cavell’s work can assist this project. His readingsof Wittgenstein influence many, including Rorty,Critchley, Mouffe, Tully, and Putnam. Cavell,however, has been almost completely ignored by geog-raphers (see Laurier and Lorimer 2007; Barnett 2011).Examining his applicability to the present case, I nowturn to explain why geographers should address this.Cavell (2005, 115) said that the idea of finding “speechpointless” is a characteristic threat or mood of Wittgen-stein’s philosophy. Humans are often dissatisfied withthe uncertain nature of ordinary interaction, because of

the sense that our noting of an almost suppressed wince, ora hairbreadth hesitation, or things not essentially differentfrom these, are all we go on in our supposed certaintiesabout each other’s suffering, or joyfulness, or distance.(Cavell 2005, 115)

Cavell’s point is not only that words are vulnerable, asany human action is, to being misunderstood or ma-nipulated. More fundamentally, it is that life itself canquickly turn into a scene of alienation, a struggle against“being pointless, as if failing altogether to match a com-prehensible reason for saying something” (Cavell 2005,115). For Cavell, Wittgenstein therefore shifted debatein the twentieth century toward this precarious natureof acknowledgment. This is why Cavell’s work is usefulfor the case study examined here. As already explained,for many fishers everyday life can become an empty andalienating experience, when not only are their wordsmisunderstood and manipulated but, more fundamen-tally, the worth of what can be said at all is thrown intoquestion. For the fishers quoted earlier, it is as if everychoice they face for west coast development is an alien-ating choice. If they stay fishers, many consider thisworthless. If they sell out to tourism, they feel like theyhave lost their souls. Many interviews with fishers weretherefore characterized by this tone of internal struggle,melancholy, and pointlessness. As noted, 80 percent offishers were concerned that other people give mean-ing to their words. This article analyzes how such lin-guistic authority is removed from fishers and why theirwords become worthless. Unlike previous geographersand planners influenced by Wittgenstein (Thrift 1996;Forester 1999; Stirk 1999; Harper and Stein 2006), itanalyzes struggles against alienation and for acknowl-edgment and realization of the self.

Alienation is perhaps the key theme in Caribbeanplanning (Momsen and Besson 1987; Pugh and Potter

2002; Lambert 2005; Pugh and Momsen 2006; Sletto2009; Kingsbury 2011). In the case of Barbadian fish-erfolk, there is a struggle against latent subjectivity. Tobe clear, however, fishers are not saying that they al-ready possess a voice that could be expressed if otherssimply got out of their way. Rather, their particular ex-pression of alienation reveals a different concern. Manyfishers are concerned with how the linguistic author-ity of their words always seems to lie elsewhere. Thislinguistic authority therefore needs to be examined indetail. The following three sections analyze some of themore fundamental causes of the linguistic authority offishers’ words, before turning to solutions I have beendeveloping with them.

A Rhetoric and a Gesture of Mourning

As Henke (1997) points out, the theme of alien-ation and voice is a particularly important one for theCaribbean. Considering Caribbean poetry, art, and mu-sic, Henke (1997, 42) talks of moments of release, whenCaribbean ontology “bursts into the open.” With re-gard to Barbados, that repressed desire is reflected inthe work of Barbadian novelist Lamming, who says the“question—who am I?—cannot be properly formulatedbecause the framework of values that may offer an an-swer is still a second-hand bundle of ideas and atti-tude, imposed and now voluntarily accepted on hire”(quoted in Clarke 2001, 301). Barbadian poet KamauBrathwaite (1967), cofounder of the Caribbean ArtistsMovement, also says, “I must be given words to refash-ion futures, like a healer’s hand.” From the particularway in which fisherfolk describe their alienation earlier,this further demonstrates how important that struggleis for many Barbadians.

This part of the argument examines two relatedcauses of fisherfolk alienation. First, it considers whatSantner calls a “rhetoric of mourning” (quoted in Das2007, 5). This dominates analysis of oppressed voicesin the social sciences today, reflecting a tendency toscrutinize the “fissures, wounds, and rifts” opened up bydiscourses of Western Enlightenment, modernity, anddevelopment (quoted in Das 2007, 5). This section firstexamines what this means concretely for the causes offisherfolk alienation. Analysis focuses on how the dis-courses of development and political independence dis-cipline, capture, and, therefore, alienate fisherpeople.Second, the section goes on to introduce an alterna-tive way of understanding the causes of that alienation,drawing on Cavell.

1272 Pugh

Consecutive Barbadian prime ministers proudly pro-claim Barbados will one day become the first officially“developed” Caribbean country. As Massey (2005)says, concepts like development, modernization, andprogress tend to downgrade difference and spatiality,placing populations on a linear, conforming pathway.In this regard, many interviewees noted how artisanfishing is signified as part of the past. One member of theFisheries Division said fishing “is often seen as quaint,old fashioned, not fitting with the modern image ofBarbados.” As the statistics noted earlier demonstrate,Barbados narrowly focuses on a small range of industries(CIA Factbook 2011). This is while perhaps no otherregion in the world is circumscribed by as many“multiple histories” and geographies as the Caribbean(Henke 1997, 50). The most profound ontologicalobservation we can make about the Caribbean, ata collective level, is that it is what Henke (1997,43) called a “multispace.” This is while discourses ofdevelopment and modernity that many AnglophoneCaribbean nations adhere to conflate such pluralityinto a single vision for development.

The particular way in which Barbados made the tran-sition to political independence from Britain in 1966played an important role in this. The goal of indepen-dence has been a sort of metaphysical space or meta-physical state—transcending all difference within. Theindependence movement created the ideal of a fictivecollective ethnicity, freeing the nation from the bondsof colonialism (Beckles 2001). Many independenceleaders, such as Prescod, O’Neale, Barrow, Reeves, andAdams, in their desire for this ideal space, turned to thelanguages of development and modernization, hopingto create a class-free and, in some ways it could be said,race-free nation: free from the uncertainties of creoliza-tion (Clarke 2001). As one Barbadian fisher said, “Wesay we is all one. That both a fact and a fiction.” Simi-larly, the Jamaican national motto is “Out of many, onepeople.” Henke (1997, 44) said that motto “deliberatelyde-emphasizes differences in ethnicity and culture in anultimately futile attempt to unite them under an um-brella of identity that tends to deny authenticity andself-recognition” (see also Bogues 2002).

Discourses of development and independence tendto reduce perceptions of diversity (Newstead 2005), andthe research shows that they alienate fisherfolk. As onecivil servant from the Barbados planning departmentsaid, “Fishers paint a pretty picture for tourists, their netsand boats . . . [but] Barbados’s development does notsupport fishers.” This is because the activities and wordsof fishers are signified through a rigid set of development

and independence discourses. That is an illustrationof what Santzer would call a “rhetoric of mourning”(quoted in Das 2007, 5). The analysis now turns to thesecond cause of alienation documented in this sectionof the article. Alienation is also a consequence of fishers’inability to imagine what a unified vision for Barbadoswould look like.

Using focus groups, I examined how fisherpeoplethought Barbados could change in the future. Onesuch group used an article in Barbados’s Sunday Sun(Marville 2003, 8A) to spark debate. A local journalisthad written, “Here we are in this debate about whenwe will become First World. Nobody has bothered toask whether that is what we should aim at becoming.”The problem for one fisher, as for others, was this:

Fisherperson 1: OK, sir, what should we be? We cancelebrate Barbadian identity at Crop Over [an annualCarnival], we can shout “Independence,” “Slavery,”“Gabby,” “England,” “Africa.” But, I tell you sir, we isrooted in rootlessness. To think otherwise, it fantasy.

Fisherperson 2: Dat de Barbadian condition right there:full of hope. But, no clear direction.

As these fishers point out, creolization is marked bya nonsutured absence. It requires abandoning origins.These survive only as reconstructed and transformed.In the matrix of plantation, master and slave, eachwas fundamentally changed. The ongoing changes andflux of creolization make it impossible to put all of thedifferent historical and geographical trajectories backtogether in a single unity. This is another reason whyCavell’s work is important for this case study. Das (2007,5) contrasted the “rhetoric of mourning” that domi-nates analysis in the social sciences today with whatshe calls Cavell’s “gesture of mourning.” The usefulnessof this distinction can be explained in the followingway.

Henke (1997, 43) said that “[p]robably the most pro-found ontological observation that can be made aboutCaribbean existence” is that “it defies all attempts toimpose a unifying order.” Harris (1998, 23) poeticallynoted that creolization is an “unfinished genesis.” Andas the fisher says in the preceding quote, Barbadosis “rooted in rootlessness.” In all of these ways, theCaribbean condition gestures toward the impossibil-ity of being able to imagine what a coherent totalitycould look like. It pushes up against this sense of in-expressible limits. Approximately 85 percent of fishersinterviewed expressed this gesture of mourning. Anydesire to move beyond that Caribbean condition wasconstrued by many fishers as an escape into the fantasy

Participatory Planning, Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity in Barbados 1273

of a purified voice. This was most clearly illustrated inthe preceding quote that explicitly employs the wordfantasy to describe any attempt to bring people togetherunder an overarching collective narrative.

Related to this, a body of island studies literaturealso points to how the concept of an island itself is notfixed but fluid and destabilized by everyday practices(Stratford et al. 2011). Stratford et al. (2011) are at theforefront of this way of thinking, which demonstrateshow the identities of islands are constantly disrupted,dislocated, and reproduced. Clearly, the interviews withfisherfolk further support that general contention. Thissection concludes with the specific idea that the absenceinherent to creolized islands like Barbados is the sec-ond underlying cause for fishers’ alienation. This doesnot seem to be an absence that can ever be completelyovercome. Indeed, the next section turns to how a thirdcause of fisherfolk alienation arises when ideals are in-voked that do attempt to overcome it.

Voice and the Everyday: Afrocentrism andIdeal Forms

Fishers are increasingly excluded from the west coastof Barbados. They are invited to speak at participatoryplanning meetings such as the FMPR, but the outcomedemonstrates their lack of voice. Rather than feelingthat their words are manipulated or misunderstood byothers, they tend to express this alienation in morefundamental terms of worthlessness, internal strug-gle, and even pointlessness. The first cause discussedwas the disciplinary effects of discourses like develop-ment and independence. These fell in line with whatSantner (1990) called the rhetoric of mourning thatdominates social science analysis today. The empiricalresearch also revealed a second way of analyzing fisher-folk melancholic expressions of alienation. This drewon Cavell’s gesture of mourning, examining how alien-ation also emerges from how a particular conception ofcreolization as absence intervenes in everyday life. Inthat case, Cavell was found to be of further assistance,explaining how alienation comes from the feeling thatit is impossible to put into words what a clear alter-native to the status quo would be. This section buildsup the story of the causes of fisherfolk alienation fur-ther, by adding a third reason for fisherfolk alienationto that list. It analyzes how both dominant and coun-terhegemonic discourses of resistance further conspireto constrain fisherfolk conceptions of subjectivity.

When I asked a group of three fishers howthey thought Barbados should develop they said thefollowing:

Fisherperson 1: What Barbados need to be is a “LittleZimbabwe,” not a “Little England.”

Fisherperson 2: Yeah, but we no more Zimbabwe, than weis England.

Fisherperson 3: Yeah, that it, right there. We lookin’ tothe motherlands all the time. Dat get us nowhere, alwaysthe past, always England, always Africa . . .

The third fisher’s point is that negritude and Afro-centrism tend to fix subjectivities, making alien-ation transcendental to the Barbadian condition.Both establish the sense that subjectivity is au-tonomous and pregiven, not open to negotiation.Clarke pointed to how negritude and Afrocentrismironically mirror traditional Western philosophers’ de-sire for ideal forms, where alienation is read alongthe axis of origin, unity, and purity. For Clarke(2001, 337), Barbadians can constitute the romanceof “loss and recovery, exile and return, only if oneaccepts the view that there is something originary tobe lost in the first place; that cultures originate in someprimordial homeland to which one can return.” Likethe third fisher quoted, Clarke concluded that Barbadi-ans should overturn essentialist conceptions of subjec-tivity bequeathed by colonizers, which have “encour-aged us to always understand where we come fromin order to understand who we are” (Clarke 2001,338).

Indeed, three quarters of fishers interviewed saidthat types of Afrocentrism fix their identity in the past.As one fisher said, “It stop us working for our future.”Such discourses establish how people are received inconversation, rather than leaving interaction more ne-gotiable. As discussed previously, Cavell (1979, 1996,2010) saw the banishing of ordinary voices, through anappeal to a purified, metaphysical voice, as a suspicionof all that is ordinary. Appeal to the metaphysical is as-sociated with humans’ fantasy of some purified mediumoutside of ordinary life that could be available to us(Das 2007). Today, a number of leading Caribbeanistsshow concern for how “black culturalism” oppressesthe plurality of voices in the Caribbean. Nettleford(quoted in Henke 1997, 53) said, “the blocking of blackcreative wellsprings may now be perpetuated by thetyranny of ‘black culturalism’ which sets goals withoutdue concern for the feelings of the people involved andthe objective factors that might go contrary to these

1274 Pugh

goals.” Hall (2001, 38) said, “I remain profoundly con-vinced that [Caribbean] identities for the twenty-firstcentury do not lie in taking old identities literally butin using the enormously rich and complex culturalheritages.”

The last few sections have therefore identified threeunderlying causes of fisherfolk alienation—(1) dis-courses of development and political independencefrom the United Kingdom, (2) what I have called theabsence created by creolization, and (3) the way dis-courses of resistance conspire to constrain conceptionsof Barbadian subjectivity. These underlying causes pre-vent fishers from discovering their voice because theydistort how the words they speak are received by oth-ers. Having begun to analyze these causes, the nextsection turns to some solutions I have developed withfisherfolk.

Transgressing the Limits of PragmaticSolutions

One afternoon in late 2003, I was undertaking afocus group with Bridgetown fisherfolk. A fishermanhad a letter in his hand. He was about to give it toa government agency. The following discussion tookplace among three fisherpeople present:

Fisherperson 1: What’s that [letter]?

Fisherperson 2: Government want information on fishing.

Fisherperson 3: I was at a meeting [with a civil servant]the other day. I said fishers should be consultin’ fishers. Weshould connect ourselves. You know what de man [civilservant] say?

Fisherperson 2: Leave it to government?

Fisherperson 3: Yeah. He say, “We do development.”

Fisherperson 1: That de limit, right there!

Fisherfolk are concerned that government only asksfor their participation. It does not support them inengaging with each other or discovering solutions totheir own problems. Of course, government does notphysically hold fishers back from meeting one another.Rather, in this case that letter became a symbol of howdisappointing communication can be. This is not neces-sarily because civil servants will leave the fisher’s letterunread or because civil servants will misunderstand ormanipulate the fisher’s words. Although this could hap-pen, the letter became a more fundamental symbol forsome fishers of how linguistic authority always seems to

lie elsewhere. The letter demonstrated the dominanttheme of this article. It is a further example of Cavell’s(2010) point that words can seem frozen, devoid of life,emptied of our experience (Das 2007). As the fisherper-son quoted earlier said, it is as if “others own my words.”In the case of this fisherfolk letter, however, what ini-tially seemed another example of everyday alienationended up sparking discussions over how fishers’ wordscould be claimed in new ways.

In 2003 some people came together, concerned abouthow fisherfolk could speak in participatory planning buthad not yet discovered a voice. We initially includeda small group from the Barbadian Union of FisherfolkOrganisations, some local hotel owners, and Barbadianconsultants. As time passed, we were also supportedby the Barbados Marine Trust, academics from theUniversity of West Indies, such as Marcia Burrows, andmusicians including the The Mighty Gabby. Becausefishers lacked voice in the ways already described, anysolution did not necessarily require asking governmentto involve fishers in more participatory planning. A dif-ferent approach was needed. Increasing the urgency, wefound similar issues across the Caribbean for fisherfolk.In the early 2000s many meetings were held over whatto do. It is understandable that some fishers initiallysaw little point in participating in another programseeking to increase their voice. Given the ability ofparticipatory planning discourses to perpetuate andeven enhance inequalities, many fishers suggested theywere a problem, not a solution. Because of their lackof coherent voice, however, most fishers saw littlepoint in establishing a new social movement either.Although radical politics today is often associated withsocial movements (Pugh 2009), after much discussion,we instead chose to pragmatically work with whatalready existed in new ways. The resulting fisherfolkproject is more in line with what J. Scott (1990, 183)called the “unobtrusive realm of political struggle.”This part of the article first situates the fisherfolkproject within a broader pragmatic planning tradi-tion (Throgmorton 1996; Hillier 2002; Sandercock2004; Forester 2009; Healey 2010; Innes and Booher2010). It then goes on to explain how, althoughhe is not fully sympathetic to pragmatism, Cavellcan further assist analysis and shape the direction ofresistance.

The pragmatic tradition emerged from nineteenth-century U.S. pragmatists including James, Pierce, andDewey. They sought to challenge the way metaphysicalphilosophers give a priori answers to context-specificproblems. One of the few reviews of pragmatism in

Participatory Planning, Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity in Barbados 1275

geography is by Wood and Smith (2008, 1528). Theydiscussed how, long before poststructuralism, pragma-tists were turning away from metanarratives, objectivetruths, and unifying theories, focusing more on themessiness of everyday life. Forester (1999, 247), a lead-ing contemporary pragmatic planning theorist, said thatplanning practitioners “rarely apply recipe-like instruc-tions mechanically in changing circumstances. Instead,they learn to probe and to improvise, to fit and adaptpractical strategies to the complex situations they face.”As an illustration of this, the following example be-came a pragmatic source of inspiration for the fisherfolkproject we developed.

Over 70 percent of fishers interviewed characterizedparticipatory planning projects, like the FMPR, as agame. One fisherperson said:

Independence mean this: everyone can play dominoes ordraughts [national games in Barbados]. But not all play dedevelopment game. . . . We sit at the table, for sure. Butplayin’ with government, like playin’ the Ananci spider.

Unlike the ideals of the postindependence meta-physical state or negritude, which, as discussed earlier,hold identities in place, the Ananci is a more prag-matic conception of subjectivity. It is a less constrainingAfrican inheritance. Originally from African folklore,4

the Ananci is a trickster figure, outwitting its opponentsby cunning. It plays on the ambiguities of rules andlanguage. It works with the Caribbean condition, everchanging, in flux. Taylor (1989, 129) said the Ananciis one of those “pragmatic modes of resistance in thecolonizer–colonized encounter.” Importantly for fisher-folk, it is the story by which slaves learned to rebelin subtle ways. “Ananci is the slave who survives byavoiding rash actions, without giving in to the master”(Taylor 1989, 129). For fishers who have deep-seatedfeelings of alienation, it is a particularly captivatingform of resistance. As one fisher said, “Ananci movewith de times.” To refer to civil servants as an Ananci isnot necessarily a mark of disrespect. Although only tenfishers explicitly invoked the Ananci, over 65 percentof fishers interviewed spoke of their admiration, evenpride, for how adaptable Barbadian civil servants are inthe face of powerful foreign agencies. The following isone illustration.

A key stage in the FMPR has been hiring con-sultancies to mediate conflicts and produce plans forthe reserve. A number of civil servants I interviewedsaid choosing a foreign, as opposed to Barbadianconsultancy, enables the government to maintain tightcontrol over the project cycle. Compared to local con-

sultancies, foreign consultancies have less knowledgeof Barbados. They are less embedded in structures to bechallenged and poorly connected to potentially destabi-lizing influences, such as environmentalists challengingtourism. In turn, many civil servants said they canjustify rejecting Barbadian consultants. This is becausethe latter tend to lack the finesse donors require,appealing to the “wrong” texts, icons, and referencepoints during the consultancy bidding process. In turn,with few challenges from donors, Barbadian consultan-cies, or alienated fisherfolk, Barbadian civil servants areleft to carve up the management of initiatives like theFMPR. In 2011, despite a further $17 million (2002)and $30 million (December 2010) in IDB loans forcoastal zone management, the FMPR is still managedby the same government organization: the NationalConservation Commission (NCC). This is becausethe NCC lost control of Barbados’s main tourism site,Harrison’s Cave, to the Caves of Barbados Limited (agovernment company), so it did not want to relinquishcontrol of its last major site, the FMPR. Although thisdoes not necessarily benefit fisherpeople either way, thesubstantive point here is that such examples of how the“development game” can be played became a pragmaticinspiration for the fisherfolk project. They illustratehow the consultancy process is not dependent onnarcissistic identifications so that, as Fanon previouslyobserved, only the white person can represent the blackman’s esteem, and the black stops being a person as aresult (Bhabha 1994). Rather, the blurring of mimicryand mockery described by Bhabha has opened up newspaces for resistance in the postindependence era.

Perhaps reflecting a pragmatic turn across the dis-cipline, many contemporary geographers celebrate theeveryday as a site of resistance. Although this couldbe welcomed from a pragmatic perspective, we shouldnot become too celebratory in the case being discussedhere. It is difficult to reach the conclusion that everydaylife is a powerful place of resistance for fisherfolk. Quo-tidian life is better characterized by feelings of alien-ation and by the uncanny sense that their words arefrozen, numb, and devoid of their experiences whenthey interact with others concerned with planning anddevelopment.

The pragmatic tradition can only make a limitedcontribution here. We instead need to turn to an-other tradition that Cavell (2005) traces back to Emer-son, Nietzsche, and Wittgenstein. Such authors, essen-tially concerned with nonconformity, focus on thosemoments when the ordinary use of words distressesour sensibilities and our sense of self. For example,

1276 Pugh

claiming that North America in the early 1800s bor-rowed its words and culture from others, Emerson (2000,137) famously said, “Every word they say chagrins us.”As explained earlier, Wittgenstein’s work is similarlycharacterized by those moments when we feel that ourwords are worthless, not because we are misunderstoodor manipulated but because our words have become, asit were, second hand, borrowed from others. Nietzsche,who greatly admired Emerson, was also concerned withthose moments when we feel that our words do not ex-press who we are. This tradition of Emerson, Nietzsche,Wittgenstein, and Cavell does not so much celebratethe everyday for itself. Rather, attention is given tothose moments when everyday life is characterized bya sense of “exile” from words (Cavell 1996, 323).5 Asexplained in detail in this article, that is a situationmany fisherfolk find themselves in when taking partin planning. The unnerving, alienating, and isolatingsense that the words of fisherfolk were not (yet) theirown was the starting point for the fisherfolk project thatwe developed.

When designing the fisherfolk project, we realizedthat we could not only pragmatically reappropriate ex-isting rules to get opinions across better and mediateconflicts. Important concerns though these are, theproject also needed to address another fundamentalproblem: fisherpeople have not (yet) found their voice.Although the inclination might be there to think of theproject as a form of identity politics or, more unfavor-ably, as a selfish assertion of identity, we can thereforebe clear that it was not. Focusing on those who havebeen cast out by the symbolic order (Dikec 2001; D.Scott 2001; Bogues 2002; Meeks 2007), the project was,above all, a struggle against the feeling that the wordsof fisherfolk are not (yet) their own. It was a struggle forrealization.

In 2003 the initiative, paying fisherpeople to analyzethe constraints on their linguistic authority, wassuccessfully pitched to the British High Commissionin Barbados by three fishers and myself. The rationalewas that fisherpeople should be paid to be their owndevelopment consultants, rather than have others dothe job on their behalf.6 As paid consultants, fisherswould examine what prevented them from developinga voice. The project was rolled out to seven countries,with funding from British High Commissions for St.Lucia, Antigua, St. Kitts, Dominica, St. Vincent, andCarriacou. A leading Barbados hotel gave financialsupport, reducing perceptions of a radical fisherfolkcampaign. This was important in galvanizing widersupport. As Nagar and Ali (2003) pointed out, resis-

tance requires crossing all sorts of borders (academic,territorial, social, etc.; see also Mbembe 2003; Katz2004; Lugones 2007). This same point was made byPain (2006) in a review of the fisherfolk project inProgress in Human Geography. In that review she saidthat the project demonstrates the need for “successfulprojects that work across scales” (Pain 2006, 254),so that the disconnected can chart and create newgeographies of power. Interestingly, making Caribbeanfisherfolk paid consultants also became a sellingpoint for the British High Commissions who fundedmuch of the initiative. It challenged the idea thatoverpaid Western consultants should do development(Escobar 1995; Ellerman 2006). With further supportfrom unpaid Caribbean consultants, and a personaldonation from respected North American CaribbeanistJanet Momsen, the rationale for the project gainedmomentum. At the launch of the initiative, covered byCaribbean television, radio, and newspapers,7 we said:

The important difference between this and previousprograms of its type, is that fisherfolk will be studyingand training other fisherfolk: no British, Canadian, orAmerican development consultants are flying down todo a report. Such reports, as we all know, often costconsiderable amounts of money, remain on dusty oldshelves, while fisherpeople are not heard.

Entrenched Perceptions of FishingCommunities

Before turning to the findings of the fisherfolkproject, I want to once again mark how it connectswith a particular tradition of which Cavell is a part.Although human geographers rarely engage that tradi-tion explicitly, it nevertheless relates well to a thememany are interested in today. When it comes to theJust City movements, Barnett (2011, 248) said that“there is the implicit claim that critical analysis startsnot so much from a clear-sighted definition of justicebut from widely shared intuitions of injustice” (see alsoFeatherstone 2008; Castree 2009; Soja 2010). As withthe tradition that Cavell continues from Emerson andWittgenstein, many Just City movements do not fo-cus on the production of theories of justice. Instead,they turn on their intuitions that justice, as it presentlystands, is lacking. Although they draw on these deep-seated feelings of alienation, they do not tend to pro-vide instrumental prescriptions. The fisherfolk projectcan be situated within that broader trend of resistance.In this specific case, the intuition of injustice relates

Participatory Planning, Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity in Barbados 1277

to the feeling that the words fishers use to communi-cate during planning are not their words but borrowed,second hand, from an oppressive society. It also relatesto how those words have come to feel like immovableobjects, transcendental, and fixed. They have there-fore become a heavy burden to carry, as we have seen,inducing feelings of melancholy, shame, and internalstruggle. As explained, this puts fishers in what Cavellcalls a type of exile from the language of their widersociety, suffocating their subjectivity.

Indeed, the central conclusion that fishers made intheir reports was that the words used to describe fishingcommunities prevent them from being acknowledged,acknowledging each other, and, interestingly, fully ac-knowledging themselves. This is the final example ofhow the limits of linguistic authority are drawn for fish-ers on a daily basis, stifling the discovery of their voice.The example of perceptions of the Six Men’s fishingcommunity illustrates this point. According to the re-port, the central concerns for Barbadian fishing include

the formal geo-political dominance of the capital,Bridgetown, but strong evidence for a much more decen-tralised fishing industry which operates across Barbados;strong support for investment in Sixmens fishing com-munity in particular, one of the most productive, but ne-glected, fishing communities in Barbados; and the need forfisherpeople to be treated on more equal terms in widerBajan society. (Hinds et al. 2004)

Although up-to-date statistics are not available, SixMen’s is the third most significant landing site econom-ically. Interviews I undertook with the Fisheries Divi-sion in 2011 revealed that Bridgetown lands around 50percent of fish, Oistins between 20 and 30 percent, andSix Men’s, with markedly less infrastructure, 15 per-cent. The question for fishers then becomes this: Whyhas Six Men’s historically been neglected by the gov-ernment? The answer, according to fishers, is becauseof the circulation of perceptions about this community.I concluded that these perceptions can be analyzed ac-cording to three main components.

First, fishers reported how asserting the “formality”of Bridgetown fishing downgrades alternative ways offishing across Barbados (Hinds et al. 2003). In contrastto Bridgetown’s urban fishing market, Six Men’s sellsfish by the roadside. As one fisher said, “Being formal inLittle England [which Barbados is widely known as] isimportant.” D. Scott (2001) said that during Caribbeanemancipation there was a shift from the regulation ofbodies under slavery, to what Foucault called “the con-duct of conduct” (Foucault 1982, 221). Institutions not

only reformed, they disciplined their subjects, settingstandards for good character. Reform required cultivat-ing character, encouraging people to personally reflecton how they should become “subjects of their lives” (D.Scott 2001, 447). As one fisherperson said, Barbadiansoften discuss “on de street, outside de rum shop, on talkradio,” the standards for a good Barbadian character. Sothe first factor downgrading perceptions of Six Men’sfishing village is accusations of informality compared tothe formality of Bridgetown fishing communities. As weshall now see, such perceptions take hold because theytie into the Barbadian social fabric.

Second, another fisher interviewed noted that SixMen’s fishers have a “more relaxed approach to time.”Whereas the Bridgetown public market is subjected tothe mechanized urban clock, Six Men’s tends to meetwhen the community dictates. Reviewing the meaningof time in the Caribbean, Henke (2004, 41) said that ur-ban capitalism’s “clock time also stood for a moral orderthat put a premium on the individual rather than on thecommunity as a whole.” It was central to the impositionof temporal ownership over other people’s labor, bodies,and existence. Contrasted with Bridgetown, Six Men’sorganic community gatherings therefore appear to be adefiant gesture. Six Men’s resists the ascetic rationalismof Barbadian capitalism, further shaping perceptions ofthis fishing community.

These two points demonstrate how narratives aboutfishing communities build up layer on layer. Theybecome entrenched through a coherent story thatbars further access to context. This story appears astranscendental, preventing further acknowledgment ofwho fisherfolk are. For example, in 2011 one Barbadiancivil servant I interviewed said “it is wrong” to labelSix Men’s as “an unimportant fishing community.” Butthe perception is so “rooted” in Barbados, “the mythtakes hold of me.”

Third, there is uncertainty over Six Men’s legal sta-tus. Six Men’s is often construed as an illegal squattersettlement by those who want to expand tourism alongthe west coast of Barbados. But it is also signified as “thelast stand” against tourism in the area by many fishers.As The Mighty Gabby said in an interview with me,Six Men’s is now a fundamental site of contestationover what it means to be “Barbadian.” The Barbados’sfishers report concluded Six Men’s “exemplifies” Barba-dian fishing as “a way of life” (Hinds et al. 2004). SixMen’s was then characterized by Barbados’s Daily Na-tion as the “backbone of fishing industry” (Smith 2003,40). Showing that only fishers themselves could ex-pose perceptions about fishing communities by engaging

1278 Pugh

other fishers directly, the press went on to justify the ra-tionale for our initiative—namely, the importance ofhiring fisherpeople to be their own development con-sultants. Only fisherpeople, physically traveling to dif-ferent fishing communities, like Bridgetown, Oistins,and Six Men’s, sharing stories with other fishers, canexpose how linguistic authority is given to their words.

Conclusion

One theme runs throughout this analysis of therelationship between voice, acknowledgment, andlatent subjectivity in Barbadian fisherfolk duringparticipatory planning. When fishers speak, there isthe pervasive sense that the signature of their linguisticauthority is elsewhere, with something or someoneelse. After initially examining a specific initiative, theFMPR, this article investigated more wide-rangingand underlying causes for this alienation. Thesewere identified as hegemonic and counterhegemonicdiscourses of development, the nature of Barbados’spolitical independence, a lack of political alternatives,conceptions of creolization and subjectivity, the waycivil servants act during participatory planning, andperceptions of fishing communities.

The study then turned to pragmatic solutions devel-oped by fisherfolk and the author. New approaches toCaribbean development consultancy were establishedwith the British High Commissions of seven Caribbeancountries. This leads to the second conclusion ofthis article. Until fishers are consistently paid astheir own consultants, rather than the consulted,problems of linguistic authority will remain. Throughfishers becoming their own consultants, they havedirectly challenged perceptions about the Six Men’sfishing community. Today, Six Men’s receives moresupport from the Barbadian government. In 2010 newkiosks, providing vendors with sanitary facilities, wereopened at Six Men’s. At the opening, the Minister ofAgriculture urged Six Men’s not to underestimate theirimportance. The Minister said, “[t]his is only the firststep, the next is to have a strong fisherfolk association”(“Cleaner Facilities for Six Men’s” 2010). Promisingmore facilities, the minister said that Six Men’s is anexample “for other areas like Bridgetown and Oistins”to follow (“Cleaner Facilities for Six Men’s” 2010).

The third conclusion is that, as Ranciere (1995) said,we have to reinvent politics to face political problemseffectively. Turning over responsibility for developmentconsultancy to the poor might be difficult for academics,civil servants, and other consultants, who have their

own careers to think about. Nevertheless, fishers shouldbe trusted and paid for consultation. The pressure onacademics and those working for donors to obtain largecontracts can cloud judgment of the effectiveness ofsuch small-scale initiatives (Ellerman 2006). If the aim,however, is to address fisherfolk alienation then, in ouranalysis, fisherfolk should be development consultants.

The fourth conclusion calls for a new participatoryplanning ethos influenced by Cavell. Before specifyingwhat this is, it should be clear that Cavell’s work doesnot confine participatory planning to the obviously ex-cluded, such as fisherfolk. It could also be used to ana-lyze interactions between others, such as tourists, scubadivers, boat operators, or civil servants. This extends thestudy beyond a concern with fisherfolk, because Cavell’sontology is not only confined to the powerless. Rather,Cavell’s (2010) fundamental point is that all human be-ings do not fully control the linguistic authority of theirwords. Geographers working in the field can thereforehelp participatory planners by tracing the signature ofthe linguistic authority of the different people involved.

We can therefore expand participatory planning,beyond a concern with conflict and mediation, moredirectly into a concern with latent subjectivity and re-alization of the self. Both Young (2011) and Nussbaum(2011) made an important point here. They said thereis little point encouraging the poor to take personalresponsibility if the rest of society uses this as an excuseto wring their hands, absolving themselves of their rolein keeping others down. Bearing this in mind, whenit came to developing pragmatic solutions to fisherfolkalienation, I saw my role as critical friend to newparticipatory planners in the field (fisherfolk); assistingtheir analysis of how linguistic authority is generatedand constrained by different elements in society.

I also want to leave the reader with a sense of hopeabout the future of Caribbean fishing. First, a self-sufficient fishing industry is increasingly seen as a key toBarbados’s recovery from economic recession (“Reduc-ing Our Fish Imports” 2011). Barbados’s GDP droppedby 4.7 percent in 2009 and 0.5 percent in 2010. Therehave been fluctuations in tourism and the financialsector. With US$23.8 million being spent on fish im-ports in 2010, Barbadian newspapers are now calling forthe fishing industry to be developed, making not onlyBarbados, but the wider Caribbean, more self-sufficient(“Reducing Our Fish Imports” 2011). Second, fishers areincreasingly developing their own regional networks,taking more control over their industry. The most sig-nificant is the Caribbean Regional Network of NationalFisherfolk Organisations (CNNFO; McConney et al.

Participatory Planning, Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity in Barbados 1279

2011). In 2009, the CNNFO obtained an audience withthe Ministerial Council of the Caribbean Regional Fish-eries Mechanism (CRFM). A recent report stated thatthis “was the first clear case of fisherfolk organisations,operating as an informal network, getting direct inputinto regional fisheries policy” (McConney et al. 2011,279). In 2010, the CRFM said they should “determineand endorse the structural-functional arrangements forthe Caribbean Regional Network of National Fisher-Folk Organizations” (CNNFO 2010).

In developing such mechanisms, we should not losesight of the fact that there is a difference between giv-ing fisherpeople the opportunity to speak and payingattention to the signature of their voice. We should as-cribe a new role for the geographer as critical friend tothe participatory planner in the field. We should not doparticipatory planning on their behalf, but we can as-sist by critiquing how linguistic authority is establishedduring participatory planning.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Patsy Healey, Ali Madanipour, HowieBaum, Jim Throgmorton, Janice Barry, Romola Sanyal,Clive Gabay, Alison Williams, Marcia Burrows, andThe Mighty Gabby for their help in developing this ar-ticle. Particular thanks go to Richard Wright and fourexcellent anonymous reviewers. Finally, I give a specialmention to Kevin Grove, whose critically constructivecomments were invaluable. The responsibility for anysubstantive mistakes is, of course, my own.

Notes1. Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) PhD stu-

dentship 1998–2001 (R00429834850); ESRC three-yearFellowship 2002–2004 (R00271204); United KingdomForeign and Commonwealth Office regional program “De-veloping Institutional Capital in the Fisherfolk Commu-nities of the Caribbean” (2003); Research Council UnitedKingdom Fellowship 2005–2010 (EP/C509005/1); Schoolof Geography, Politics and Sociology, Research Fund,Newcastle University (2011).

2. All interviews referenced were conducted by the author,unless otherwise stated.

3. It is beyond this article’s scope to address gender. Furtherstudy should examine how fishermen seem more willing toexpress their alienation publicly than fisherwomen. Thisis while two recent presidents of the Barbados NationalUnion of Fisherfolk Organisations have been women. Anyanalysis might draw on Lugones’s (2007) systematic un-derstanding of gender constituted through colonial andmodernity in terms of multiple relations.

4. Mainly Ghana, the Ivory Coast, Sierra Leone, Liberia,Togoland, and Dahomey.

5. By comparing Wittgenstein’s ordinary language philoso-phy with Shakespeare, I have elsewhere developed somerelated ideas on how language can bewitch and hold thelistener captive (Pugh 2012).

6. In this regard we found Healey, de Magalhaes andMadanipour (1999) to be useful. They focus on threerelated ways of understanding capacity building: knowl-edge, relational, and mobilization qualities. Knowledgeresources include four things: the range of knowledge andunderlying conceptions shaping the flow of information;the frames of reference; the extent to which these firsttwo are integrated into wider societal relationships; andthe openness and learning capacity of relationships to ab-sorb new ideas. Second, relational resources include therange of key players; the shapes of networks and linkages;the extent to which relational webs integrate with eachother; and power relations. Finally, mobilization resourcesemphasize the opportunity structures developed throughthe instability of governance processes; the arenas whereresources and regulatory power lie; the repertoires of mo-bilization techniques; and the presence of skilled changeagents.

7. Covered by Caribbean Broadcasting Corporation EveningNews in 2003 and 2004; a series on the Caribbean StarcomNetwork 2003 and 2004; Smith (2003); and “Six Men’sBackbone” (2003).

ReferencesAxys Environmental Consulting (Barbados). 1999. Fea-

sibility study of Harrison’s Cave and associated sites,Carlisle Bay and Folkestone Park and Marine Reserve, finaldraft report: A feasibility study and preliminary design forFolkestone Marine Reserve, subject to revision. Barbados:Ministry of Health and Environment, EnvironmentalSpecial Projects Unit.

Barnett, C. 2011. Geography and ethics: Justice unbound.Progress in Human Geography 35 (2): 246–55.

Beckles, H. 2001. Radicalism and Errol Barrow in the politicaltradition of Barbados. In The empowering impulse: Thenationalist tradition of Barbados, ed. D. Marshall and G.D. Howe, 103–30. Jamaica: Canoe Press, University ofWest Indies.

Besson, J., and J. Momsen, eds. 2007. Caribbean land anddevelopment revisited. New York: Macmillan.

Bhabha, H. K. 1994. The location of culture. London and NewYork: Routledge.

Bogues, A. 2002. Nationalism and Jamaican politicalthought. In Jamaica in slavery and freedom, ed. K. Mon-teith and G. Richards, 363–87. Jamaica: West IndiesUniversity Press.

Brathwaite, E. 1967. The arrivants: A new world trilogy. Ox-ford, UK: Oxford University Press.

Caribbean Regional Network of National Fisherfolk Organi-zations. 2010. Information note, Formalization workshop10–12 February 2010, Barbados.

Castree, N. 2009. The 2007–09 financial crisis: Narratingand politicising a calamity. Radical Politics Today.http://www.spaceofdemocracy.org/resources/publications/magazine/magazine.html (last accessed 20 July 2012).

Cavell, S. 1979. The claim of reason. New York: Oxford Uni-versity Press.

1280 Pugh

———. 1988. In quest of the ordinary. Chicago: Chicago Uni-versity Press.

———. 1996. Declining decline. In The Cavell reader, ed. S.Mulhall, 321–53. Oxford, UK: Blackwell.

———. 2005. Philosophy the day after tomorrow. Cambridge,MA: Harvard University Press.

———. 2010. The touch of words. In Seeing Wittgensteinanew, ed. W. Day and V. J. Krebs, 81–101. Cambridge,UK: Cambridge University Press.

CIA World Factbook. 2011. Country report Barba-dos. https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/bb.html (last accessed 20 July 2012).

Clarke, R. 2001. Roots: A genealogy of the “Barbadian per-sonality.” In The empowering impulse: The nationalist tra-dition of Barbados, ed. D. Marshall and G. D. Howe,301–49. Kingston, Jamaica: Canoe Press.

Cleaner facilities for Six Men’s. 2010. The Barba-dos Advocate 27 April. http://www.barbadosadvocate.com/newsitem.asp?more=local&NewsID=10052 (lastaccessed 20 July 2012).

Conway, D. 1998. Misguided directions, mismanaged mod-els or missed paths. In Globalisation and neo-liberalism:The Caribbean context, ed. T. Klak, 29–50. Oxford, UK:Rowman and Littlefield.

Das, V. 2007. Life and words. Berkeley: University ofCalifornia Press.

Department for International Development. 2011. Bilat-eral aid review: Technical report. http://www.dfid.gov.uk/Documents/MAR/FINAL BAR%20TECHNICAL%20REPORT.pdf (last accessed 20 July 2012).

Dikec, M. 2001. Justice and spatial imagination. Environmentand Planning A 33:1785–1805.

Ellerman, D. 2006. Helping people help themselves: From theWorld Bank to an alternative philosophy of development as-sistance. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press.

Emerson, R. W. 2000. The essential writings of Ralph WaldoEmerson. New York: The Modern Library.

Escobar, A. 1995. Encountering development: The making andunmaking of the Third World. Princeton, NJ: PrincetonUniversity Press.

Fallov, M. A. 2010. Community capacity building as theroute to inclusion in neighbourhood regeneration? In-ternational Journal of Urban and Regional Research 34 (4):789–804.

Featherstone, D. 2008. Resistance, space and political identities:The making of counter global networks. Oxford, UK: Wiley-Blackwell.

Few, R. 2006. Nature, people and planning on the coast ofBelize. In Environmental planning in the Caribbean, ed.J. Pugh and J. H. Momsen, 155–75. Aldershot, UK:Ashgate.

Forester, J. 1999. The deliberative practitioner: Encouraging par-ticipatory planning processes. London: MIT Press.

———. 2009. Dealing with differences. New York: OxfordUniversity Press.

Foucault, M. 1982. The subject and the power. In MichelFoucault: Beyond structuralism and hermeneutics, ed. H.Dreyfus and P. Rabinow, 208–26. Chicago: The Univer-sity of Chicago Press.

Goodbody, I., and E. Thomas-Hope. 2002. Natural resourcemanagement for sustainable development in the Caribbean.Jamaica: University of West Indies Press.

Government of Barbados. 1980. Marine Areas and Preser-vation Act (Amendment). Barbados: Government ofBarbados.

Hall, S. 2001. Negotiating Caribbean identities. In NewCaribbean thought: A reader, ed. B. Meeks and F. Lin-dahl, 24–40. Kingston, Jamaica: University of WestIndies Press.

Harper, T. L., and S. M. Stein. 2006. Dialogical planning in afragmented society. New Brunswick, NJ: Center for UrbanPolicy Research.

Harris W. 1998. Creoleness: The crossroads of a civiliza-tion? In Caribbean creolization: Reflections on the culturaldynamics of language, literature, and identity, ed. K. M. Ba-lutansky and M. Sourieau, 23–36. Barbados: The Pressof the University of the West Indies.

Healey, P. 2010. Making better places: The planning project inthe twenty-first century. Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave.

Healey, P., C. de Magalhaes, and A. Madanipour. 1999.Institutional capacity-building, urban planning and ur-ban regeneration projects. Paper presented at the RoyalGeographical Society, Institute of British Geographers,Leicester.

Henke, H. 1997. Towards an ontology of Caribbean exis-tence. Social Epistemology 11 (1): 39–58.

———. 2004. Ariel’s Ethos: On the moral economyof Caribbean experience. Cultural Critique 56:33–63.

Hillier, J. 2002. Shadows of power: An allegory of prudence inland-use planning. London and New York: Routledge.

Hinds, E., C. Ifill, D. Pierez, and J. Pugh. 2003. Develop-ing institutional capital in the fisherfolk communities of theCaribbean: The case of Barbados. Developing InstitutionalCapital in the Fisherfolk Communities of the Caribbean,the British High Commission.

———. 2004. Developing institutional capital in the fisherfolkcommunities of the Caribbean: The case of Carriacou. De-veloping Institutional Capital in the Fisherfolk Commu-nities of the Caribbean, the British High Commission.

Hutt, M. B. 1980. “Windows to the sea”: A report to CADECon the establishment of coastal facilities along the south andwest coasts of Barbados from the Grantley Adams Airport inChrist Church to Maycock’s Bay in St. Lucy, Bridgetown.Barbados: Cedar Press.

Innes, J., and D. Booher. 2010. Planning with complexity: Anintroduction to collaborative rationality for public policy.London and New York: Routledge.

Inter-American Development Bank. 2011. IDB reaffirmspartnership with Barbados. http://www.iadb.org/en/news/news-releases/2011-02-07/idb-reaffirms-partnership-with-barbados.9116.html (last accessed 24 May2011)

Katz, C. 2004. Growing up global: Economic restructuringand children’s everyday lives. Minneapolis: University ofMinnesota Press.

Kingsbury, P. 2011. Socio-spatial sublimation: The humanresources of love in Sandals Resorts International, Ja-maica. Annals of the Association of American Geographers101 (3): 650–69.

Klak, T. 1998. Globalisation and neoliberalism: The Caribbeancontext. Oxford, UK: Rowman and Littlefield.

Kobayashi, A. 2007. The limits of the limits of community.Political Geography 26:209–29.

Participatory Planning, Acknowledgment, and Latent Subjectivity in Barbados 1281

Lambert, D. 2005. Producing/contesting whiteness: Rebel-lion, anti-slavery and enslavement in Barbados, 1816.Geoforum 36 (1): 29–43.

Laurier, E., and H. Lorimer. 2007. Shortcuts and way-sharing.Paper presented at Routes, Boundaries & Journeys: Sem-inar 2 of the Landscape Beyond Land Series. Arts &Humanities Research Council.

Lugones, M. 2007. Heterosexualism and the colonial/moderngender system. Hypatia 22 (1): 186–209.

Marville, O. 2003. First world, third world options.Sunday Sun 13 July:8A.

Massey, D. 2005. For space. London: Sage.Mbembe, J. A. 2003. Necropolitics. Public Culture 15 (1):

11–40.McConney, P., R. Mahon, K. Parsram, and S. A. Cox. 2011.

Fisheries networks in the Caribbean. In World small-scale fisheries contemporary visions, ed. R. Chuenpagdee,273–85. Delft, The Netherlands: Eburon Academic.

Meeks, B. 2007. Envisioning Caribbean futures: Jamaican per-spectives. Kingston, Jamaica: University of the WestIndies Press.

The Mighty Gabby. 1996. Jack. Barbados: Grant Ltd.Momsen, J., and J. Besson. 1987. Land and development in the

Caribbean. London: Macmillan Caribbean.Nagar, R., and F. Ali. 2003. Collaboration across borders:

Moving beyond positionality. Singapore Journal of Tropi-cal Geography 24 (3): 356–72.

Newstead, C. 2005. Scaling Caribbean (in)dependence. Ge-oforum 36 (1): 45–58.

Nussbaum, M. C. 2011. Creating capabilities: The human de-velopment approach. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UniversityPress.

Pain, R. 2006. Social geography: Seven deadly myths in policyresearch. Progress in Human Geography 30:250–59.

Pelling, M. 2002. Capacity building for urban poverty reduc-tion: The Pinelands Creative Workshop. In Participatoryplanning in the Caribbean, ed. J. Pugh and R. B. Potter,98–117. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate.

Potter, R. B., and J. Pugh. 2002. Planning without plans andthe neo-liberal state: The case of St. Lucia, West Indies.Third World Planning Review 23 (3): 323–40.

Pugh, J. 2005. The disciplinary effects of communicativeplanning in Soufriere, St Lucia: The relative roles of gov-ernmentality, hegemony and space–time politics. Trans-actions of the Institute of British Geographers 30:307–22.

———. 2009. What is radical politics today? Basingstoke, UK:Palgrave Macmillan.

———. 2012. Wittgenstein, Shakespeare and metaphysicalwit. Philosophy and Literature 36:237–48.

Pugh, J., and J. H. Momsen. 2006. Environmental planning inthe Caribbean. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate.

Pugh, J., and R. B. Potter, eds. 2002. Participatory planning inthe Caribbean. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate.

Ranciere, J. 1995. Politics, identification, and subjectiviza-tion. In The identity in question, ed. J. Rajchman, 63–70.London and New York: Routledge.

Reducing our fish imports. 2011. Barbados Advocate 17October.

Sandercock, L. 2004. Towards a planning imagination for the21st century. Journal of the American Planning Association70:133–41.

Santner, E. L. 1990. Stranded objects: Mourning, memory andfilm in postwar Germany. Ithaca, NY: Cornell UniversityPress.

Scott, D. 2001. The government of freedom. In NewCaribbean thought: A reader, ed. B. Meeks and F. Lindahl,428–53. Kingston, Jamaica: University of West IndiesPress.

Scott, J. 1990. Domination and the arts of resistance: Hiddentranscripts. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

Six Men’s backbone of fishing industry. 2003. The Daily Na-tion 16 October: 24.

Sletto, B. 2009. Indigenous people don’t have boundaries:Reborderings, fire management, and productions of au-thenticities in indigenous landscapes. Cultural Geogra-phies 16:253–77.

Smith, P. 2003. Fisherfolk speak out. The Barbados Advocate15 October: 20.

Soja, E. W. 2010. Seeking spatial justice. Minneapolis: Univer-sity of Minnesota Press.

Stirk, N. 1999 Wittgenstein and social practices. Environmentand Planning D: Society and Space 17 (1): 35–50.

Stratford, E., G. Baldacchino, E. McMahon, C. Farbotko, andA. Harwood. 2011. Envisioning the archipelago. IslandStudies Journal 6 (2): 113–30.

Taylor, P. 1989. The narrative of liberation: Perspectives onAfro-Caribbean literature, popular culture, and politics.Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

Thrift, N. 1996. Spatial formations. London: Sage.Throgmorton, J. 1996. Planning as persuasive story-telling.

Chicago: University of Chicago Press.United Nations Small Island Developing States Network.

2011. http://www.sidsnet.org/successtories/9.html (lastaccessed 20 July 2012).

Wood, N., and S. Smith. 2008. Pragmatism and geography.Geoforum 39 (4): 1527–29.

Young, I. M. 2011. Responsibility for justice. Oxford, UK: Ox-ford University Press.

Correspondence: School of Geography, Politics and Sociology, Newcastle University, Newcastle NE1 7RU, UK, e-mail:Jonathan.Pugh@ncl.ac.uk.