Should we all be Cosmopolitans Now?

The idea of being a ‘Cosmopolitan’ or a citizen of the world is not new and one can trace its emergence as a philosophy to the Stoics, who lived during the second and third century B.C. The most famous of them is Marcus Aurelius, whose Meditations has become a classic. The idea of not belonging to one place and embracing the universe as one is the crux of this way of thinking and one is inclined to ask: With globalization, is this the way the world is moving, and should we all be cosmopolitans now? Kwame Anthony Appaiah surely thinks so, and articulates his ideas in his book Cosmopolitanism, Ethics in a World of Strangers.c

Cosmopolitanism has many fans, but there are critics too. The opposing forces that faces a cosmopolitan way of life are the parochial ones: Nationalism, tribalism and any identity that seeks to be all consuming and dominant. This notion aspires to a ‘cultural purity’ that is an oxymoron, Appaiah argues. “The odds are that, culturally speaking, you already live in a cosmopolitan life, enriched by literature, art, and film that come from many places and that contains influences from many more” .While this is true and a valid argument, it is also true that cosmopolitanism could end up becoming another generalizing and universalizing principle, that could potentially ignore the ‘particularisms’ as Clifford Geertz, the Anthropologist would say. These particularisms are what make us unique and in their absence, we would be devoid of any identity. The other word for this is cultural relativism and one that seeks to honor each tradition on its own terms. While Appaiah acknowledges its value, he fears that this could lead to a world that is not ‘shared’ by all. This could lead to more divisiveness than is needed, in his view.

So, why is this notion of Cosmopolitanism important, one may ask? The simple answer is that because there is no other choice, at least for many, around the world, who are constantly bombarded with messages, media, ways of thinking and living that are alien to their ‘local’ traditions. Either we all cloister ourselves in our own ‘world’ and refuse to acknowledge or respect the ‘other’ whatever that may be, or we can open up our world and minds and recognize that the ‘other’s’ way of life, language, culture are valid and as human as we are. This gives life to the statement that the stoic playwright Terentius Afer made “I am human: nothing human is alien to me.” Appaiah draws out various analogies from his own life and that from history to demonstrate that cultural relativism, the belief that each one of us is so unique that we are best left undisturbed, is patently false. Further, Appaiah elaborates the tension between positivism and value laden worldviews.Positivism has its limits, he argues, because it can lead to particularism and a fixation with ‘rationality.’ What if the other person doesn’t speak in rational terms? How do we deal with this?

This is where values enter, points out Appaiah and one would have to agree that values can have a universalizing spirit. Who doesn’t believe in feeding the hungry and sheltering the homeless – we may differ in the means for doing this, but most of us would agree that these are good things that we should all aspire for. “Folktales, drama, opera, novels, short stories: every human civilization has ways to reveal to us values we had not previously recognized or undermine our own commitments to values that we had settled into. Armed with these terms, fortified with a shared language of value, we can often guide one another, in the cosmopolitan spirit, to shared responses; and when we cannot agree, the understanding that shaped our responses are shaped by some of the same vocabulary can make it easier to agree to disagree.” While this call for focusing on the positives in the narratives and values is all fine and good, what happens when there are clashing narratives and values that pit one against the other? While Appaiah does offer a critique of the ‘counter-cosmopolitan’ narrative of the radicals – Al-Qaeda and other totalitarian systems such as Communism etc. it comes across as too being too essentialist. For instance, in his critique of the concept of the Ummah, or universal brotherhood of Islam, Appaiah takes into account only how the radical Muslims frame it and misuse this concept to ‘other’, while ignoring the equally powerful Ummah that a Sufi or mainstream Sunni conceptualizes. What about the notion of Vasudaiva kutumbam, among the Hindus – that translates as ‘The whole world is a family.’ This is a big weakness of his argument and it is glaringly obvious that while he builds up the war cry, he doesn’t deliver the goods in this particular regard and ends up making a generalization, that ends up in an essentialism that could potentially be seen as carelessness.

As regards how to negotiate among warring factions, Appaiah, does not help us much in this regard, other than by saying that we must converse with one another. But the question still remains: What if people are not willing to even do that? What value system should one adopt? Should we all force everyone to adopt ‘universal principles’? While this seems like a plausible argument, the question still remains: who determines what is universal and why should everyone accept them as such? The differentiation between universalism and cosmopolitanism is that, in the latter, there is a recognition of differences and also the only criterion needed to be a ‘cosmopolitan’ is to recognize the other and have the ability to converse and deal with them. It does not necessarily mean that we adopt the views of the other, as a Universalist would demand. This difference is crucial and one that makes all the difference between ‘cultural hegemony’ and ‘respectful cultural dialogue’.

The biggest counter force to this sort of ecumenical thinking comes from ideologies such as nationalism that seek to set boundaries, both real and imagined. While these are often based on linguistic, nationalistic and other imaginaries, that are a product of historical and economic or imperialistic forces, their manifestation is real. How can one deny that American exceptionalism is not real? Or for that matter that the way Canada defines itself is in some way in opposition to what America is not. This tendency to ‘other’ those who don’t belong is part of our psyche and is deeply ingrained. Appaiah acknowledges that we began as small tribes, living in hunter-gathering type communities and this has shaped the way we think and feel about those who belong and those who don’t.

There are some problems with Cosmopolitanism too, including the very foundational one: Who can afford to be one? Can all of us be cosmpolitans? The simple answer seems to be: No. Being a cosmopolitan requires time, effort, money and not to mention access to certain levels of societal resources that are unfortunately not available to all. While we may be exposed to cultures, languages and food from other countries at a superficial level, to be a true embedded cosmopolitan requires traveling to those places, interacting with people who are not like us and living their lives, from their perspectives. This, I would argue is an expensive proposition. Especially if one is not lucky to live in a heterogeneous society. As Gramsci would say, cultural notions are unfortunately defined by the ruling classes and in this sense, the bottom rung of any society can only aspire to be cosmopolitan, in practical terms. This is a practical constraint that I see for this way of thinking and living. But despite this, cosmopolitanism is a compelling and enticing way of thinking and living, one that can make us bigger people, than we are, already.

Can you Save Tigers by Eating More Chocolate? : A critique of consumer philanthropy

The dominant discourse of philanthropy these days (both in the developed and developing world) is one of ‘marketized philanthropy’ or ‘consumption philanthropy,’ that tries to convince us that we can really save tigers by consuming a particular brand of chocolate. While proponents of this view point to the decreasing role of governments, and are calling for increased ‘agency’ on part of both corporates and consumers, this debate is far from over. While certain corporates such as Apple, Starbucks, Dell have certainly done a lot to raise awareness about issues, brought in money and attention to issues that would have languished, if not for their advocacy; there are some perspectives that are often left out in this discourse. The key one being this ‘marketized philanthropy’ becoming hegemonic and shutting out all other discourses, which may perhaps offer us  better alternatives to solving these problems. An example is the Red campaign, which argues that one can prevent AIDS in Africa by buying a particular brand of computers or other consumer products. As consumers “you have the power to make a difference,” claims their website. But is this true, and how did this discourse come to dominate our consciousness? What are the alternatives? This brief article discusses these ideas through using the works of a few critical theorists.

Mark Rosenman points out several problems wit

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Photo credit :

h campaigns such as RED including that they are a cover for corporate avarice. In his article Patina of Philanthropy, he says: “According to the pro-business Conference Board, although the dollar value of corporate contributions to charity increased in the post-Katrina year (the last for which we have data) – including funds generated by cause-related marketing – the percentage of pretax revenue donated to worthy groups and causes actually declined.  Based on their income, corporations are becoming stingier.” He further contends that there is no transparency about how much of this money actually goes to charities. You cannot consume your way to social good he argues, reminding us that sometimes we need to sacrifice for the larger common good, rather than consume more.

Eikenberry and Nickel (2005) argue that this discourse of marketized philanthropy has actually done much more harm than good and there needs to be a close examination of the claims that the proponents of this discourse are making. Using the example of Angelina Jolie, who is an advocate for Africa, they ask: “Is Africa really suffering due to a lack of Angelina Jolies or Bonos (named one of three 2005 “Persons of the Year,” or is the problem more structural, to do with the society, its leaders, governance structures and more? They point out that this media celebration of philanthropists is both affirmative and exclusionary in that this discourse legitimizes the philanthropists and the money that they possess, without putting them through an examination of how they earned it and the system that perpetuates this inequality, in the first place. They contend that consumption philanthropy is not new and is as old as early 20th century, when Great Britain raised money for war relief funds for the South African war through “Patriotic ballads, hymns and songs that were written; provincial bazaars organized; and a large number of military concerts and processions staged.”

What is new, Nickel and Eikenberry argue is the pervasiveness as well as lack of alternatives for civic talk and action. This, they say can be remedied, through a more robust political engagement. They see hope in the social movements such as the civil rights movement, the land reform movement of Cesar Chavez among others.

Nickel and Eikenberry also add that the problem with this media narrative of marketized philanthropy is that it leaves out or excludes those about whom the stories are being told. Jolie seems to be saying, according to the authors : “Do something! But what can you do? Give money? Consumer philanthropic products like me!” They deploy Agger’s (1991) call for “disclosing narrative wherever we find it narrates anew; thus its political practice- in particular a politics of discourse”. By using this, Nickel and Eikenberry argue that capitalism is presented as an unauthored ideology, and it is consumed as one. It goes without questioning, without people stopping or pausing to check the validity of its claims, they say. This follows from Marx, who argued that money transforms the basis of human relations (specific expressions) into alienated relations, or relations based on a quality that is not in itself inherent. (Nickel, 2005, p.7).

While it is commendable that RED has raised millions in fighting AIDS in Africa, the question is whether this could have also been carried out through the channels that exist for this work to occur: the governments, people of Africa themselves. Are we robbing them of their agency and also more importantly, not letting Africans take part in a discourse that we manufacture, create and propagate. The RED website says: “(RED) was created to help provide a sustainable flow of money from the private sector to fight AIDS. We’ve raised over $240 million to date through the sale of (RED) products from iconic companies – like Apple and Starbucks – and from (RED) events. And 100% of that money goes to work on the ground.” Some questions arise from this: How much of this $240 million has gone to the patients, and more importantly, how much have corporates gained in lieu of this ‘charity’ that they did?

Finally, as Nickel and Eikenberry warn “ Consumption philanthropy is not a discourse about change, but a discourse about continued, even increased, consumption.” As Rosenman also reminds us, this focus of businesses solving social problems may actually benefit businesses more: in terms of publicity, new business and audiences than the actual people or charities that were intended to be the beneficiaries. This paradox is a deep one and one that might elicit a lot of cynicism, as it often does.

How might critics of Philanthrocapitalism respond to Bishop and Green and their theory of Philanthrocapitalism? From this quote above and some of the arguments presented earlier, it would seem that they would critique the entire model of capitalism and the ways that it conceptualizes the relationship of man and money. They may perhaps even critique the very basis of campaigns such as RED or the founding philosophy of Corporate Social Responsibility, not for the reason that Libertarians would do – i.e., argue that it is not the purpose of businesses to worry about social issues – but because this theory is fundamentally premised on the assumption that social problems can be solved by throwing more money at them. This, perhaps is the underlying assumption of critical theorists when they criticize business approaches to philanthropy. While you may not agree with it, it is certainly an important perspective that deserves our attention.