Justice, Narrative and the Occlusion of Particularity

 May Jayyusi

My basic aim in this paper is to explore certain implications of the elision of Palestinian claims to justice and their subsequent re-articulations within a discourse of rights. These implications involve a number of related issues, or rather, issues which intersect and perhaps throw light on each other. I would like to examine how the language of rights connects with the language of justice within the more general framework of the Enlightenment, as well as to see how it works within Palestinian narrative accounts. Related to that, I will explore a certain tension in the concept of justice itself, and how the grammar of the concept works through a partial reading of Lyotard within a Wittgensteinian framework.

Historically, the Enlightenment's claim to universality assumed a programmatic rejection of particularity as its starting point, but its universality rested on the suppression of its own particularity. The selectivity of the Enlightenment, its 'universality', was confined to the public sphere. As Negt and Kluge point out the principle of the public sphere is rooted in the fact that the main struggle had to be waged against all particularities (1993 p.10), but these particularities were simply privatized and not abolished. The notion of a public sphere rested on drawing a boundary between public and private, whose mechanisms of exclusion ensured that the spheres of work and family, the material life of people in their social connectedness, were now relegated to the private sphere. It excluded those unfortunate others "Apprentices.., servants.., minors.., women in general.." who were condemned, in Kant's "Metaphysics of Morals", to be merely subjects and not citizens, whose existence was 'purely inherent'. The emergence of the public sphere marks the emergence of the political (Kant, 1970, 139). The distinction that Kant drew between the public and the private use of reason is an attempt to circumscribe the field of political action. By the public use of reason, he says, "I mean that use which anyone may make of it as a man of learning addressing the entire reading public" (Kant, 1970, 55, italics in original). The marks of exclusion here are obvious. We have here a double movement that bears the mark of a doubled class struggle, one waged by the bourgeoisie against, on the one hand, feudalism, and on the other, an emergent working class.

Right came to be the central moral category of modernity. The emergence of right marks a displacement of the category of justice as the language in which claims are to be made. Any substantive notion of justice, of the good life is now relegated to the private sphere. "What ought to be is now defined as what all would have to rationally agree to in order to ensure civil peace and prosperity" (Benhabib, 1992, 275). The claim to justice came to be rooted in the particular.

The occlusion of the particular within the universalist discourse of rights marked a shift and a displacement of the notion of justice onto the terrain of the social, where it, at the same time, provided both the form and the language of the class and social struggles that followed. The history of class and social struggles, the great struggles of the 19th century. were precisely over how and where the public/private boundary was to be drawn. The Chartist movement, the struggle for enfranchisement, the formation of the trade unions and the early suffragette movements, for example, were all struggles to redraw the boundary. All these struggles were waged on the terrain of rights. For example the Chartists, accepting the 'universal' premise of property as the qualification for the right to vote, claimed that 'the fruits of labour' were themselves also property (Scott, 62). The struggle to redraw that bouundary is still an ongoing one, waged from both sides of the divide, a struggle, which the history of the past two decades has effectively demonstrated not to have been decisively won and settled.

The discourse of rights is one which assumes its own self-transparency. It is through this 'natural givenness' of the concept, the potential chain of equivalences that it sets up, that right becomes a received idea, a doxa. One does not have to prove 'rights', so to speak, as much as one has to prove that one constitutes a 'subject' and therefore a legitimate bearer of rights (witness the 'right to life' debate in the U.S. in which the claim that is being made is that personhood begins with the very beginning of life). One of the problems of the language of rights is that in its assumption of the autonomous subject, it attempts to fix something that is inherently unstable: a conception of the unitary subject which is always in excess of the subject for the subject of modernity is from the very beginning already decentered in and through the public/private split.

Yet in saying that the language of justice is displaced, I do not mean that a total displacement is effected, for justice is still inscribed within the horizon of right in the concept of equality. It is through this linkage that justice comes to be articulated at the intersection of the particular and the universal, which here appear as constitutive of each other rather than as opposites. It is the universal claim of equality that allows for the appropriation of rights as a means of struggle, and it is this linkage which allows the articulation of particular claims to be universalized through rights. It is in this way that rights language works in the construction of political identities, but at the same time it seals that identity within a fixed category: worker, woman, Palestinian, etc. Precisely at the moment when it realizes its radical potential, it produces a closure, a congealing of identity which is abstracted from the concrete life histories in which these identities are embedded. Equality here effaces these life histories and produces equivalence.

The question of justice within the Palestinian context cannot be separated from issues of representation and domination, issues of the impact of colonialism and later the displacement and dispossession of the Palestinians. The representation of the 'other' between two unequal discourses involves a violence in that, as Talal Asad points out, weaker languages are more likely to submit to forcible transformation' in the process. (p.157) The violence done to the 'other' lies in that this other has to present itself within the terms of the dominant discourse.

In the move from presenting the Palestinian case as a claim of justice to the articulation of the Palestinian issue as one of the 'right to self determination' lies the recognition of the dominance of that discourse and a concomitant refashioning of Palestinian identity. Bakhtin points out that "the diversity of discourses is fought against by the aspiration, correlative to all power, to institute a common language. The common language is never given but in fact always ordained, and at every moment of the life of the language it is opposed to genuine heterology" (cited in Willemen, 1989, p.24). That this refashioning of Palestinian identity is quite a conscious affair can be gauged from the following excerpt from the Palestinian Address at the Madrid Peace Conference (1991), "There is no way that you can let us down so long as we aspire to the principles and ideals that you espouse, and so long as we are faithful to our cause." (italics mine). We have here a doubled horizon, a tracing of a certain tension that is held in check by the words 'so long' repeated for the second time as a corrective to the first. It was a move that forced a painful accommodation with the 'other' but only within the bounds of the language of right. This move entailed a 'making other' of the Palestinian, a move from the internally coherent claim of justice which involves a particular kind of certainty and a knowledge that could not be gainsaid, to the consciousness of the need for representation to the other in terms of a discourse which presented an equivalence between the two. Equivalence, after al, in a world dominated by the market, the universal language, and the language of rights, bearing the seal of the law of exchange as Marx put it, is instantly recognizable. But the price through which this equivalence is established lies in the suppression of the context of inequality and oppression and this in turn conceals the continuing effects of domination.

The claim for justice, on the other hand, demands a narrative and an accounting of how injustice was done; it is an account of the knowledge of injustice. It is this knowledge that is elided and suppressed. For such a claim to be heard, one had to be already constituted as a subject, in the Palestinian case, as a people for the other. The claim for justice in the Palestinian context is the demand to acknowledge the 'event' of 1948 as a boundary marking the end of an unreflective existence and the beginning of the making of a particular people, and the construction of a particular identity. It produced a disruption of an organic place/time, a rupture between a before and an after that marks the emergence of a national narrative. This national narrative is constructed and not discovered as Said seems to claim when he says that "from the things that had been taken for granted - the structure of the society, village and family identity, customs, cuisine, folklore, dialect, distinctive habits and history - were adduced as evidence, to Palestinians by Palestinians, that even as a colony the territory had always been their homeland, and that they formed a people." (Said, 1992, p.117) It is not that the Palestinians had to prove to themselves that they were a people, but that the experience and history of 1948 and after, is precisely what finally constituted the Palestinians as a people.

This claim for justice is rooted in the particular and it is when we admit particularity that narrative becomes important. Narratives are not a representation of an objective reality out there, or of an inner subjectivity but the morally informed production and reproduction of meanings, through which people attempt to make sense of their lives. "Stories create the world we live in by defining boundaries within which we act" (Revill, 138). But any specific narrative is organized with a view to the point that is to be made, and the claim that is to be articulated. This is the point that Ricouer wants to make when he says that "Narrative belongs to the ethical field in virtue of its claim, inseperable from narration, to ethical justice." (Ricouer, p 249).

In order to show how this slippage from justice to rights works, I have here an account given in an interview by a Palestinian woman refugee and her son (born in '62), in answer to a question of how the Intifada clarified ideas of justice for them. I have extracted from it because it is rather long. (Kathy Bergen, David Neuhaus and Ghassan Rubeiz eds. 46-48)

In answer to the question on justice, she responds with a long narrative, a description of Palestinian life as a long history of injustices after 1948.

She says: "We were very happy in our country, in our village..... We fled our homes because of what we had heard the Jews did. Life was very bitter.... It rained on us in winter. When we arrived in Rafah, there were no houses for us. We lived in very bad conditions, but throughout those years we were told that we would return to our homes." She goes on to narrate the beginning of the Intifada, then recounts the arrests of her own sons: "One side is armed, but the other is without any arms - just the stones." It is only now that she answers the question. "There can be no justice unless they leave our country. Then justice would be done. We want all of Palestine...I go every year to visit the land of my village.... I cry over the soil when I see it. I take a bit of earth from there and cry over it as I return here."

The first thing that is striking in this woman's narrative is the overwhelming presence of the collective voice, the 'we' which oscillates between the familial we and the collective we. The assumption of this collective voice becomes a testimony to the series of events that constitute her sense of her life story, her history. The authority of the narrative lies in this weave of collective and personal voice, in its "ability to register and negotiate the effects of historical fragmentation and loss, of rupture and change" (Miriam Hansen, forward to Negt and Kluge,)

The narratives which come to constitute collective memory themselves construct and reconstruct the object of remembrance. What is enacted here is not an act of simple retrieval but a construction of orders of meaning that inform practical activity for the present. "Every explanation must secure and assure a certain kind of being-in the world-which might as well be called our politics." (Spivak 1988 p.380). The account of dispossession and suffering that the woman in the interview above gave, are clearly recounted in order to provide the ground for her answer to the question of justice, to account for her position from the sense of her own life. Her answer is to understand justice in the context of injustice. In the mother's narrative we have the emergence of an identity that separates from the attachment to place, marked in the text by the primary concern of the first period after the expulsion, which is the 'return to our homes', which here means her village, to her later insistence that we want 'all of Palestine'.

In response to the same question on how the Intifada clarified his notions of justice, the son talks of the events of the Intifada and then continues: "Our rights, which we are demanding now, include the establishment of a Palestinian state in the territories occupied in 1967... It is our right to have a state and bring home our exiles. We are demanding a passport, an identity card and a flag.....just like Israel at present." We have an immediate sense of a truncated account, a rearticulation of justice into rights that forecloses the narrative of the mother. He acknowledges her account as "her right because she tasted the sweetness of life there before 1948" (emphasis added), an acknowledgement which ironically provides for the distance between the two positions. The son talks of the state, passport, flag, all coordinates of a particular spatialization of identity which is the nation state. It is this spatialization that facilitates the move from the specific demand for justice, in Umm Asad's case "How I long to return there", to the language of rights, of the state. The specific spatialization that the idea of the nation-state produces, bounding as it does different narratives of identity under one overarching national narrative, (thus becoming the hegemonic narrative,) provides for the submersion of place "the spatial form(s) that anchor people to the social world, providing for a stable identity" (Zukin, quoted in Keith and Pile, 7) into the homogeneous space of the nation.

Having nailed identity to the mast of the national flag, so to speak, provides for an endless re-production of the boundedness of the space/time of the nation. Whether this can count as a case of a new relationship between universality and particularity as Laclau (1994, p.5) claims, is a moot point. It is seriously open to doubt that a genuinely new rearticulation of a universality emerging, not out of the occlusion of particularity and difference but out of their embrasure would look like that. After all, that looks like more of what we already have, which is not very encouraging. The second point I would like to make is that under its universalistic claims, the nation has itself historically produced its own occlusions of particularities whether in Italy in the 19th century in the privileging of one dialect spoken by a minority after unification, or as in the resubordination of Algerian women back into the private sphere after independance We see the same process in the making here when vast numbers of Palestinians, displaced and dispossessed in 1948, who themselves played a key role in the construction of Palestinian identity, are now in the prof being constructed out of the Palestinian nation.

Those narratives in whthe claim for justice is embedded cannot achieve closure, for closure logically lies outside. Because the closure can only take place outside the narrative they remain of necessity open. They are foreclosed by the language of rights which attempts to fix identity as national identity through giving expression to a particular spatialization of the nation state. As Ricouer points out, "Narrative identity is not a stable and seamless identity" (Time and Narrative, vol 3, 248) and does not exhaust the "question of the self-constancy of a subject". This openness of the narrative and hence the potential fluidity of identity constructed within, indicate that if the closure, which must be produced from outside that narrative, is not adequate to the identity demands of that narrative, then identity shifts can and would probably take place.

It is the move that the mother makes in the account above, from the narrative of injustice to her final answer, that Lyotard brands as illegitimate. Lyotard proceeds from the point of separating prescriptives from descriptives, of considering them as incommensurable because they belong to two different language games. Prescriptives relate to just actions whereas descriptives relate to the true. "There is no common measure" he says between the two (JG, 51). He attempts to get rid of the is/ought antinomy by a sleight of hand, but remains caught in the very terms of the antinomy, for he does not see how we, in our practical lives, address these issues not as abstractions but as part of the pragmatics of daily life, of judging, admonishing, recommending, teaching our children to spell out moral positions which both inform and are informed by a certain description of the world, and finally of struggling to make the two connect. Prescriptives can both be grounded in descriptives and be contested through them. Lyotard commits two errors here; he treats descriptives as propositional and therefore subject to a truth calculus, as either true or not. As Aijaz Ahmad (p.99) points out"..to 'describe' is to specify a locus of meaning, to construct an object of knowledge and to produce a knowledge that will be bound by that act of descriptive construction". Again to treat descriptives as neutral is to fall back on a representational view of language, one that does not view representation as itself part of an interpretation. Wittgenstein says, "Must I not rather ask : "What does the description do anyway? What purpose does it serve? Giving a complete report of a speech. Is it part of this to report the tone of voice, the play of expression....the intention of the speaker....Whether this or that belongs to a complete description will depend on the purpose of the description, on what the recipient does with the description." (Zettel, para 311)

The problem with Lyotard's argument is that he reduces Wittgenstein's concept of language game as part of a form of life, in order to posit a radical heterogeneity within the range not only of different language games but within the same language game itself, in this case the language game of justice, such that incommensurability is installed within and not simply between language games. For him each language game is a discrete self enclosed unit, irreducible in its singularity. It is this posited singularity which hermetically seals off each language game from the other and undercuts any serious attempt to admit genuine heterogeneity. In this conception the speaking subject occupies a different position from one language game to another but within the bounds of the game remains a unitary subject. A heterogeneity that seals different language games from each other undercuts itself for difference to be difference has to be located at the point of the similar for they are the measure of each other.

Lyotard claims that we judge without criteria. How then do we judge? To say that one works 'case by case' while an attempt to open a space for the specific difference of each particular case discounts that, in making judgement, one is not only looking for difference but also looking for similarity against what is different can be measured. Lyotard goes on to say that our judgements are not regulated by categories. "I have a feeling, that is all." (JG 15). It makes the giving of grounds; of justifications, a purely contingent affair. What Lyotard refuses to judge in the end are not different orders of language games but competing ones.

Wittgenstein's concept of language game is aimed at two related ideas. The first is that there is one essential meaning to any concept, an essence that would run through all the different uses of the word. He examines the different uses of the word game to show that there is not one thing common to all the activities called games. What we see, he says, is "a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing: sometimes overall similarities, sometimes similarities of detail" (PI para. 66), and goes on to characterize them as 'family resemblances'. The second idea is against the determinacy of sense. Because these words are embedded within different language games they do not have fixed meanings. Language games for Wittgenstein were not simply linguistic activities, "The word 'language-game is here meant to emphasize that the speaking of language is part of an activity or a form of life." (PI, para 23). and again he says in "On Certainty" that "it is our acting that lies at the bottom of the language game" (OC, para. 204). The meaning of a word is to be found in the different ways we use this word, (consider the word 'hot' and the way it is used in 'hot bath' 'a lot of hot air', 'hot idea', 'hot lady' etc.). There are no fixed distinct boundaries, language is a weave. "Concepts with fixed limits would demand a uniformity of behavior." (Z, para 373). It is in the give and take of our life activities that meaning is constructed, contested and transformed.

Within the context of a world order where power is concentrated more and more on one side and poverty, exploitation and oppression on the other, Lyotard's claim of incommensurability, of the inability to decide between different claims of justice works ultimately to privilege discourses of power, discourses that are able to determine the upshot of what counts, without at the same time allowing, at the level of theory, for a genuine commitment to the project of emancipation that at least, if only at an abstract level, was the promise embedded in the horizon of the Enlightenment.

 

Justice: Determinate or Indeterminate.

So then how do we judge and what is it in the concept of justice that poses problems for our understanding?

I would like to start with a quote cited by David Harvey from Engels which encapsulates the tension in the concept of justice itself.

The stick used to measure what is right and what is not is the most abstract expression of right itself, namely justice. ..... The conception of eternal justice, [therefore,] varies not only with time and place, but also with the persons concerned....... While in everyday life...expressions like right, wrong, justice, and sense of right are accepted without misunderstanding even with reference to social matters , they create a hopeless confusion in any scientific investigation of economic relations..

(in Keith and Pile, 1993, p.50)

What this passage points to is that both conceptions of justice, the concept of justice as the morality of a ruling class, and the concept of justice as a shared value that people understand when they talk with each other, are true. Looking at the first claim, justice is seen as a particular justice which holds true in particular situations, the dominance of which leads to injustice. This is the Lyotardian position for whom any determinate conception of justice leads to tyranny. The second part of the quote points towards a different conception, for what could it mean that in 'everyday life' these concepts are used without misundersta, if not to point to an understanding of the concept beyond any particular formulation of it. This is underscored by the words "even with reference to social matters" which here to emphasize that even at those sites where class justice as particular justice is revealed for what it is, misunderstandings in the use of the word do not normally happen. This indicates that the concept of justice as a commonly held standard is empty of any determinate content. This standard is not like the standard meter, it is more an idea of justice which is anchored in networks of related practices. It is these networks of related practices which allow us to judge and reach moral decisions. This does not mean that meaningful disagreements cannot and do not happen. They do and in so far as they are meaningful they are precisely not, as Andrew Benjamin claims, "in the long run caused by either error or miscalculation" (Benjamin, 73).

There is always a tension in the concept of justice between its substance and its form but the way we learn the meaning of the concept is from the grammar of the word, its use in different contexts, within different language games to do different things. Instead of looking at these interpretations as contradictory we can look at them as constitutive of the sense of the word as it is used in different contexts and language games. The problem is that if we were to say that the two senses of justice were incommensurable, there would be no grounds from which one can challenge any particular case as unjust. Hannah Pitkin for example asks whether children growing up in radically divergent cultures learn the same concept of beauty or justice or different ones (Pitkin, 180). What would count as an instance of beauty or of justice might differ from culture to culture and even within members of the same community. What is common, is making a claim for justice, judging that claim, justifying that judgement, accounting for it, i.e. the pragmatics or mode of argumentation; the discursive and non-discursive practices within which it is embedded. And that is neither arbitrary, for one thing, as Pitkin says, "not just any standards of justice will do" (Pitkin, p.180), nor is it simply conventional in the strict sense, for it has to do with how the notion of justice enters our life, the work it is supposed to do in any community. Cavell deals with this point exactly when he says, "but now we are thinking of convention not as the arrangements a particular culture has found convenient... for effecting the necessities of human existence but as those forms of life which are normal to any group of creatures we call human...Here the array of 'conventions' are not patterns of life which differentiate human beings from one another, but those exigencies of conduct and feeling which all humans share." (Cavell, 1979, p.111). Again a concept like justice brings into play many other related concepts like good, right, just deserts, injustice and so on, which create an expanded field of meaning. Some of these concepts would be specific to a certain tradition and not to another. For example the word justice in Arabic (al-Haq) is widely used in many different ways in everyday speech and can mean, in addition to justice, right, truth, duty, one's due, correctness, while it is at the same time implaced within a tradition where its opposite, injustice, is ever present as its other. The fact that the word is used in different contexts, or different language games, does not mean that there is one essence running through all its different uses, but shows that the word is richly layered with the many sedimentations of its social use, sedimentations that come into play when the word is used. Part of the appeal of the discourse of the different fundamentalist movements, within the present conjuncture, lies in their rearticulation of the idiom of justice in a way that fuses the Palestinian and the Islamic usages of the concept.

To admit that the substantive concept of justice is culture specific, is not to agree with Christopher Norris' statement that "If ethical judgements could only be construed to the interests of a given cultural community - then there could be no question of challenging, opposing or criticizing those interests from a standpoint of reasoned or principled dissent." (Norris, 215) The interests of such a community and its ethical judgements are assumed by Norris to be all of one piece and therefore conflict, contestation or disagreement are ruled out. He does not take into account that the ethical discourses of any such community itself emerges from the multiple practices that any genuine community must reproduce for it to constitute a community. And this is because he poses the cultural community in a narrow sense. Wittgenstein point out that "if language is to be a means of communication, then there must be agreement not only in definitions but also (queer as it may sound) in judgements..." (PI, para 242). The agreement in judgements that Wittgenstein is speaking about here is not to be understood as a consensus of belief in the definitive meaning of justice, but is an agreement in our forms of practical reasoning as to when we can make such a claim, what counts as a good argument for it, and so on.

Are cultural communities really the self-enclosed units that Norris' model implies, where sets of beliefs seamlessly connect to the members of that community? Again depending on the frame that one chooses to look at, membership in a cultural community might range from the neighborhood where one lives, to membership in a political movement, or a work community, all of which themselves are embedded within larger communities like nation, the Arab region, the Jewish people etc. The generality of such terms conceals the many particularities that are contained within, but the level of generality that one invokes is related to the purpose or the point that one wants to make. The individual located both out of choice and necessity within these different communities finds himself/herself having to negotiate these different areas which often produce conflicting moral demands, needs and desires. After all subject position is not identical with subjectivity. It is true that most people would have an idea of what truth, or justice, or the good are, but it is also true that there is very often a gap between what they believe and how they act, and that, too, is very much in the order of things.

Are we therefore condemned to a form of relativism? I do not think so. The question is whether there is possible an idea of 'universal' truth, not an absolute truth divorced from the materiality of people's lives, but a truth that springs precisely from that materiality, a truth therefore that is imbricated in the way of our 'being so' in this world, or what Cavell calls the conventionality of human nature itself (Cavell, 1979, 111). This 'being so' constitutes an end-limit of experience which frames our social practices and our forms of life. It is when we pay attention to the grammar of our concepts, to how they work in our lives and to the kind of certainties that Wittgenstein talks about as the background against which we act in our lives, that we can see our way out of relativism. I will end with another Wittgenstein quotation, "The facts of human natural history which cast light upon our problems are difficult to see, for our language passes them by, being busy with other matters" (quoted in Hacker, 265).

 

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Opinions expressed by individual authors do not necessarily represent the position or opinion of Muwatin, The Palestinian Institute for the Study of Democracy

 ما يرد في هذه المقالات والمنشورات من آراء وأفكار تعبر عن وجهة نظر المؤلف ولا يعكس بالضرورة موقف مواطن، المؤسسة الفلسطينية لدراسة الديمقراطية