provisional, at times heretical, conversations. My years at WISER have given me room to try out ideas, to experiment, to speak my mind and to feel at ease and supported by my colleagues in a way that is hard to imagine to the same degree anywhere else.
I thank Deborah too for the inspiration of her own work. Jon Hyslop’s work has been very important in helping me think through questions of race, urban culture and the making of the present in relation to the past. Irma du Plessis, Tom Odhiambo and Robert Muponde, through their writing and their conversation, have caused me to constantly rethink the way I see the world. Liz Gunner has inspired me in numerous ways, including through her work, and Liz McGregor has taught me a great deal about how to shape a more public voice for academic work. Ivor Chipkin, Liz Walker, Marks Chabedi and Nthabiseng Motsemme shared my early years at WISER and I am grateful to all of them for their insights and their writing. Ashlee Neser, Michael Titlestad and Pamila Gupta are all hugely valued colleagues with whom I can talk about anything I happen to be working on. Lara Allen has been a close friend and a valuable intellectual interlocutor. I am grateful to Graeme Reid and Julia Hornberger for their writing, their humour, their comradeship.
Beyond WISER, I thank the following people, with all of whom I have been in conversation during the years it has taken to produce this book: Mark Sanders, Penny Siopis, Hazel Carby, Elleke Boehmer, Jean Comaroff, John Comaroff, Mark Gevisser, Lindsay Bremner, Abdoumaliq Simone, Carol Breckenridge, Arjun Appadurai, Rob Nixon, Vron Ware, Paul Gilroy, Louise Bethlehem, Stefan Helgesson, Meg Samuelson, Ian Baucomb, Eric Worby, Rehana Vally, Emmanuelle Gille, Tawana Kupe, David Goldberg, Philomena Essed and David Attwell.
Finally, in a fourth circle, I thank people who have influenced me in more implicit ways, sometimes in direct exchange, or though reading their work, or simply through knowing them. They are Juan Obarrio, Livio Sansone, Dominique Malaquais, Peter Geschiere, Ena Jansen, Jennifer Wenzel, Annie Gagiano, David Bunn, Jane Taylor, Carolyn Hamilton, Dan Ojwang, John Matshikiza, Njabulo Ndebele, Louise Meintjies, Karin Barber, Michiel Heyns, Michelle Adler, Denise Newman, Colin Richards, Grace Musila, Leon de Kock, Natasha Distiller, Pumla Gqola, Sue van Zyl, Khosi Xaba, Justice Malala, and Fred Khumalo.
My PhD students, including Robert Muponde, Grace Khunou, the late Phaswane Mpe, Kgamadi Kometsi, John Montgomery, Zethu Matebeni, Cobi Labuschagne and Syned Mthatiwa, have been a pleasure to work with, and it has been very meaningful to me to be contributing to producing the next generation of young academics in South African universities. I am very grateful to Veronica Klipp, Estelle Jobson and Melanie Pequeux at Wits University Press for their openness, efficiency and generosity during the months of this book’s production.
Circling outside the work of this book, but lodged deeply in my heart, are Jean and Jolyon, James, Simone, Alice and Zoë.
Achille, Léa and Aniel occupy, like music, a place beyond words and are my love.
Introduction
Entanglement is a condition of being twisted together or entwined, involved with; it speaks of an intimacy gained, even if it was resisted, or ignored or uninvited. It is a term which may gesture towards a relationship or set of social relationships that is complicated, ensnaring, in a tangle, but which also implies a human foldedness.1 It works with difference and sameness but also with their limits, their predicaments, their moments of complication. It is a concept I find deeply suggestive for the kinds of arguments I want to make in relation to the post-apartheid present, in particular its literary and cultural formations. So often the story of post-apartheid has been told within the register of difference – frequently for good reason, but often, too, ignoring the intricate overlaps that mark the present and, at times, and in important ways, the past, as well.
Entanglement is an idea that has been explored by scholars in anthropology, history, sociology and literary studies, although always briefly and in passing rather than as a structuring concept in their work. I want to draw it from the wings and place it where we can see it more clearly, and consider that it might speak with a tongue more fertile than we had imagined, with nuances often uncaught or left latent in what may constitute a critical underneath, or sub-terrain. In the South African context which I will examine here, the term carries perhaps its most profound possibilities in relation to race – racial entanglement – but it brings with it, too, other registers, ways of being, modes of identity-making and of material life.
Below I outline six ways in which the term has been interpreted, explicitly or implicitly, by others. I spend some time on this, since these are complex ideas, ideas which signal a number of important intellectual pathways forged in recent years in African studies and beyond. Thereafter, I explain how I think of the term, bringing to it my own inflections, and explaining why it is an appropriate structuring idea for the book as a whole.
The first rubric under which the term has been used is in relation to a process of historical entanglement. As early as 1957 the liberal historian, C W de Kiewiet (1957), suggested that the deepest truth of South African history, and one often elided by later historians, is that the more dispossession occurred the more blacks and whites depended on each other. There was an intricate entanglement on the earliest colonial frontiers: accompanying whites’ search for land was the process of acquiring labour and, in this process, whites became dependent on blacks, and blacks on whites. Precisely as this dependency grew, so whites tried to preserve their difference through ideology – racism. The implications of De Kiewiet’s argument (p 48) that ‘the conflict of black and white was fed more by their similarities than by their differences’ is that the emergence and articulation of racial difference was, in this context, a symptom of loss (loss of independence through increasing dependence on black labour) – but a loss that most whites on the early frontier refused to embrace.
Much more recently, Carolyn Hamilton (1998) has argued that categories and institutions forged under colonial rule should not be viewed as the wholesale creation of white authorities but as the result of ‘the complex historical entanglement of indigenous and colonial concepts’ (pp 3-4). By focusing on how disparate concerns were drawn together and, over time, became entangled, this approach enables us to elucidate the diverse and shifting interests that fuelled colonial politics, and to reveal that it was never simply about colonial subjugation and anti-colonial resistance. Rather, it entailed the uneven mixing and reformulation of local and imperial concerns. Lynn Thomas’s (2003) work is part of a growing literature, mainly focused on medicine and domesticity, that analyses the history of the body in Africa as a story of wide-ranging struggles over wealth, health and power – and how such struggles connected and combined the material and the moral, the indigenous and the imperial, the intimate and the global. Thomas’s work on reproduction and the politics of the womb in Kenya emphasises entanglement as against two earlier approaches to the topic: the first, she shows, is the ‘breakdown of tradition’ approach, which sees colonialism as a clash of two radically different worldviews, one African and one European, resulting in the ultimate triumph of the latter (such arguments resonate with social scientific theories of ‘modernisation’). The second emphasises the power of colonial discourses and categories, largely at the expense of exploring the impact of colonialism on its subjects, and the perspectives and experiences of colonial subjects (pp 17-19).
Isabel Hofmeyr (2004), in her work on the history of the book, argues that rigid distinctions between ‘metropole’ and ‘colony’ are increasingly misleading. Unravelling the simplifying dualisms of ‘centre/periphery’ and ‘colonised/coloniser’ Hofmeyr weaves, instead, an imaginary structured by circuits, layering, webs, overlapping fields and transnational networks. Texts, like identities, do not, she argues (p 30), travel one way – from centre to periphery, for instance – but in ‘bits and pieces’ and through many media, transforming in many settings and places, and convening numerous different publics at different points in what Appadurai (1986) has referred to as their ‘social lives’.
Hofmeyr is interested in diasporic histories, moving between Africa, the Caribbean, Europe and the
