We made a movie!

The video below demonstrates the ways in which a finite number of rhetorical commonplaces (morality, romance, law, marginality, history, trade, nation, and violence) were configured during five eras of the pirate tradition (the Golden Age of Piracy, the period between the Golden Age and the Civil War, the Civil War era, the 20th century, and today). The straight lines represent links made between commonplaces; the dashed lines represent distancing mechanisms, that is, when the commonsensical link between two commonplaces was severed. For instance, in the first slide, the commonplaces of "marginal" and "nation" are both linked and distanced. This is because some key texts from that period articulate a link between pirates' marginal identity and a given nation, while others carve out space for pirates within the national discourse. The linking mechanism occurs in a 1699 letter, published as a broadsheet, and calling upon Parliament to stamp out piracy in the Americas by "bring[ing] all these Colonies to a more immediate dependence on the Crown." Distancing can be seen in the preface to the second edition (1684) of Buccaneers of America, which talks about "the unparallel'd, in not inimitable, adventures and Heroick exploits of our own Countrey-men ... whose undaunted and exemplary Courage, when called upon by our King and Country, we ought to emulate."


(For some reason, creating an animated version of the rhetorical topographies we drew up last week seemed like a good project to start around 11:30 last night ... When I finished in the wee hours of the morning, I couldn't figured out a better way to turn a PowerPoint presentation into a video than the following, though clearly it has some problems. We are, of course, working on a formal analytical write-up of this complex process during the daylight hours.)

Anti-whaling pirates

Whales and whaling seem to have worked their way into our project in a variety of subtle ways this summer, beginning back in May with our theory and methodology reading, when we read Charlotte Epstein's The Power of Words in International Relations: The Birth of an Anti-Whaling Discourse. This book is not only an excellent example of how to conduct a discourse analysis in International Relations, but also examines what James Rosenau would call a "genuine puzzle": how the anti-whaling discourse became dominant and created normative changes that then made certain national and international policies possible.

We ran into whales again in Mystic Seaport (after we had finished our time in the archives) where we watched a video on whaling practices explained through passages from Moby Dick (a significant work in the construction of the anti-whaling discourse for the way in which its representation of whales creates a distance between actual whales out in the ocean and the whale in the story -- a narrative reappropriated by anti-whaling activists) and handled a bronze whaling gun:
However, perhaps the most interesting pirate-whaling link we've come across has been the appropriation of pirate imagery and identity by the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society, the organization featured in Animal Planet's popular show Whale Wars (a connection we found out about from this Foreign Policy photo essay). Apparently some members of this society have taken it upon themselves to harass Japanese whaling vessels which they believe to be whaling for commercial rather than research purposes (though they would clearly object to the latter as well). This show is of note, first of all, for the extent to which it vividly illustrates Epstein's thesis about the "real-world" power of the anti-whaling discourse and the construction of (disputed) political space for non-governmental environmental actors. It's hard to see the same show being made with another environmental discourse (I can't see the Environmental Liberation Front's burning down of a Colorado ski lodge to save lynx habitat mobilizing quite the same level of enthusiasm), and even more challenging to envision a non-environmental non-state illegal group garnering such wide-spread popularity.

But, an even more interesting twist (at least from the standpoint of our research), involves the deliberate appropriation of the pirate identity by the Sea Shepherds. Faced with accusations of piracy by Japanese whalers, Sea Shepherd Captain Paul Watson asserted his pride in being a "pirate of compassion" in an op-ed published in the Guardian. The op-ed is worth reading in full, but several points jump out.

First, Watson deploys the "pirate as (national) hero" commonplace that enjoyed great popularity in the early 18th century with English descriptions of Captain Morgan and again in the early to mid 19th century in American representations of John Paul Jones and, later, Jean Lafitte. Indeed, these are the pirate heroes that Watson cites:

At least proper piracy has a long list of renowned and admirable practitioners: John Paul Jones, who founded the navies of both the US and Russia; Jean LaFitte, who stood with General Andrew Jackson in defence of New Orleans; and Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh, knighted by Elizabeth I. I stand in honourable company as a modern-day pirate, though I've not shot anyone, burned any ships, looted any cargos or kidnapped anyone.

Watson's grasp on history is tenuous (he denies the British Navy had anything to do with the suppression of 18th century Caribbean piracy, attributing it instead to Henry Morgan), but his strategic deployment of the same pirate-legitimating commonplaces used centuries ago is quite interesting to observe.

Second, having made note of the pirate imagery used by the Sea Shepherd and Whale Wars, I was intrigued to read about both the deliberately defiant way in which it was deployed and also the popular appeal it lent to the Sea Shepherd's controversial cause:

My ship, the Steve Irwin, does fly a modern version of the Jolie Rouge, the original name of the banner that evolved into the skull and crossbones of the Jolly Roger. We decided years ago that if people were going to call us pirates, we would adopt our own version, and designed the crossed Neptune trident and shepherd's staff with the skull.

As soon as we hoisted that black flag, kids from around the world began to write to us in support. Our Jolly Roger hats and shirts have become our most popular merchandise. Why? Because there is a romance associated with piracy that is separate from the reality. Some pirates were noble heroes and some were dastardly villains. It's all a matter of perspective. If you love whales, we be heroes; but if you eat whales then we be pirates.

Finally, the introductory paragraphs of Watson's op-ed suggest he is aware of just how persuasive the popular imagery and language of pirates can be in summoning up enthusiasm:

Shiver me timbers, boys and girls, we is awash in a sea of pirates down here in the Southern Ocean and it's time for a parley to do a little 'splaining on the subject. This ocean now rivals the 17th century Caribbean for reported acts of piracy. The only thing lacking is the Sea Shepherd member Orlando Bloom.

Japanese whalers are accusing the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society and Greenpeace crew members of being pirates. Sea Shepherd and Greenpeace are accusing the whalers of being pirates. The whalers and Greenpeace are accusing Sea Shepherd of being pirates. The Japanese government is throwing the word piracy about as freely as the governor of Jamaica once did.

No one has sunk any ships, looted any cargos, kidnapped any damsels (just a couple of blokes) or forced anyone to walk the plank yet - but listening to the rhetoric, the public could be forgiven from thinking these activities are ravaging the Southern main.

That the deployment of pirate rhetoric is being used to legitimate (some) illegal non-state actions in the 21st century is a striking illustration of the extent to which the pirate discourse has shifted throughout history. That the deployment of the same word -- and some of the same commonplaces -- would, at the exact same time, be used to delegitimate other illegal non-state practices (most notably Somali piracy) indicates that, like Epstein, we too have an IR maritime puzzle to explain.

(Photo from: http://www.melbourne.indymedia.org/uploads/sea_shepherd_in_hobart_dec_06.jpg)

If a picture is worth a thousand words, we've already written an article!

If you count each circle in this conceptual diagram as a picture, that is! (Click here for a slightly more legible version.)

My, uh, artistic endeavors tend to feature geometric shapes and arrows with not infrequent forays into the Cartesian coordinate system, and even when color is involved, the result is something like this:

So when my mildly awe-inspiring friend Fletcher generously offered to make the header thingy for this blog look much cooler, there was really very little reason not to accept. I would also like to take this opportunity to tell you to read his blog, Orbital Eccentricity, as it also features an aesthetically pleasing header, in addition to thought-provoking and insightful commentary on space policy legitimation.

That thing you've been waiting for? It'll happen today!

Here it is, cats and kittens! The definitive* list of rhetorical commonplaces swirling around "pirate." A conceptual map/topography will appear soon-ish, but it is currently more in the "different-colored-shapes-and-arrows-on-a-white-board-in-an-undisclosed-location-on-the-AU-campus" stage of development. So without further ado, we give you:

THE LIST!
The pirate as ...
1. uncivilized, savage, lawless (modern version: piracy as a result of weak or failed states)
2. evil, sinner, against divine law
3. hostis humani generis/enemy of all mankind
a. active form (pirates declare themselves as such)
b. passive form (pirates declared as such by others)
4. Romantic protagonist
5. fictional villain
a. really actually very evil (PG-13, R)
b. Capt. Hook (PG, G)
6. practical (not moral) problem
a. strictly legal
b. negative externality as relates to trade and commerce
7. cool, edgy (Jack Sparrow, ambiguous morality)
8. absolutely harmless (Sesame Street fare)
9. tool of nationalism
a. hero (English, American, French)
b. villain (Spanish, English, American)
10. (inter)national security threat (pirate-terrorist conceptual nexus)
11. Goth/counter-culture symbol
12. libertarian wet dream
13. sex symbol
14. temporally/spatially distanced from the here and now
15. excessively violent actor (torture, murder, rape, etc.)

The list is in no particular order. It is worth noting that Catherine and I have adopted the numbers as shorthand for these commonplaces. Our conversations these days sound like this:
"There's definitely some '1' in this trial transcript, don't you think?"
"Yeah, plus that's an explicit reference to '3b' in the second paragraph."
"Sure but it's refuted by a deployment of '6a'."
"Beautiful! That explains the odd lack of '15' except by negation."

*ha. But we do have a considerable and comprehensive if not completely exhaustive amount of empirical and original archival research to back up this list.

Pirates in church?

Well, in a UU church, anyway! Last Sunday, Rev. Louise Green at All Souls Unitarian Church gave a sermon on "The Inconvenience of Compassion" which began with an anecdote about feeling compassion for the Somali teenager, Abdiwali Abdiqadir Muse, who is being tried in New York for piracy. The sermon went on to play the rhetorical commonplace of "pirates as godless and evil" against teachings on compassion, and included a poem by Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk, poet, and peace activist:

Please Call Me By My True Names

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

I don't actually like the poem very much, but I have included it here as an example of a contemporary deployment of the "pirate as ultimate evil/hostis humani generis/enemy of all mankind" commonplace. That this common understanding of pirate is, to varying degrees, deliberately contested and refuted, both in the poem and in the wider context of the sermon, is actually further evidence of its being a rhetorical commonplace: In Civilizing the Enemy: German Reconstruction and the Invention of the West, Patrick Thaddeus Jackson takes great care to establish that a rhetorical commonplace is only weakly shared; it is a "potential resource," and "not a univocal, completely fixed bit of meaning that is identically possessed by multiple people; that would be a strong form of shared meaning, and ... would also have the logical consequence of making debate and discussion unnecessary: if we already agreed in this strong sense, why would we have to talk about it?" (28; 44; 50). Indeed, the sort of contentious conversations about representations of actors that Charles Tilly talks about in Stories, Identities, and Political Change are only possible with what he calls a shared set of idioms and history (116-118). Using pirates to demonstrate the possibilities of human compassion is an attempt to redefine the meaning of pirate, but such redefinition is only possible given that "pirates as evil" is already weakly shared among the congregation.

I feel like T-Rex explains this concept pretty well. (click to enlarge)