Материал: Rethinking ethnicity, 2nd Edition by Richard Jenkins

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world – and an attempt to read new meanings into the apparently unravelling intellectual project of the Enlightenment. It is a response to the ambiguities and contradictions of relativism, in postmodernism no less than in its immediate ancestor, liberal humanism. It is, finally, a recognition – whether belated or timely is a matter of viewpoint – that culture is definitively socially constructed and arbitrary (Barth 1994: 12).

All of which is welcome. Viewed from such a point of view, cultural and ethical pluralism is a humane and attractive aspiration. But this particular understanding of it is not without problems. Stuart Hall has been among the debate’s most characteristic and consistent voices. To pay him a doubtful compliment by treating him as an exemplar of key features of a (post)modern discourse with which he may not wholly identify, let us look at his position (see also Hall 1990, 1991, 1996). The topic he is addressing is the resurgence of nationalism, apparently against the grain of history:

Since cultural diversity is, increasingly, the fate of the modern world, and ethnic absolutism a regressive feature of late-modernity, the greatest danger now arises from forms of national and cultural identity – new or old – that attempt to secure their identity by adopting closed versions of culture or community, and by the refusal to engage with the difficult problems, that arise from trying to live with difference. (Hall 1992: 8)

A couple of paragraphs later, Hall describes the peoples of the diasporas of ‘the South’ as:

products of the cultures of hybridity. They bear the traces of particular cultures, traditions, languages, systems of belief, texts and histories which have shaped them … They are not and will never be unified in the old sense, because they are inevitably the products of several interlocking histories and cultures, belonging at the same time to several ‘homes’ – and thus to no one, particular home.

He finishes with a rousing declaration of the need to recognize, and to meet the challenge of, the fact that: ‘in the modern world identity is always an open, complex, unfinished game – always under construction’.

Running through all of this is the strong suggestion that negotiable, socially constructed identities and cultural diversity – difference, pluralism – are somewhat new phenomena, ‘the fate of the modern world’. The mirror image of this is a vision of the past as homogeneous: ‘unified in the old sense’. Although he refers approvingly (p. 6) to Welsh Nationalist politician Dafydd Elis Thomas’s view that the ‘old’ nation-states of the West have always been ‘ethnically hybrid – the product of conquests, absorptions of one people by another’, what Hall actually appears to offer is a historicism that imagines a pre-modern world of stable culturally unified societies being progressively replaced by a shifting, culturally plural modernity. The image of primordial, original ‘cultural purity’ is further emphasized by Hall’s use of ‘racial’ metaphors such as ‘hybridization’ and, borrowed from Salman Rushdie, ‘mongrelization’.

The arguments against ideas of this kind are in some respects pretty much the same as the critique of the more analytically formal model of pluralism offered earlier. Once again, a model of ethnicity as socially constructed sits easily alongside

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an understanding of societies as culturally plural. And the reality of ‘monoism’ that the latter assumes – a human world which is, or was, an archipelago of discrete, bounded, culturally distinctive and homogeneous units – is no more plausible here than it was there. What is more, the account of modernity that is on offer seems to be blinkered with respect to the past and cross-cultural variation; unsupported by the historical or ethnographic records, it appears to have more rhetorical than analytical power.

South and west Wales as a case in point3

The Stuart Hall paper that I have just discussed was originally given in Cardiff, as the 1992 Raymond Williams Memorial Lecture. There is, therefore, a tidy appropriateness in looking at the issues in a Welsh context. It is even more appropriate given that Wales has actually been characterized, by Giggs and Pattie (1992), as a ‘plural society’ in terms of ethnicity and class. They argue that this long-standing pluralism is the result of four ‘tidal waves’ of in-migration from England and elsewhere, beginning in the early Middle Ages. The implication is that before that time Wales was culturally and socially relatively homogeneous. Taking as my particular focus south and west Wales, the geographical bottom half of the Principality, which is in many respects distinct from north Wales, I want to argue that the region – because to talk about ‘Wales’ as an entity becomes more and more anachronistic the further back in time one looks – has always been culturally and ethnically heterogeneous, always a ‘plural society’.

It has been a very long time since the people of south and west Wales have been able to live their lives solely within the horizons of their local preoccupations and concerns, if indeed that has ever been the case. During the extensive period to which archaeology and history allow us access, the inhabitants of this small part of the world have been in regular contact with the inhabitants of other small parts of the world. Isolation, whether cultural, political or economic, has not been the Welsh lot; nor has cultural homogeneity. As far back as it is possible to look with any clear-sightedness, one finds unambiguous evidence of migration, trade, and extensive cultural diffusion or assimilation.

Following the gradual recession of the glaciers of the last great Ice Age, some time before 12,000 BP (10,000 BC), the area must have been gradually colonized from the south to the north in the first of many successive waves of immigration. These processes of migration have, over the subsequent millennia, resulted in the present-day population of Wales. Perhaps the first immigrants to single out for mention, insofar as they loom so large in the national consciousness of all the peoples of western Britain and Ireland, are ‘the Celts’. Current archaeological opinion about these people is divided, and ethnicity is precisely the point in question. The long-established view is that they were Iron Age farmers from continental Europe – and originally further east – who settled in Wales in successive waves between the seventh century BC and the period immediately before the arrival of the Romans (Cunliffe 1997; Megaw and Megaw 1996, 1998). Alternatively, upstart revisionists – and the debate has taken on something of this tone – argue that the notion of ‘the Celts’ is a modern anachronism, an ‘imagined community’ with its origins no

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earlier than the seventeenth century, which does not correspond to any of the ethnic realities of the earlier period, that there was no relatively homogeneous pan-European Iron Age culture, and that ‘Celtic’ cultural innovations in places like Wales may not have been the result of immigration (Chapman 1992; Collis 2003; James 1999).

Whoever they were, and wherever they came from, their mark has perhaps most strikingly been left in the great hill forts and promontory forts of this era: Llanmelin (Gwent), Y Bwlwarciau (Mid Glamorgan), Cil Ifor (West Glamorgan) and Carn Goch (Dyfed) are among the better known examples. In this period may also be found the deepest roots of the modern Welsh language. In south and west Wales, ‘Celtic’ groups called the Silures and the Demetae resisted the Roman campaigns of AD 74 and 78, the second stage of the Imperial subjugation of Britain. Southern Wales was successfully Romanized to a degree unknown in the north. Caerwent, Caerleon, Cardiff, Neath, Loughor and Carmarthen were Roman centres of differing degrees of importance; the mines at Dolaucothi, Dyfed, provided Welsh gold for export to the Imperial heartland. Here and there one can still follow a Roman road; in other places the modern road does so. The linguistic influence has perhaps been most enduring and most significant: more than a thousand modern Welsh words have their origins in the Latin of the Roman occupation.

From the late third century AD, Roman Britain was increasingly under pressure from the barbarians of the east and the north. A process of gradual Roman withdrawal culminated in 410, when the Emperor Honorius finally abandoned the pretence of Imperial dominion – the last Roman troops had departed for Gaul in 407 – and bade Britain see to its own defences against the Anglo-Saxons. And with the Anglo-Saxons lay much of the future of Britain. Romano-British culture and society – the civilized ‘Celts’ and their descendants – survived only on the western and northern margins. To the victorious barbarian immigrants went the spoils in the shape of the fertile English lowlands; the mountains of the west were the refuge and the punishment of a defeated population. They were also the anvil upon which a distinctly Welsh identity was to be forged, in the creation and consolidation of kingdoms such as Dyfed, Brycheinlog and Glywysing (later known as Morgannwg, the present-day Glamorgan), and in the persistence of a distinctly ‘Celtic’ Christianity. That religious distinctiveness survives, still significant, today (Harris 1990).

Early medieval Welsh society – beginning in the period we somewhat misleadingly call the ‘Dark Ages’ – was neither isolated nor safe. Anglo-Saxon Mercia was a particular threat, its raiding forces regularly sallying forth from behind the safety of Offa’s Dyke to devastate Welsh land, livestock and settlements. But there were also alliances – of convenience, or necessity, or simple self-interest – to be struck with the English. The border zone became an extensive and imprecise area in which Welsh and English lived beside and among each other. There were contacts, particularly religious contacts, to be maintained with Ireland and the wider Christian communion of the north Atlantic seaboard. And there were also the Norse sea-raiders, the people whom we today call ‘the Vikings’, to be traded with and defended against. The ecclesiastical settlement of St David’s, Dyfed, was particularly vulnerable in this last respect, but it was not the only local object of the northern pirates’ attentions.

The Normans, the next major invaders and originally of course Scandinavian raiders themselves, conquered England between 1066 and 1070. Wales took a little

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longer. Starting in 1067, Norman control was not finally established until Edward I’s second campaign against the kingdoms of Gwynedd and Deheubarth in 1282–3. The earliest (and easiest) Norman gains, however, had been made on the border and in the southern coastal areas of Gwent, Glamorgan, Gower and Pembroke. These are still the most Anglicized parts of Wales, replete with the family names of its conquerors, and with their castles: Caerphilly, Cardiff (built right on top of a Roman fort), Kidwelly and Pembroke are now prime sites on the ‘heritage’ trails of tourism.

The overlordship of England was to prove no less permanent than the stones with which these castles were constructed and no more glorious. Despite the best efforts of Owain Glyndwˆ r between 1400 and 1408, Wales was henceforth to be an integral part of its more powerful neighbour. The political ties binding the two countries together were only tightened further when a Welsh noble, Henry Tudor, took the English throne in 1485 after his victory at Bosworth Field, founding a dynasty which has coloured many of our basic expectations of the British monarchy.

The Norman conquest and subsequent political incorporation into England of Wales did not mark the end of large-scale migration into or out of south and west Wales. The nineteenth century saw population movements in both directions: Welsh folk going to work in the industrial heartlands of England or joining the drive to populate the Empire with white settlers; people from England, Ireland and as far away as Spain coming to the industrial valleys of south Wales, with their promise of employment in mining and metal manufacture. Irish migration has continued throughout the twentieth century and there was, early on in that century, an equally distinctive wave of Italian settlement. The size of the Irish community is easy to gauge from a Swansea or Cardiff telephone directory: O’Sullivans, Murphys, Maloneys, Flynns, they are all there. As for the Italians, they are now sufficiently established to have provided, since 1990, at least two members of the Welsh national rugby union team of Italian descent, Mark Perego and Robert Sidoli.

In this brief overview of a rich and complicated history, I have so far tried to make three points. First, the region that is now south and west Wales has been part of the ebb and flow of cultural, economic and political relations between the peoples of the western maritime margins of Europe, and further afield, for a very long time. Second, as a consequence, there is no point in searching, ever further back in time, for a period when Wales was Wales, free from outside influence and interference.4 Not only was there never such a time, but what we know today as ‘Welsh culture’ has its roots in a past which is as Roman as it is ‘Celtic’ (British). And neither ‘Celts’ nor Romans can be identified as anything approaching autochthonous. Third, the development of Welsh society – whatever that might mean – continues to be a definitively plural and international process, enriched internally and externally by contacts with other cultural traditions. It is only within those plural and international contexts that a defensible sense of ‘Welshness’ – whatever that might mean – is likely to be articulated.

To bring the story up to date, a view of south and west Wales during the last two decades continues to illuminate the themes of this discussion. With respect to culture, perhaps the most salient thing upon which to focus is the Welsh language. Without wishing to pre-empt the discussions of subsequent chapters, there are two trends to bear in mind (Aitchison and Carter 1999; C.A. Davies 1990; Day and Rees 1989). On the one hand, the language has been, and continues to be, in long-term

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decline in y fro Cymraeg, the traditionally Welsh-speaking rural areas of the west and north; on the other, however, as a consequence of a complex of educational, labour-market and political factors, Welsh is experiencing a modest but not insignificant resurgence in the Anglicized south-east. In different ways, and with strikingly different connotations, both areas are becoming more ‘pluralized’.

Looking at ‘external’ factors, the United Kingdom’s membership of the European Union (EU) and other European organizations is increasingly a significant factor in the constitution of everyday life in south and west Wales. The pressure of European competition has been an important factor in the restructuring – or devastation, each word contains more than a grain of a complicated truth – of the local steel industry (Mainwaring 1990). Llanwern, Ebbw Vale, Port Talbot and Llanelli are communities that bear painful witness to the various meanings of ‘rationalization’ in steel-making. Nor is agriculture beyond the reach of the EU (Hutson 1990). The Common Agricultural Policy has had enormous consequences: the imposition of milk quotas, following a long period of subsidized expansion in milk production, brought many small farmers to absolute ruination or close during the 1980s. In the mid-1990s many farmers in the region suffered further from the EU’s ban on British beef, due to scientific and public concern about BSE; even after the partial easing of the prohibition in 1999, and its complete lifting in 2006, the export market for Welsh beef has remained weak. And it is not just the EU or beef: the USA has yet to lift its beef ban, and Welsh farming more generally – disproportionately smallscale family businesses – is vulnerable to the eddies and currents of decisionmaking within a global arena (Day 1999; Hutson 2003; Midmore et al. 1994).

Being ‘in Europe’ is not wholly to the region’s detriment, however. There is, for example, the important role that various relationships with European institutions have played in the promotion of equality of opportunity and enhanced employment rights, particularly for women workers (Charles 1990). The EU has also contributed, via regional aid, the European Social Fund and, most recently, Structural Funds, to the improvement or development from scratch of a range of projects from bypass roads to theatres. No less significant, perhaps, was the availability, prior to limited legislative devolution in 1999, of an alternative – if perhaps relatively ineffective – forum within Europe for publicizing and articulating Welsh concerns and grievances, and promoting local interests.

But why, pre-1999, was such an alternative political forum seen to be necessary? After all, south and west Wales was an integral part of one of the oldest democracies in the world, a pioneer welfare state, and a land in which individual liberties were said to be so firmly enshrined in the common law as to render a written constitution nearly unthinkable. The answer is that government from Westminster, Whitehall and the Welsh Office, was increasingly seen and experienced as an alien imposition by many south and west Walians. During the late 1980s and early 1990s the legitimacy of the then existing constitutional arrangements for the government of Wales was regularly called into public question.

There were at least two related reasons for this (Stead 1990). First, there was a long spell of government – 1979 to 1997 – by a party, the Conservatives, which was a minority party, by a very long head, within Wales. The difficulties of this situation are strikingly exemplified in the appointment of several Secretaries of State for Wales who had no Welsh connections at all. And although, of their number, Peter Walker, for example, was locally seen to have Welsh interests at heart, as a conscious