Globalization, Culture and Society in Laos

Globalization, Culture and Society in Laos

Incorporating original fieldwork carried out over a period of more than ten years, combined with innovative theoretical argument, Globalization, Culture and Society in Laos presents one of the first sociological investigations into modern Laos. Boike Rehbein gives a fascinating overview of contemporary Lao culture and society, whilst linking local and national phenomena to tendencies of globalization and the history of the region. The book introduces a new theoretical approach based on the sociology of Pierre Bourdieu, applying this sociology to the interpretation of Lao history. It also examines various aspects of Lao culture and society, including economics, politics, language, higher education, music and religion. Rehbein concludes by attempting to synthesize these cultural elements with the impact of globalization to give a synopsis of contemporary Lao society. Written by an expert in Lao history and culture familiar with the language and the people, this book will be of great interest to students and scholars of Laos, Southeast Asia, social theory and globalization. Boike Rehbein is Professor of Sociology and Head of the Global Studies Programme at the University of Freiburg.

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Globalization, Culture and Society in Laos

Boike Rehbein

First published 2007 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2007. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2007 Boike Rehbein All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Rehbein, Boike. Globalization, culture, and society in Laos / Boike Rehbein. p. cm. – (Routledge studies in Asia’s transformations) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Culture and globalization–Laos. 2. Globalization–Social aspects–Laos. 3. Laos–Social conditions. I. Title. HN700.4.Z9G56 2007 303.48′2594–dc22 2007003127

ISBN 0-203-94641-3 Master e-book ISBN ISBN10: 0–415–42634–0 (hbk) ISBN10: 0–203–94641–3 (ebk) ISBN13: 978–0–415–42634–3 (hbk) ISBN13: 978–0–203–94641–1 (ebk)

To the Bastines

Contents

List of illustrations Preface Introduction

xiii xv 1

1 Sociocultures

14

2 The evolution of Lao sociocultures

32

3 The economic field

51

4 Economic habitus

63

5 Identity politics

74

6 Globalization and the Lao language

88

7 The Lao academic field

99

8 A globalized music scene

112

9 Village beliefs

123

10 Configurations of globalization in Laos Notes References Index

136 144 152 165

Illustrations

Tables 0.1 2.1 3.1 3.2 6.1 10.1 10.2

Basic socio-economic data Division of work in a Lao village Change in the value of resources in the economic field Groups in the economic field Forms of address corresponding to different sociocultures Indicators of globalization in Laos Aspects of the configuration in Laos

7 38 58 61 92 142 143

Figures 0.1 0.2 1.1 1.2 1.3 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5

Map of Southeast Asia indicating relative centres of settlement Map of Laos Social structure according to Marx Dahrendorf’s model of German social structure as adapted by Geißler Bourdieu’s social space Baan–muang structure Sakdina structure Social structure under socialism Social positions in the political field Social positions in the economic field

5 6 16 17 22 40 41 44 46 48

Plates 0.1 0.2 0.3 2.1 2.2 2.3 4.1

An old colonial mansion in Vientiane One of the most expensive houses in Ban Pha Khao A typical house in Ban Phonkham The village head of Ban Phonkham grinding tobacco on his porch The three ethnic categories represented on a banknote The labourer, a hero of socialism, in the National Museum Hmong selling herbs and roots in downtown Vientiane

9 10 11 37 42 43 66

xiv Illustrations 4.2 A man stops his imaginary motorcycle in front of the newly installed traffic lights in Vientiane (1999) 5.1 The That Luang and King Setthathirat portrayed in a temple 5.2 The symbols of Laos portrayed in a hotel lobby 5.3 The newly erected statue of King Fa Ngum 7.1 The Faculty of Languages 7.2 The Faculty of Social Sciences 7.3 The Faculty of Economics 7.4 The administration building 8.1 The stall of BK Productions at the morning market (2002) 8.2 Alexandra on a billboard advertising mobile phones 9.1 The refurbished sim of Ban Pha Khao 9.2 The house of the village spirit in Ban Pha Khao 10.1 Half of the Lao population has no experience of socialism

69 80 81 82 108 109 109 110 116 121 130 132 138

Preface

This book is a step towards a work which may never be written—a sociology of Laos. The work may not be written because contemporary Laos cannot be understood independently of the effects of globalization, meaning that a comprehensive sociology of Laos would have to include analysis of the extensive Lao diaspora(s), transnational networks, international organizations, development aid, the ASEAN, and the global division of labour, all of which have transformed contemporary Laos and continue to do so. This book is based on a series of papers, some previously published separately, that show the connections of social and cultural phenomena in contemporary Laos to transnational and global realities and at the same time investigate these phenomena at the national and local levels. Its findings should be read as interim results of an ongoing study. The book also presents the preliminary outline of a theoretical framework designed to advance our understanding of a globalizing culture and society. This approach is summarized in the first chapter and explicated, applied and specified in detail in succeeding chapters. The theoretical framework is novel and innovative and should interest all students of the social sciences, not only those specializing in Southeast Asia. It draws on the sociology of Pierre Bourdieu, who was my teacher for some years, and links his conception of social structure to contemporary debates on globalization, world systems theory and Asian studies. I believe that Bourdieu’s theories are sufficiently advanced and flexible to be extended beyond their original Eurocentric context. This does not mean that truth is found only in Bourdieu or that students of Southeast Asia should base their analyses on Bourdieu alone. However, his approach and conceptual apparatus have proved to be most productive in my case. The following chapters form an introduction to the sociology of Laos. They constitute a preliminary outline rather than a fully fledged systematic sociology of the country. On the one hand, those who know nothing about the country will find basic as well as more detailed information on Laos. On the other hand, readers unfamiliar with sociology but interested in Laos will find the book intelligible and not too technical—except possibly the first three chapters. The entire book may not be suitable for tourists on vacation, but anyone with a serious interest in Southeast Asia should find something of interest here. For those entirely unfamiliar with the region, the second half of the Introduction gives an overview of contemporary Laos, while Chapter 2 offers a sketch of Lao history.

xvi Preface

Spelling, transcription and vocabulary There is at present no universally accepted system of transcribing Tai languages. This has led to rather unsatisfactory results. In my German publications, I have used a transcription specifically geared to German pronunciation (see Rehbein and Sayaseng 2000, 2004)—a system that makes little sense in a book written for an English-speaking audience. For this book, therefore, I have adopted a transcription which combines conventional spellings based on the French transliteration (especially names such as Kaysone—pronounced Ghigh-sorn) with a system used in the most influential books on Laos written in English. While readers unfamiliar with the Lao language will struggle with the pronunciation of Lao terms in this book, they will at least be able to relate these terms to other texts on Laos. In this book, the term ‘Laos’ refers mainly to the nation state of Laos as defined by the French in the decades after 1893. On some occasions, I use the name anachronistically to refer to the geographical area which comprises the contemporary nation state of Laos. ‘Lao’ refers to the ethnolinguistic group that uses the Lao language as its mother tongue and is considered to be of Lao descent. However, I sometimes equivocally apply this term to the citizens or inhabitants of Laos as well.

Acknowledgements As the book consists of mostly independent chapters, some of which have been published or presented previously, I will thank the relevant people for each chapter below. The entire manuscript has been read and critiqued by my editor, Paul Sorrell. Grant Evans and Jan Nederveen Pieterse have commented on the bulk of the manuscript, and I wish to express my great gratitude to them. In addition, I would like to thank Volker Grabowsky, Reiko Ogawa, Hermann Schwengel and Baas Terwiel for their constant critique and help over the years. For help with the illustrations in the book, I thank Jens Schwengel and Frank Wuttig; for help with the list of references, Andreas Küchle. I express my special gratitude to Andrea Schleipen. Research for this book could not have been undertaken without the great assistance and cooperation of countless Lao individuals and institutions. I am especially grateful to the inhabitants of Ban Phonkham and Ban Pha Khao, who went through a lot of trouble to understand such a weird practice as research and helped me in every possible way. I also wish to thank the National University of Laos for many years of cooperation. I would like to thank some individuals for their friendship and outstanding help: Damdouane and Souphab Khouangvichit, Phut Simmalavong, Bunleud Sengsoulin and Somkot Mangnomek. I am also grateful to those who were responsible for my research in the 1990s, Kongsy Sengmany and Sikhamtat Mitaray. Finally, I wish to thank my friend and teacher Sisouk Sayaseng. The ideas underlying Chapter 1 were presented at the International Sociological Association’s conference at Durban in July 2006. I wish to thank the audience and

Preface xvii all who offered criticism. A preliminary version of Chapter 2 was presented at the First International Conference on Lao Studies at DeKalb in May 2005. I wish to thank all those in the audience, all who made comments and especially the organizers, Carol Compton, John Hartmann and Vinya Sysamouth. Chapter 3 was previously published in Sojourn; I thank Aris Ananta and two anonymous reviewers for their comments. Chapter 5 was critiqued by Jürgen Rüland, Judith Schlehe and Gernot Saalmann, all of whom I would like to thank. For comments on earlier versions of Chapter 6, I wish to thank Jerold A. Edmondson, Nick Enfield, Karsten Kumoll, Michel Lorrillard, Sarah Maxim and Olaf Zenker. Chapter 7 was published in a volume edited by Christl Kessler, Gernot Saalmann and Dominique Schirmer, whom I thank for their feedback. I also express my thanks to Patrice Ladwig and John Holt, who critiqued Chapter 9, which gained significantly from their comments. The ideas behind Chapter 10 were presented in lectures given at Urbana-Champaign, DeKalb, Seattle (thanks to Sara Van Fleet and Charles Keyes) and Lund (thanks to Kristina Jönsson and Roger Greatrex). To those whom I forgot to mention, please excuse my terrible memory and my somewhat Lao character (which emphasizes the moment). I will attempt to compensate with a nice glass of wine.

Introduction

This book deals with the relationship between culture, society and globalization, using Laos as a case study. More specifically, it asks how globalization affects culture and social structure in Laos. It argues that social structure can only be understood in relation to the division of work. For reasons explained in the first chapter, I subsume the concept of labour under the wider concept of work. This term is basically equivalent to Hannah Arendt’s (1958) concept of ‘activity’. Social structure and the division of work are interrelated and form varying but not arbitrary configurations, which persist in later historical times. I call these persisting configurations of social structure and the division of work sociocultures. Subsequent chapters investigate present-day Laos by examining the evolution of sociocultures and the contemporary relationship between social structure and the division of work.

Globalization The debate on globalization became serious after the collapse of the Soviet Union and has spread into all disciplines in the social sciences. It has prompted many questions. Is the world becoming more homogeneous or more heterogeneous (McDonaldization vs. glocalization)? Is globalization driven by economic forces (economism vs. culturalism)? Does globalization mean Americanization and neoliberalism (empire vs. multiple centres)? Is there just one globalization or are there various tendencies at work? Will there be a ‘clash of civilizations’? When did globalization start? These questions have led to the formulation of more specific and differentiated arguments. Positions have had to give up their claim to universal truth and specify their field of reference (Nederveen Pieterse 2004a). This process has yielded a number of new theoretical concepts and a complex picture of globalization(s). This book enquires into the various types of globalization on a more empirical level, while situating the concept of globalization in a more general theoretical framework. It deals with the question: What happens to cultures and social structures under the influence of ‘globalization’? It does not answer this question on an abstract level but in relation to a case study based on contemporary Lao society. Questions about social reality cannot be answered in any meaningful sense

2 Introduction from the scholar’s desk alone, as most participants in the debates on globalization have done. But neither can they be answered by sticking to pure ‘observation’, for one needs a framework in order to make sense of what one sees. Therefore, the first chapter introduces the theoretical framework which informs the material that follows. While the concept of globalization is problematic, the debates around it seem to have reached a certain level of consensus. First, there cannot be any doubt that the world is growing closer in many respects: media, telecommunication, financial markets, international institutions and trade have rapidly increased to a hitherto unknown degree. Second, various trends and tendencies that might be labelled ‘globalization’ have existed for centuries or even millennia. Third, the debates on globalization are themselves an aspect of globalization, including an increasing number of voices from all parts of the world. Fourth, there are various types and tendencies of contemporary globalization, from globalization to localization, from cultural to economic globalization, from Americanization to intensifying South– South relations. For this reason, it makes sense to speak of globalizations in the plural or to define exactly what type of globalization is meant in a particular case. The contemporary debates on globalization have entailed a revision of Eurocentric social theory, which began with Edward Said’s Orientalism (1978) in the 1970s but made an impact on the mainstream only in the first decade of the twenty-first century with the work of the late André Gunder Frank (see Frank 1998). This revision is partly due to the rise of Asia: i.e., to developments in the real world rather than theoretical reflection. At first, Asia’s rise came as a surprise to politicians as well as to sociologists. With the Asian crisis of 1997, it appeared to be short-lived, but more extensive research has shown that the rise of India, China and Southeast Asia in the early twenty-first century is neither surprising nor new (Frank 1998; Cohen 2000; Hobson 2004). According to classical sociology, the world was sound asleep until the era of European modernization, which ensured the expansion of capitalism, technocracy and a controlling state, and the application of instrumental reason. Asia was a realm of ‘Oriental despotism’ with an ‘Asiatic mode of production’ and subsistence economy, underdeveloped and poor; this was the view of Marx (1974) and other evolutionary thinkers.1 In any case, it lacked certain indispensable elements of modernization, features which existed only in Europe; this was Weber’s view (1978). While the specific nature of modernization and the combination of characteristics that defined it were the subject of heated debates, there was a consensus about Asia’s underdevelopment. This consensus has been eroded by recent research on Asia. Frank (1998) has shown that the historic norm has in fact been a multicentric world, with a slight gravitation towards Asia. The centre of long-distance trade has always been in Asia, except during the two short phases of European domination in antiquity and recent modernity. (In both cases, the rise of Europe may have been based on its intrusion into Asia-centred trade.) The centre lay in the triangle formed between the Middle East, India and China, at least until 1750 (Hobson 2004: 73, passim). Until 1750, China had a higher per-capita income than England, until 1850 a higher

Introduction 3 gross national product, and until 1860 a greater share of the world’s production of goods. In 1750, China’s share of world production was 33 per cent, which exceeded the United States’ share in the 1990s (ibid.). Printing, gunpowder, and the compass —according to Francis Bacon the most important inventions in history—were all invented in China. Although Westerners usually assume that these inventions were not used for industrial purposes but for toys such as fireworks, China already had steel tools, firearms, paper money, a credit system and agricultural subsidies at the time of the European Middle Ages (Franke and Trauzettel 1971: 194). In 1100, the population of several Chinese cities exceeded one million. One thousand years ago, China enjoyed the international status that it is regaining today. The same is true for India and Southeast Asia. Indian steel was cheaper and better than English steel well into the nineteenth century, Indian textiles were sold across the Eastern hemisphere in bulk, and the financial system was more developed than in Europe (Hobson 2004). According to Marco Polo, whenever a ship entered the harbour of Alexandria, 100 Chinese vessels sailed into the harbours of Southeast Asia. At these ports, Chinese merchants did not merely sell goods and pick up raw materials; they bought agricultural products that were specifically produced for the market (Reid 1993: 7, 12). According to sociological theory and contemporary development aid thinking, agricultural production for the market characteristic of modern capitalism was and is lacking in the developing countries of Southeast Asia. This is a misconception that needs to be revised. Agricultural goods shipped from Southeast Asia were paid for in precious metals, especially silver, which increasingly came from Japan and South America. European traders also shipped precious metals from South America to Asia. The growing volume of European trade in the seventeenth century corresponded to the internal weakness of China at the end of the Ming Dynasty, heralding the hegemony of Europe over China and India. Europe moved to the centre of world trade in the eighteenth century. Japan and the United States became new centres in the twentieth century. Today, the centre undoubtedly lies in the USA, but an increasing number of other and perhaps more significant centres have also emerged around the globe (Nederveen Pieterse and Rehbein in press). The historic norm has been reinstalled. A multicentric, globalized world existed to a lesser degree before European expansion, colonialism and imperialism. Production for the market, state regulation of the economy, sophisticated fiscal systems and financial markets were already present in this multicentric world. However, nation states, technocracy, a controlling state and the cleavage of the capitalist and working classes were all absent. In other words, some phenomena that have been the foci of Western social theory emerged only with European modernization. This phase has now reached its end. To construct a convincing social theory, we should not base our thinking on this aberrant phase of European domination but on the multicentric world which is reemerging with contemporary globalization. However, globalization does not mean a return to pre-colonial times. Although the world has grown together to a hitherto unknown degree, colonial structures persist, Western capitalism dominates all economies, polities everywhere are

4 Introduction standardized according to the model of the nation state, and a technocratic culture is expanding across the globe. These tendencies can be observed in Laos—on a relatively small scale but at an accelerated pace. Laos has always been at the crossroads of cultures, societies, economic forces and trade routes. It cannot be viewed in isolation. And it has not yet been transformed into a capitalist society or a standardized nation state. Pre-colonial, colonial and globalized forms of society exist there side by side—in addition to a socialist form of government. Although the forms of Lao culture and society do not correspond to the borders of the nation state, they are nonetheless linked to various tendencies within globalization.

Laos Within Asia, the territory of Laos and the political entities dominating it have historically played a minor role. However, it has always been part of a wider infrastructural network and has seen the rise and fall of powerful political entities. The nation state of Laos today covers an area of around 240,000 square kilometres. Its history has been intricately linked to that of neighbouring territories. Today, Laos—like its predecessors—lacks direct access to the sea. Its infrastructure remains weak. The Mekong River, which along some stretches forms the border with Thailand, is the lifeline of Laos; on its banks lie the centres of population, development and economic life. While the riverine climate is tropical, most of the rest of Laos is mountainous and temperate. Laos has always been an agricultural region. The overwhelming majority of the adult Lao population have grown up as peasants; many employees and civil servants still make part of their living in agriculture. Up to 80 per cent of the active population works in agriculture, which contributes half of the gross national product. In 2002, GNP was valued at 1.2 billion US dollars, which was equivalent to around 280 dollars per capita (National Statistical Centre 2003). In the same year, 97 per cent of Lao enterprises had fewer than ten employees (ibid.: 58). Almost every manufactured product sold in Laos is produced abroad. Laos has around six million people and a yearly growth rate of 2.8 per cent (ibid.: 23, 26). The population consists of between 50 and perhaps 150—although probably fewer than 100—ethnolinguistic groups that have immigrated in waves over the past millennia.2 Currently, these groups are classified into five ethnolinguistic families. According to this classification, the Lao belong to the family of the Tai-Kadai and comprise about half of the population (Atlas of Laos 2000: 33). They dwell almost exclusively in towns and villages in river valleys, which means that much of the country lacks the presence of ethnic Lao. Other Tai people, comprising around 10 per cent of the population, are in the mountains. They are outnumbered by Mon-Khmer groups that settle along hill slopes. Miao-Yao and Tibeto-Burmans, comprising a further 10 per cent of the population, live mainly in the cool climate of the mountaintops. The final ethnolinguistic family is the VietMuong, who comprise a tiny fraction of the population. Officially, Chinese, Indians, Vietnamese and others are not counted as separate ethnolinguistic groups, even though they constitute sizeable portions of the

Introduction 5

China Vietnam Myanmar

Tai

Hmong

Yuan

Lao

Thailand Thai

Khmer

Cambodia

Vietnam

Figure 0.1 Map of Southeast Asia indicating relative centres of settlement

population. Their numbers are not recorded in official statistics. There is a clear symbolic hierarchy among the recognized communities, conceptualized according to topographical location: Lao Lum (valley Lao: Tai-Kadai), Lao Theung (Lao of the slopes: Mon-Khmer) and Lao Sung (Lao of the mountaintops: Miao-Yao and Tibeto-Burmans). In reality, topography and hierarchy are rather blurred as these groups are not all confined within their putative habitats and cultural traits. Furthermore, all these groups have their demographic centres outside the nation state of Laos (see Figure 0.1).

6 Introduction

Phongsaly

Luang Phrabang

Huaphan

Sieng Khwang

Ban Phonkham Bolikhamsay

Laksao

Ban Pha Khao Vientiane

Savannakhet

Champassak

Wat Phu

Figure 0.2 Map of Laos

The majority of Lao are subsistence farmers, like their ancestors. They have been shifting location regularly as a result of changing environmental conditions. The modern nation state has moved to integrate them into a larger political and economic entity and attempted to fix their settlements permanently. But as this form of integration is not yet complete, peasant society continues to form an important element of Lao social structure. Apart from peasant villages, there have been urban centres in Laos for centuries. Towns evolved from centrally located

Introduction 7 Table 0.1 Basic socio-economic data Surface Population 2006 Population aged 0–14 Percentage working in agriculture 2001 Rice production 2002 GDP per capita 2004 Trade deficit 2002 External debt 2000 Inflation 2002

236,000 sq km 6 million (estimated) 44% 85% 2.4 million tons US$ 390 US$ 331 million US$ 2.4 billion 10.6%

Sources: National Statistical Centre of Laos 2003, Asian Development Bank 2001, 2006

villages with an important market place. Dominant princedoms emerged which sought to subdue the surrounding villages; villagers performed military and labour services for these rulers in exchange for security. Small towns became dependent for their security on larger towns, which in turn often declared themselves loyal to principalities that might pay tribute to the Chinese or Vietnamese emperor (Lieberman 2003: 31, passim). The Tai called these towns and principalities muang.3 Urban centres were gradually integrated into transnational networks. There were important trade links between Laos and India and China at the time of the Roman republic (Higham 1989). The volume of this Asian long-distance trade has at times exceeded that of Europe (Reid 1993). The period between the fourteenth century and the sixteenth saw an increase in political and economic integration, followed by several centuries of disintegration (Lieberman 2003). This was the period of European expansion, which picked up momentum to include most of Southeast Asia in the nineteenth century. At that time, the territory of Laos was divided among several principalities that had been conquered by Siam (later Thailand) and Vietnam. France subdued some of these principalities in 1893 and combined them into a state called ‘Laos’. The state began to expand westward into Siam, but this ended in 1904 with the Entente Cordiale between France and Britain, who agreed to maintain the status quo. However, parts of former Lao principalities remained in Siam and Cambodia. The French lacked sufficient resources to make use of Laos, which had been depopulated by Siamese and Vietnamese conquest and numbered around half a million inhabitants in 1900 (Halpern 1961a: 8). Although French rule did little for the development of the country, it created an integrated nation state with advanced fiscal, health and education systems. The urban economy, dominated by Vietnamese and Chinese, experienced a boom. French institutions educated a small group of Lao intellectuals. In cooperation with Vietnamese intellectuals, this group formed a movement for national liberation, sections of which became increasingly radical, partly due to excessive military force employed by the French and their successors, the Americans. The most radical wing of the movement finally took power in Laos, Cambodia and South Vietnam in 1975.

8 Introduction When a socialist4 government was proclaimed in December 1975, most of the Chinese and Vietnamese businesspeople, aristocracy, educated urbanites and those suspected of having cooperated with the Americans left the country. With assistance from the Soviet Union, the socialist leadership tried to convert a physically devastated, barely integrated and little-developed country into a socialist rural state (Evans 1990). The attempt failed, mainly because the Soviet Union began pulling out of Southeast Asia in 1986. However, Laos now was an integrated nation state. Since 1986, the effects of globalization have increasingly impacted on Laos. Similarly to China and Vietnam, the Lao leadership introduced a market economy under socialist one-party rule. International institutions and organizations assisted the leadership in this process. The Lao government was transformed from an organ of the transition to socialism into a regulator of the market. Capitalism is being systematically introduced, according to textbook methods, with the assistance of foreign ‘experts’. As there is no ‘civil society’ in Laos, the process is steered by the Lao leadership. International institutions and a socialist party readily make common cause in their technocratic approaches to social reality (Foucault 1980). The French, the Americans and the socialist party had already pursued a technocratic programme, but it did not meet with success—mainly for cultural reasons (Evans 1990). Since 1986, technocratic culture has been imported into Laos in conjunction with international capital, organizations, banks and advisers—along with the global division of work. The cooperation of international forces and national institutions in pursuit of the goal of modernization is historically new—the end of the Cold War made it a real possibility. It seems that modernization is more feasible under the conditions of globalization than under colonialism or post-colonialism. The international community delivers technical, financial and conceptual resources for the Lao government to implement. The ensuing process of modernization has produced an unevenly developed society, similar to colonial societies. Bourdieu analysed this type of society in Algeria during the 1950s. 5 However, Laos is neither a ‘dual society’, as Bourdieu has claimed with regard to Algeria, nor a socioculturally homogeneous society, as presupposed by theories of social structure. Rather, the country comprises various structures and cultures of different historical types, which mainly involve the peasantry, muang and the socialist party. Laos is turning into a globalizing society, in which earlier structures and cultures persist, become reactivated and are modified and superseded by foreign structures and cultures (Rehbein 2004). A major aim of this book is to cast some light on this process.

Fieldwork This book is based on my personal experience of Laos. I began to study Lao language in 1991 in order to carry out fieldwork in Laos. Since 1994, I have spent approximately fifteen months conducting research on various topics inside the country; elements of this research have found their way into various chapters.

Introduction 9 However, systematic fieldwork for the book was confined to the period between 2003 and 2006. Research into economic questions came first, while my last trip into the field covered religion. At the start of each chapter, I note the type and period of research on which it was based. The bulk of my fieldwork was carried out in three locations, chosen because they respectively represent the core, semi-periphery and periphery of Lao society. However, I argue below that these areas cannot be distinguished clearly and systematically. The capital of Vientiane is undoubtedly the ‘core’ of Laos, in many respects (see Atlas of Laos 2000). To most foreigners, it may appear rather remote and provincial, but the city has changed dramatically during the past decade. More importantly, the effects of contemporary globalization—including intercontinental tourism—have become entrenched in Vientiane. It has become a true city. It is difficult to estimate its population as the official census refers to the ‘municipality’, which includes a large surrounding area of suburbs, agricultural land and dormitory towns. The municipality has around 600,000 inhabitants. My fieldwork was carried out exclusively in the city centre. The second focus of my fieldwork was the village of Ban Pha Khao, which lies about ten kilometres north of the city centre of Vientiane (see Figure 0.2, above). I chose this village because the anthropologist Tsuneo Ayabe published a report on his fieldwork carried out there during the 1950s (Ayabe 1961). At that time, Ban Pha Khao had 402 inhabitants and had just begun to be more than a rice-growing village. It has now become almost a suburb of Vientiane, with a population of around 3,000. The village has grown out to its boundaries on all four sides, even though there is still plenty of space for building within it. It has a

Plate 0.1 An old colonial mansion in Vientiane

10 Introduction

Plate 0.2 One of the most expensive houses in Ban Pha Khao

market, a school, an old monastery and numerous factories. The population ranges from peasants to university professors, and includes foreign immigrants as well as government employees. The third setting for my empirical research was a Lao village near the Vietnamese border in the province of Bolikhamsay (see Figure 0.2, above). Ban Phonkham was moved to its present location around eighty years ago. It now lies approximately eight kilometres from the district capital of Laksao along a dirt road which ends a couple of kilometres beyond the village. In recent years, the government put the villagers under pressure to move closer to Laksao for commercial reasons. Around half of the population were moved in 2003, leaving 157 on the old site—they claimed that the soil was poor at the new location and they wanted to remain where their ancestors had lived. The old village had no telephone lines, sanitary system, cars or CD players. The villagers had constructed a small generator by the creek, which divided the village formally in the dry season and practically in the rainy season. The generator was used to power the two television sets owned by the ‘richest’ villagers. Ban Phonkham consisted exclusively of subsistence farmers—or rather, peasants. They claimed not to have met any Westerners before, even though the area had been bombed heavily during the Second Indochinese War. The village had neither a monastery nor a school, and standards of health and education were poor. However, the villagers were familiar with party policies as the village head regularly visited Laksao to report and receive orders. They also knew something about the outside world, as a couple of villagers had moved to Vientiane municipality.

Introduction 11

Plate 0.3 A typical house in Ban Phonkham

My methods varied according to subject and setting. Questionnaires were not very useful in Phonkham, as most villagers could not read, while observation methods were futile in many settings in Vientiane. Following Bourdieu, I combined a variety of methodologies, including observation, surveys, qualitative interviews, statistics, voice recordings, group discussions and reflective interviews. Over the years I have compiled a host of materials, which I regard as tentative indications rather than objective results. For this reason, I rarely refer to facts and figures in this book, as this would suggest a much higher degree of objectivity than my results actually represent.

Structure of the book The chapters that follow move from the abstract to the concrete—or from a technical discussion of concepts and theories to a more vivid description of empirical reality. They form a kaleidoscopic view of Lao society based on its history, without, however, presenting a systematic sociology of Laos. Readers who are not interested in theory can start with the second chapter, and they will doubtless find the second half of the book more appealing. Professional sociologists will be most interested in the first two chapters and the conclusion. Almost half the chapters are based on papers written for a variety of reasons. They have been edited to fit this volume but in ways that allow each chapter to be intelligible in itself. This has led to a number of redundancies, most of which have been eliminated in the text; however, some have been retained in order for each chapter to be intelligible. Most importantly, readers uninterested in theory do not require the theoretical chapter to appreciate Chapters 2 to 10.

12 Introduction Chapter 1 gives an outline of the concepts and the theoretical approach adopted in this study. It summarizes important aspects of contemporary discussion on social structure and concludes that Eurocentric models focusing on the European nation state and capitalism are inadequate for a proper understanding of society both historically and in the contemporary world, whether in Europe or internationally. On the basis of Bourdieu’s social theory, which is certainly Eurocentric, I develop the outline of a—hopefully more adequate—theory of the relationship between culture, social structure and the division of work. These theoretical concepts are applied to Lao history in Chapter 2, which explores some of the historical dimensions of contemporary Lao society and globalization. It argues that past configurations of social structure and the division of work persist in the present, which would be unintelligible without taking them into account. With Luhmann and Bourdieu, I argue that our contemporary world can be interpreted as a functional differentiation of fields or systems. However, beneath and beside this process older sociocultures persist as core elements of contemporary society. Chapter 3 investigates the most important contemporary field—the economic field. It also shows the persistence of earlier sociocultures and the influence of various patterns of activity, which are interpreted as ‘cultures’. While Chapter 3 portrays the ‘objective’ side of the economic field, the following chapter explores its ‘subjective’ side. Economic cultures and structures are related to the economic ‘habitus’ (a term aimed by Bourdieu to signify a host of different but coherent dispositions, on which actions are based) observed with regard to the field. This habitus forms the basis of inferences about the subjective reality of the human beings who take part in the field. Chapter 5 enquires into an important dimension of Lao politics—the creation of a Lao nation state and identity. As I failed to gain access to the national leadership, I do not attempt a construction of the Lao political field. However, promoting nationalism and control of the public sphere are two major activities of the country’s political leaders. I argue that the Lao nation state has not broken up as a result of globalization, but is rather being standardized and reinforced by it. At the same time, globalization has produced different reactions to the government’s identity politics and to nationalism in general from the increasingly differentiated social groups within Laos. While language is an important dimension of politics, it is also a dimension of the symbolic universe. Chapter 6 analyses the influence of contemporary globalization on the Lao language. The evolution and structure of Lao corresponds exactly to the theory of Lao history advanced in Chapter 2. I would even claim that the structure of any language is not intelligible without a theory of social structure. And I claim that the theory outlined in Chapter 1 and applied in Chapter 2 is more adequate than previous theories because it is able to make sense of linguistic structures. Hitherto, theories of social structure have not been concerned with language, which I regard to be a major shortcoming. Chapter 6 argues that an anonymous language associated with the public sphere is emerging at the same time as the differentiated languages of the various fields. While the leadership is

Introduction 13 still capable of controlling the language of the public sphere, the languages of the fields are becoming increasingly autonomous. Chapters 7, 8 and 9 enquire into three fields that might conventionally be classified as cultural. I would rather call them ‘fields of symbolic work’. More specifically, in these three chapters I analyse the degree and mode of ‘hybridization’ that characterize Lao culture and differentiate the emerging hybrids socially. Chapter 7 investigates the structure of the Lao academic field. It argues that a structure has evolved which resembles the one analysed by Bourdieu (1998b) in contemporary France, but differs from it in that it lacks autonomy from the political field. Chapter 8 takes a look at Lao music, focusing on contemporary Lao youth culture. I argue that this is not simply Westernized but also ‘localized’ and differentiated. Chapter 9 looks at the relationships of animism and Buddhism in the village of Ban Pha Khao, focusing on their contemporary transformations and social differentiation. The final chapter summarizes the main arguments advanced in the book and draws some preliminary conclusions. It attempts a comprehensive overview of the types of globalization at work in Laos and their effects. Due to the limitations of my fieldwork, this overview is neither systematic nor complete. It remains tentative mainly for theoretical reasons, however. Laos today cannot be understood in depth without situating it in the ‘world system’, a task for which we need a developed theoretical framework. I hope that this book succeeds in contributing a small share to this framework, in addition to shedding some light on contemporary Laos.

1

Sociocultures

Why should a book on Laos begin with a theoretical chapter? One reason is to acquaint the reader with the theoretical concepts which inform the following analyses. A more important reason is that too many naive and ‘Orientalist’ writings on Laos have been published which tell the reader more about the author than about the country.1 Unless writers adopt a critical attitude towards their assumptions and presuppositions, they tend to repeat stereotypes—stereotypes that are particularly convincing and attractive in the case of Laos. At the very least, critical reflexivity involves examining one’s tacit theoretical presuppositions. It implies a transformation of these presuppositions into hypotheses and a review of the concepts used in formulating these hypotheses. The following paragraphs aim at an explanation of this process as it affected my research for this book. There is yet another reason for beginning with a theoretical chapter. The main purpose of this study is to shed light on contemporary social and cultural change in Laos. An additional goal is to use my research on Laos to contribute to contemporary social theory. The first section of this chapter explains what the case of Laos can contribute to theory, the second introduces the specific sociological tradition to which the book attempts to contribute, and the third gives a sketch of the theoretical outcomes. Thus, this chapter both explains the theoretical framework which underlies the following chapters and explores its relevance for social theory. The theoretical framework draws mainly on Pierre Bourdieu’s social theory. This was not a decision made at the desk—rather, during my years of research in Laos, it emerged as most applicable to the phenomena I was investigating. I began with a hermeneutical approach, inspired by Gadamer and Wittgenstein, dealing with the problem of intercultural understanding (Rehbein 1997). I then turned to linguistics and based my work more firmly on Wittgenstein and Austin (Rehbein and Sayaseng 2004). My increasing interest in the impact of ‘globalization’ on Laos led me to Marx and Wallerstein and from there to Bourdieu (Rehbein 2004). While all these thinkers shape the following chapters, Bourdieu’s influence is most explicit—I base the core concepts of this book on his social theory. However, my empirical work pressed me to revise important aspects of this theory and to introduce a number of new concepts. While the reasons for this are partly explained in this chapter, they become fully evident only during the course of the book.

Sociocultures 15

Globalization and social theory Classical sociological theories are based on European history and tradition. Sociology as an academic discipline emerged at the same time as industrialization, class society and the nation state; it appeared in nineteenth-century Europe at the same time as that continent was acquiring political and economic dominance in the world (Hobson 2004). Sociology made its first steps with Comte and SaintSimon shortly after the French Revolution, and emancipated itself from philosophy and economics during the nineteenth century. All of these disciplines were based on a Eurocentric conception of history, consisting of the ‘prehistory’ of civilization, the rise of civilization in the Middle East, an intellectual peak in Greece, a political peak under the Romans, a decline during the Middle Ages and, finally, the rise of capitalism and modernity in Europe. This schema is linked to evolutionary thinking in other disciplines. It has now largely been abandoned in academia and has never been fully accepted in the global South. However, the academic analysis of social structure still more or less unconsciously adheres to this Eurocentric notion of history, whether it is based on Marx, Durkheim, Weber or Parsons. In fact, various subdisciplines of sociology are explicitly focused on the transition from feudalism to capitalism, on modernization and on social classes within the nation state. Ulrich Beck has called this way of looking at social phenomena the ‘container model of society’ (Beck 1997). The container model perceives society as a closed entity with a clear-cut, stratified social structure—in which every individual has one fixed social position—and an inherent law of development (or evolution or modernization).2 Beck has argued that this model should be replaced with regard to globalization. This book seeks to contribute to an alternative model of social structure by investigating a society that has always been impossible to understand on the basis of the container model. According to the container model, individuals belong to one society—the container. Within this society they have unequal opportunities and resources for action. As many individuals share the same structure of opportunity and resources, they can be grouped into classes or strata. In this kind of analysis, opportunities and resources are usually restricted to economic factors, particularly occupation and wealth. This economic bias probably has to do with the fact that sociology as a discipline emerged from economics. The first classical model of social structure was developed by Marx (e.g., clearly in Marx 1974), who studied the transition from feudalism to capitalism as the unfolding of the ‘capitalist mode of production’. According to his analysis, there are only two classes in a capitalist society: the owners of the means of production (capitalists); and the labourers, who do not own any of the means of production apart from their bodies (see Figure 1.1). After Marx, Max Weber (1972) argued that social structure was more complex. On the one hand, there are many groups that are neither capitalists nor labourers; on the other, he proposed that factors apart from occupation and wealth should be considered. However, Weber did not abandon the container model, he adhered to the Eurocentric notion of history, and in his analyses he focused on occupation

16 Sociocultures

Dominating Class (Owners of Means of Production)

Dominated Class (Labourers without Means of Production)

Figure 1.1 Social structure according to Marx

and wealth. In the decades following Weber, a more sophisticated approach to social structure developed, in Anglo-Saxon countries within the school of Talcott Parsons, on the European continent mainly by Theodor Geiger (especially 1932) and his disciples. These ‘stratification’ theories follow Weber in his critique of Marx and set up elaborate and complex models of social structure. They are less theoretical than Marxism, and less focused on economic and historical factors, but they still adhere to the container model, Eurocentrism and the focus on occupation and wealth. Stratification theory has become especially sophisticated in Germany. One of its leading representatives, Rainer Geißler (1996), has developed a model of social structure that might serve as an ideal type of the container model (see Figure 1.2). It is derived from Ralf Dahrendorf’s ‘house model’, which is also a container model. Every room in the house is inhabited by one group, although walls and individuals are mobile. The basic criterion for the distribution of groups into ‘rooms’ is their occupation (Geißler 1996: 85). In addition, ethnicity, mentality, life-chances and subcultures also play a role. Looking at Geißler’s model, it immediately becomes evident that he—unlike Dahrendorf—cannot fit everyone into the house. Foreigners remain outside. Furthermore, as he explains, the walls have become extremely permeable, rooms overlap and intermingle and social agents themselves are hardly aware of their own distribution (1996: 87). On the theoretical level, these inconsistencies do not seem to be an issue for Geißler—he simply holds fast to his traditional presuppositions. If an ‘explanatory’ model is so imprecise that it fails to tell us very much about reality, there is surely a problem with it. The outsiders in Geißler’s model remind one strangely of the ‘epicycles’ devised to save Ptolemy’s model of the universe from collapse. Migrants are from ‘another society’, a different container. Yet they can no longer be ignored, as they make up around 5 per cent of the world’s population (and if their children are included, many European cities have an immigrant population of 30 per cent). How should migrants fit into ‘our’ society? The same question arises with regard to other aspects of globalization, such as the building of regional blocs, the rise of transnational movements and the constitution of international and global institutions. The theory of social structure has to react to this reality, but not by inventing epicycles. Globalization and non-Western sociocultural contexts have only just begun to

Sociocultures 17 Power Elites (less than 1%)

Old Bourgeoisie (7%) Services Middle Classes (28%) Farmers (6%)

Lower Services (9%)

Trained Workers (18%) Foreigners Unskilled Workers (15%)

Marginalized Germans (5–6%)

Marginalized Foreigners

Figure 1.2 Dahrendorf’s model of German social structure as adapted by Geißler Source: Geißler (1996: 86)

inform theoretical approaches in the West.3 At the same time, sociological theory has had little influence on research on the non-Western world, and debates on globalization often dismiss classical theory altogether. This book attempts to interweave three vital strands—globalization, sociological theory and empirical research—on an often overlooked small and poor country in Southeast Asia. This process has led to revision in all three areas. The concept of globalization is linked to empirical research and to classical theories. Theories are detached from Eurocentrism, the container model and evolutionism. Finally, empirical research is informed by theoretical concepts and the debates on globalization. Since the acknowledgement of a new international phenomenon—subsumed under the fashionable term ‘globalization’—classical sociological theories have had to be revised. Phenomena like transnationalism, glocalization, diaspora, identity politics and the transformation of the nation state go beyond the scope of theories shaped under the influence of European capitalism and the rise of the nation state. The concept of globalization has been sufficiently discussed to draw some preliminary conclusions. We now need to link these discussions to classical social theories from Smith and Marx to Bourdieu and Wallerstein. Finally, although the study of Southeast Asia has outgrown the framework of Orientalism, sociological studies of the region that are theoretically informed remain rare. In my opinion, Southeast Asia can no longer be studied without reference to the contemporary debates on both globalization and classical sociological theory. Decisions made in the Washington office of the World Bank influence the most

18 Sociocultures remote subsistence farmers in the mountains of Laos. At the same time, the debates on globalization must take account of empirical research rather than focusing on abstract notions of globalism that have little meaning beyond the walls of the university campus. The same is true for the interpretation of our sociological classics. In the following chapters, I seek to contribute to this task by linking empirical research on the influence of ‘globalization’ on Lao society to the developed social theory of Pierre Bourdieu. At first glance, Bourdieu’s theory seems entirely unsuitable to the Lao framework. In contrast to France in the late twentieth century— Bourdieu’s main subject—Laos is a markedly heterogeneous society, the nation state is young and underdeveloped, the Lao diaspora in the West is the backbone of the economy, and various local traditions, colonial heritage and socialist rule intermingle with the currents of globalization and transnational structures. The container model of society—that Bourdieu also adhered to—views society in terms of a nation state containing a homogeneous population with a clear class structure. It is hard to verify this conception in Laos. In my opinion, contemporary Laos is not an aberrant case to be dismissed as an exception. It is rather the container model of society that refers only to a limited period of history—namely the rise of European capitalism, during which sociology emerged as a discipline—that is itself aberrant. Despite all their shortcomings, the concepts, methods and the theory of social structure developed by Bourdieu transcend many of the weaknesses of stratification theory. In this book, I seek to show that Bourdieu’s sociology can be transformed into a theory that suits ‘pre-modern’ societies as well as the age of globalization.

Bourdieu and Laos This study does not aim to revise the rich and sophisticated corpus of Western sociology by relating it to Laos. My research in Laos has revealed the social theory of Pierre Bourdieu to be particularly useful and fertile in this context (see Rehbein 2004), despite remaining within a Eurocentric framework—even though Bourdieu himself started his career as a sociologist and anthropologist in Algeria at the end of the colonial period in the 1950s. As a result, his theory has had to be revised in several respects; throughout the book, these revisions are made with reference to specific empirical questions. In this chapter, I introduce Bourdieu’s main concepts and discuss the most important conceptual revisions made for this study (for a more detailed introduction, see Rehbein 2006b). Bourdieu has never published a concise and consistent overview of his theory. Neither did he define his concepts univocally. Rather, he introduced them in a variety of contexts and gave a different definition in each context—reflecting the priority he accorded to empirical work and his attempts to avoid reification of an abstract conceptual apparatus. His key concepts often resemble everyday terms, but their respective meanings bear only a family resemblance, sharing a core of meaning but without clear affiliations beyond that. In this study, I utilize Bourdieu’s concepts, but seek to be clearer and more consistent in their usage.

Sociocultures 19 At the centre of Bourdieu’s theory is the conceptual pair of habitus and field. These terms replace the traditional oppositions of subject and object, action and structure, determination and freedom (Bourdieu 1980). Briefly and somewhat inaccurately, ‘habitus’ is society embodied and ‘field’ refers to society outside this embodied structure. More accurately, subject and object cannot be separated from each other. There is no subject without objective structures, and subjectivity develops only within objectivity; but objective structures only exist on the basis of subjective action. The subject emerges through the embodiment of courses of action, which precede the subject and are objectively prescribed (Bourdieu 1984: 77, 170–5, 467–70). However, these courses of action are themselves modified and renewed through subjective action. An embodied course of action forms a disposition (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992: 133). The habitus is not one habit, but a bundle of sociologically relevant dispositions—or habits or patterns of acting. Dispositions are not the property of a subject as they are usually shared by a group of subjects, even though every subject may have a characteristic combination of dispositions. That means there are different levels of habitus ranging from dispositions shared by all human beings to idiosyncratic dispositions. Bourdieu focuses on the intermediate levels, which are socially specific. I follow him in this. The habitus develops through—mostly unconscious—training. This is exemplified by learning to play a musical instrument or the acquisition of language. Many of these learned dispositions are necessary for a person to act in a society. They are capabilities. Bourdieu (1984: 80–5) subsumes capabilities and other resources that are necessary for social action under the concept of capital. Conventionally, the concept of capital is confined to economic resources, especially money. Recently, the concepts of social capital and human capital have been introduced to refer to resources that cannot be immediately measured in and exchanged for money (see especially Fukuyama 1995; Putnam 1993). Bourdieu’s concept of capital resembles these terms. However, the concepts of human and social capital still refer to economics; they refer to the value of resources for the economy. By contrast, Bourdieu’s concept of capital refers to the whole of society and to social structure. It interprets resources as prerequisites for status, possibilities of action and access to various social spheres. In other words, the economy is only one field of action among many. According to Bourdieu (1984: 109–12), we need to take into account not only the total amount of capital a social group or an individual disposes of but the relative strengths of various types of capital and the history of their acquisition. This is usefully illustrated by comparing old wealth with newly acquired wealth. If we compare two owners of big companies with identical wealth, we will find that the one who acquired his wealth more recently usually has far less influence— not only in the economic field but in most other fields. This is because old wealth is linked to other forms of capital, especially social capital. Bourdieu’s definition of social capital is more restricted than those of Putnam and Fukuyama, referring only to personal and family relationships. Someone from an old, wealthy family enjoys social connections that the nouveaux riches lack, by definition.

20 Sociocultures Besides lacking such connections, the parvenu usually does not know how to behave ‘correctly’. Only people who grew up in a certain segment of society develop a particular habitus. Groups whose habitus is not formed in a distinguished social environment gain entry to a privileged habitus only with difficulty, even if they have the financial means. If we consider the wealthiest segment of society, we might think of rock stars, football players and criminals. They enjoy significant economic capital but lack other types of capital. While it is necessary to have substantial wealth to belong to the dominant segments of society, one also has to know how to behave. In European societies, part of being a member of the social elite is to cherish expensive wines. Newcomers who can afford expensive wine, and value it as a status symbol, nevertheless remain outsiders to the social environment in which the taste for it is developed, even if they have the financial means to acquire it. A football player does not automatically know how to drink fine wine, which glasses to use, how to distinguish a good from a bad vintage, and especially how to talk about it. Even if he learns all of this, he would still be ignorant of how to blow his nose in such an environment, which politicians to favour and what to know about history and society. Bourdieu subsumed all of these abilities under the concept of cultural capital. The formulation and analysis of this concept are certainly among Bourdieu’s greatest achievements.4 Apart from dispositions, cultural capital comprises education and professional titles as well as material cultural symbols, such as works of art. In his major work, Distinction (1984; originally 1979), Bourdieu focuses on economic and cultural capital. In other works, he distinguishes other types of capital, such as social, symbolic and political. Symbolic capital, for Bourdieu (1984: 291), is the prestige conferred by a title, a function or some other personal endowment. For example, economic capital does not only enable persons to buy something but gives them a certain prestige. The same is true for a specific accent, dress or diploma. Political capital derives from a political function (Bourdieu 1998a); Bourdieu apparently discussed this only with reference to socialist countries. In addition to these types of capital, Bourdieu introduces a host of other varieties in his writings without defining or explicating them. This should not concern us unduly as the function of the general concept is important, not its specific forms. The various forms of capital can be converted into one another or, as I would prefer to say, one form of capital can be used to acquire another. This can lead to an increase in both forms of capital (such as the use of social capital to acquire economic capital) or to the expenditure of one form to acquire another (such as the use of economic capital to acquire cultural capital).5 One could say that capital for Bourdieu is a necessary resource for social action, which in a specific instance is regarded as correct and entails positive consequences for the agent. The concept of capital is closely related to that of habitus. Knowing how to blow your nose ‘correctly’ is at once part of one’s habitus and cultural capital. While both concepts overlap, they can be distinguished by their function: habitus determines one’s way of acting; capital determines one’s social position. Both concepts are relative to the concept of field. A field resembles a social system but differs from it in that it cannot be analysed independently of social action and

Sociocultures 21 of power relations. Every field has its own logic and structure (Bourdieu 1984: 113). Fields are determined by their logic—not by their medium, as in the theory of systems. Their borders cannot be clearly and objectively defined as they are constantly being redefined in the social process by agents themselves (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992: 100). From the perspective of sociology, almost any sphere of social action can be interpreted as a field. As in the case of capital, there is little point in determining the number and identity of possible fields; such an exercise would depend on the scope and purpose of the analysis undertaken. However, the concrete definition of a field is not entirely arbitrary. A popular game serves as an illustration, one which Bourdieu himself referred to frequently. The game of football has clearly defined rules, which are different from those regulating hockey and handball, and different again from literature and religion. Anyone who steps onto a football field to participate in a game has to follow these explicit rules, but players must also know and obey a multitude of implicit rules and have some training in the game. In short, football has to be part of one’s habitus. And the more one has incorporated football into one’s habitus, the better one is at playing football. It is clear that the players on the field ‘belong’ to the field or game of football. But where do the boundaries of the game begin and end? Do coaches and linesmen ‘belong’ to the game, even though they stand off the field? What about the spectators, who are often considered the home team’s ‘twelfth man’? They are all certainly part of the game in one way or another—i.e., participants in the field of football. But, in addition, some of them will play other sports. The point is that it does not make sense to draw clear boundaries. Fields overlap, intermingle, influence one another and presuppose one another. Bourdieu conceives of social structure as the distribution of capital. All social actions require some form of capital and whoever has the greatest amount of socially most valuable capital has a leading position in society. And as he claims that all fields have an identical (or, more precisely, a ‘homologous’) structure or attribute the same value to any type of capital, social structure can basically be reduced to one single field (Bourdieu 1984: 113; Swartz 1997: 129; see Figure 1.3). In Distinction, this field is aesthetic consumption, or taste. Social groups differ in capital, which offers them differing possibilities of action within the field. These differences are the basis of differential social positions. Bourdieu differentiates between various social groups. The principle of differentiation is always the same. Several individuals share the same habitus and capital and form a group (Bourdieu 1984: 101). Every group differs in habitus and capital from all other groups and tries to express and display this difference, especially with regard to neighbouring groups, as the socially more remote groups do not form part of their everyday life.6 It is certainly true that we usually have limited contact with people who lead a significantly different life from ours and whom we do not know very much about.7 In most cases, we are spatially distanced from them, and even if we encounter them regularly, we usually do not communicate with them; even if we do, we do not share their concerns and perspectives. Bourdieu claims that the relationships of distance and difference are the same on every social field. Thus, he is able to represent all social positions in a single

22 Sociocultures Much overall capital

Boulez Professor

Whiskey CEO

Much cultural and little economic capital

Film Camera Entrepreneur

Little cultural and much economic capital

Soccer Blue-collar Worker

Pernod Farmer

Little overall capital

Figure 1.3 Bourdieu’s social space Source: Based on Bourdieu (1984: 128–9)

diagram (see Figure 1.3). Although the celebrated diagram in Distinction is more flexible and complex than the ‘house model’, it still adheres to the container model. This diagram shows a three-dimensional representation of social positions and their relative distances from one another, which Bourdieu calls the ‘social space’. The three dimensions refer to the total amount of capital a group disposes of (vertical dimension), the proportions of the different types of capital involved (horizontal dimension; in Distinction this is confined to the relationship of cultural to economic capital) and the social origin of the members of the group involved (inserted bar charts indicating lower, middle and dominating class). Bourdieu himself compares fields to games, in which the chips used to play the game are unequally distributed at the outset (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992: 98–100). And every field is a distinct game that requires specific types of chips and has its own rules. To obtain a leading position in a given field, one has to accumulate chips that have a high value in this field and apply the rules that govern the field with some versatility. However, if this analysis is accepted, fields cannot be homologous and thus cannot be reduced to a single social space. This observation also renders Bourdieu’s concepts of groups and change problematic. The concept of social space cannot express the dynamics of the fields and activity within the fields. It fails to take into account that agents try to influence the rules of the various fields in their favour, why certain groups rise or fall and where social structure changes. Furthermore, it posits groups that share the same positions and perspectives, and therefore interests, in every respect. At least statistically and subconsciously, agents in similar social positions are supposed to have the same perspectives on whiskey, football, the revolution and eating habits. In Distinction,

Sociocultures 23 Bourdieu tried to show this empirically. Even though his figures are not very convincing, we may concede that his claim was true for France in the 1960s. But it is certainly not true today.8 All container models of society give us a static, spatial representation of social structure. Every individual has one—and only one—position within that structure. Senior citizens, children and, in many cases, even students, housewives and the unemployed have no place in that structure. This is also true for Bourdieu’s concept of social space and has rightly been criticized by Blasius and Winkler (1989). An adequate model of social structure has to take the entire life cycle into account. In European class societies, it is perhaps understandable that the concept of the life cycle has been neglected since, statistically, most individuals remained in the same social class for their entire life, whether as student, professional, housewife or senior citizen. The following chapter will show that many aspects of Lao society are incomprehensible without taking the life cycle into account. The main weakness of Bourdieu’s concept of social space is its propensity to reduce the multitude of social dimensions to a single field and then to spatialize all its aspects, most of which are not spatial in character. It claims that the relationships of one social position with another are all identical or at least homologous (Bourdieu 1984: 126, 173, 470). In a very abstract sense, the claim is convincing; but if we look at empirical examples, its plausibility vanishes. Good football players are not required to excel at handball or hockey, and even less at literature or religion—their capital and habitus have been shaped in relation to the field of football. The same is true for other social fields. Successful scientists or capitalists do not necessarily have political power; their capital reaches its maximum value in one field only, achieving less in other fields. These examples suggest that the distinction between fields and types of capital is not at all arbitrary if they are related to the whole of society. The fact that somebody is good at hockey is almost irrelevant to their place in the social structure. It is also evident that his or her capability has no value in the field of religion. But it is not obvious that the capitalist’s or scientist’s capital has no value in the political field, for example. Academics usually wish to have more influence on politics, whereas capitalists usually do have it. And a top football player in a modern society will likely be both rich and famous, whereas the best hockey players are hardly household names. In other words, the social fields stand in a hierarchical relationship to one another. Bourdieu did not elaborate this hierarchical relationship. In fact, he claimed that all fields have a homologous structure: groups that have a dominant position in one field have it in other fields, too. Social differentiation, according to him, is based on a struggle for socially valued but scarce goods, in which agents use various kinds of capital. According to Bourdieu, the structure of a field is determined by the distribution of relevant capital. Structure and distribution in turn are based on struggles between social agents for the best positions in the field (see Swartz 1997: 123). Agents struggle to maximize their capital and at the same time for the right to define the rules and value of capital in the field, according to their own terms. The agents who are best positioned in the field dominate its rules. These agents and their rules (or culture, as we might say) form the core of the field, while all

24 Sociocultures other agents are marginalized. The core thus constitutes the dominant group and its habitus. If we take seriously the claim that different fields have different goals and rules, we immediately find that there are many fields in which the accumulation of capital is not the main goal—even though a certain habitus is always required to perform any kind of action. Greeting others, playing ball, brushing one’s teeth or drinking a glass of wine with friends are not usually acts aimed at the improvement of one’s social position and the accumulation of capital. In many cases, agents pursue different goals within the same game. While sharing a bottle of wine may be a strategy to accumulate social capital for one person, it may be simply an opportunity for relaxing for the other person involved. And they do not necessarily play the game consistently and exclusively. While drinking wine together, people may talk about politics, get even with a former rival, court each other—and each might be thinking of something else again. These simultaneous activities may all belong to different fields.

A revised model To make use of the advantages promised by the concept of field, Bourdieu’s conception has to be revised in several respects. First, not all fields are constituted by the struggle for an improved social position, but every field has specific goals and rules. Second, fields are not homologous, but function differently from one another and require different forms of capital and habitus. Third, field (as a social sphere comprising a set of rules) has to be distinguished from social structure (as a distribution of capabilities to follow and influence these rules). Fourth, fields should be be distanced from the container model of society. According to Bourdieu (and Wacquant 1992: 101), social reality is a constant struggle in which scarce resources are invested (economically) for the greatest possible return: a rise in social position. It may be more helpful to interpret parts of social reality according to Wittgenstein’s concept of language game, as this links practice to communication and allows for a variety of goals, rules and logical practices (Wittgenstein 1984).9 In the opening paragraphs of his Philosophical Investigations, Wittgenstein argues that there are ‘countless types’ of language game and forms of social life. Meaning and the rules of language use depend on the ‘game’ that is being played. Counting, jumping, telling a joke, playing a board game or building a house serve as examples of games, which each follow entirely different rules and pursue entirely different goals. The following chapters will show that Wittgenstein’s broad conception of social practice is much more useful for interpreting Lao reality than Bourdieu’s exclusive focus on the concept of struggle. However, there is still a need to relate the concept of language game to power, social structure and economics, which are all absent from Wittgenstein’s conception. Like Bourdieu, Wittgenstein does not explore the relationship of games to one another. Furthermore, he fails to discuss structures of power and functionality with regard to language games, interpreting them in the same fashion as children’s

Sociocultures 25 games. This is the opposite—but still somewhat analogous—interpretation to Bourdieu’s. According to Bourdieu, all social action aims at power by using resources for economic advancement; while for Wittgenstein, all social action is innocent and basically unconstrained. In my view, both interpretations stand at opposite ends of a large spectrum which encompasses the range from recreational games to violent struggle. The historical bases of all games and struggles constitute frameworks for social action which I call sociocultures. This term refers to regular—and sometimes regulated—social action conducted according to rules which in most cases are neither explicit nor conscious (Austin 1975). More accurately, these rules can be characterized as patterns of acting. These patterns are socially differentiated, as the same patterns are by no means universally shared. Patterns form the cultural element of the term, while differentiation is the social element. Sociocultures accord individuals particular slots in the social structure and the division of work on the basis of historically earlier forms of social structure and division of work. Bourdieu does not really distinguish between social structure, field and the ‘social space’. He structures the field according to the division of capital among the agents in the field. He then deduces strategies, patterns and dispositions from their relative positions. In my opinion, field, socioculture and social structure need to be distinguished. For Bourdieu, the field is a sphere of social action with its own rules and goals. We should take this claim seriously, relate it to the concept of language game and seek to analyse the rules and goals of each field separately. Each field is a segment of the division of work. This also means that resources and habitus have to be analysed with regard to the appropriate fields. Their status and value are not identical within each field (Swartz 1997: 81). Furthermore, agents interpret rules and goals differently. In my view, there can be various sociocultures in a given field and there are societies with few or no fields—something which Bourdieu never denied. The concept of field should be reserved for modernized societies integrated into the contemporary ‘world system’; and it should include social ‘games’ that are not competitive. As Wittgenstein has argued, there are different types of game (only some of which are competitive), and different players may play the same game in different ways or with differing goals. For this reason, the relationship between field and socioculture needs to be analysed in more detail, which I do in this book. Bourdieu delimits fields and social structure according to national boundaries— the social space is equivalent to the nation state. In other words, he sticks to the container model, a dubious concept in the era of globalization. The following chapters will show that the container model is of limited use for the interpretation of any phase of Lao history except the twentieth century. It only seems to fit European modernity, as Bourdieu began to sense in his very last years. In his final interventions against neoliberalism (which he strongly opposed), he speaks of a global field of finance, of international organizations, and of fields of international industries (Bourdieu 2001). There was no need for him to abandon the concept of field in order to analyse transnational and global phenomena; it contains all the elements necessary for the analysis of contemporary globalization. It can be

26 Sociocultures situated both beneath and above the level of the nation state. It can comprise different cultures and traditions. It can certainly cross borders.10 The transcendence of the container model of society seems, to me, inherent in the concept of field and in Bourdieu’s social theory in general. Western tradition from Marx and Durkheim to Adorno and Foucault has viewed society as a totality, the meaning of which can be grasped in an axiomatic way—as either freedom or terror. A minority of social theories eschews this comprehensive approach, with Max Weber’s sociology being the most prominent. Yet one of the most important insights of Bourdieu is to reject this view of society as a totality. While any given society always has an exterior that is logically inherent in the interior—another society, nature, the universe—the exterior does not function according to the same logic as the interior. The incompleteness of a society is situated on the level of reality as well as on the level of explanation. Even if society could be delimited as a self-sufficient entity, we would not (yet) know the meaning of that entity. In Distinction, Bourdieu set out to reduce the social world to a single logic (which he found in binary oppositions or difference or distinction) and to construct a totality (which he found in the concept of social space). However, his whole approach, his empirical method and his later works especially point in a different direction. In many of these later works, he draws back from delimiting a particular totality and reducing reality to structural oppositions. He rather constructs the empirical material as a configuration. Every new insight and concept alters the whole picture. The configuration is multidimensional and open, dialectical and relational. No element can be defined ultimately and independently, but only in relation to the other elements of the configuration. However, one knows neither the whole configuration nor its meaning. As a result, concepts and propositions have to be revised constantly. Bourdieu may already have had this procedure in mind in his first book, where he referred to social reality as a kaleidoscope (Bourdieu 1958: 82). We may indeed interpret the concept of configuration as kaleidoscopic (see Nederveen Pieterse 2001). The configurational approach is situated at an intermediate level of social reality, theory and methodology. Starting point and framework of the analysis do not constitute a totality; but neither are they isolated facts. The starting point is a relation or a configuration. We might also say that the intermediate level is situated between individual and society, the local and the global, anthropology and sociology—or ideally beyond these oppositions. The intermediate level itself comprises several dimensions and levels according to the scope of any given research. It makes sense to define the level at the outset. As a result of limitations placed on my research, this study mainly refers to the national level, which is situated between the global and local levels. However, it does not conceive of the national level as a container. I am aware that the failure to transcend the national level is one of the major limitations of the book.11 The main virtue of the configurational approach is the combination of systematic thinking and openness. For most social theories, the explanandum (that which needs to be explained) is the present—history ends here and now; the theory does not have to worry about the future. This somewhat dishonest universalism has often

Sociocultures 27 been coupled with Eurocentrism, intolerance and the construction of totalities, especially by later adherents of a given theory. In this regard, it is interesting to note that Bourdieu’s theory has not (yet) inspired a great body of scholastic orthodoxy. This may be a result of his configurational thinking, which is both highly theoretical and anti-systemic at the same time. I regard his combination of theory and empirical research as an example to follow in this book. My theoretical model, which is empirically developed in the following chapters, is based on Bourdieu’s concepts of field, habitus and capital.12 The interpretation of field and social structure transcends Bourdieu, however. A modern society can be interpreted as a relationship of fields, sociocultures and social structure. On the one side, there are the fields. Fields are defined by their rules and goals, and together they form a—partly hierarchical—configuration. On the other side are the agents equipped with particular resources and habitus, which empower them for particular actions in particular fields. The relationship between field and agents is influenced by persisting sociocultures. To determine the social structure of a given (modern) society, one would have to relate the entire order of fields to the entire distribution of resources. That is, the final unit of analysis would be the worldsystem, as Immanuel Wallerstein has claimed. In contrast to Wallerstein, I believe that the world-system cannot be the starting point for any meaningful research. One rather has to start with specific fields and their relation to specific groups of agents. From there one can enlarge the scope. This is the procedure I propose in this study. I regard it as more promising than Wallerstein’s approach because although the theory of world-systems may look very attractive with regard to the totality (of the world), it tells us very little about empirical reality. This is evident in the case of Laos, as the following chapters demonstrate; they also show how earlier sociocultures persist in a globalized world. For Wallerstein (1974), such sociocultures are insignificant as they are subsumed into the capitalist world-system. I will argue that it is not possible to understand our world if one reduces the configuration of sociocultures to a capitalist world economy—that is simply to explain them away. Wallerstein (1974) bases his argument (or his explaining away) on the claim that in the contemporary world there is a single and all-encompassing division of labour. The concept of division of labour is lacking in Bourdieu’s theory. I regard this as a major shortcoming and one reason for his confounding of the concepts of social structure, (socio-)culture and fields. The configuration of fields constitutes the division of labour—but only in an entirely modernized society. Bourdieu’s claim that all fields are homologous is based on the identification of social structure and the division of labour, for the hierarchy of fields is the division of labour expressed in other terms. Bourdieu does not analyse the division of labour. He reduces it to social structure—i.e., the distribution of capital in a society. He does recognize a hierarchy of types of capital, however, and this implies a hierarchy of fields. According to Bourdieu, in modern Western societies, economic capital is more important than the other types of capital. The indicator he uses to define economic capital in Distinction reveals his confounding of social structure and the division

28 Sociocultures of labour. The basic characteristic for categorizing individuals in French society of the 1960s was occupation (Bourdieu 1984: 106; see Figure 1.3, above). All other variables are determined by occupation to a greater extent than they determine occupation. One’s occupation is at once a cultural category referring to the labour one performs in the division of labour and a sociostructural category referring to the amount of capital one has. Bourdieu’s only definite statement on the multiplicity of fields is that historical development renders them more autonomous (2000a)—a phenomenon identical to the differentiation or increasing division of labour, a concept which was never analysed or even acknowledged as important by Bourdieu (see Calhoun 1993: 68–77). One of the leading representatives of the German Bourdieu school, Michael Vester, has noted this and replaced the horizontal dimension in Bourdieu’s social space with the ‘division of labour’ (Vester et al. 2001). The cultural dimension is now equivalent to the division of labour. Unfortunately, Vester still confounds fields and social structure. Horizontal (or vertical) differentiation is not identical with or explained by the division of labour. The dimensions form a complex configuration, which is the main object of this book. Intuitively and empirically, there can be little doubt that the claim of an increasing differentiation is correct. But what does that mean for the concept of field? The following chapters will show that fields have emerged historically with the increasing division of labour. In small village societies, there is hardly any division of labour, but certainly a division of work. I refer to work as any type of human activity, of which labour is merely the type that secures subsistence. This distinction is explicitly made by Lao villagers and was introduced as a theoretical distinction by Hannah Arendt (1958).13 Although the division of labour is part of the division of work, it seems to form the core of historical development. It is likely that there has always been a division of work, especially as far as the reproduction of the species is concerned. But even in (sedentary) villages, the division of labour often is not very pronounced. As late as 1961, Tsuneo Ayabe claimed that there was basically no division of labour in a Lao village. The concept of social structure refers mainly to the possibilities (or opportunities) for acting in a society. Therefore, the concept is intimately linked to the concept of work. However, the two concepts have to be distinguished. In traditional concepts of social structure—and even in Bourdieu’s conception—social position is more or less identified with occupation. I would define social structure as the distribution of the means to carry out socially relevant activities. These activities are defined by the division of work. Thus, social structure and the division of work refer to each other; they are interdependent but not identical. While it is possible to devise a general scheme of the evolution of social structure and the division of work along the lines of Emile Durkheim’s theory (Durkheim 1986; for Southeast Asia, see Rehbein 2006a)—and I present such a scheme below—I do not believe that a general scheme tells us very much about reality. It merely provides a conceptual means as a basis for the analysis of reality, which must always be carried out with reference to specific cases. Chapter 2 demonstrates that the division of work and social structure form a very specific configuration in each

Sociocultures 29 concrete case—even if each case can be analysed theoretically as the variation of a more general type. In a Stone Age social group, the means of action were mainly distributed according to age, sex and abilities—i.e., they had a biological basis and were closely related to the division of work. Thus, I call this type of structure a personal social structure. Despite Ayabe’s claim, there is a division of work, and even a certain division of labour, in contemporary Lao villages and it is likely that this has been the case for millennia (see Chapter 2). At least, there are specialists for such things as brewing, forging, summoning the spirits and so on. Furthermore, work is divided according to age (the life cycle) and sex. This division is not binding, as the core of the division of work is determined by the need to survive—i.e., subsistence. Thus, I refer to a subsistential division of work. All Lao villagers are rice farmers in the first place; their respective social positions are mainly determined by kinship relations. There is little variation of social position in different contexts, as most or all villagers are related to one another. In other words, it is not the order of fields that determines social structure; it is rather the division of work that sets the limits for possible forms of social organization. This was probably the case for all societies until the twentieth century. Emile Durkheim found the cause for differentiation and increasing division of labour in the ‘size and density’ of a given society, which he called the ‘social law of gravitation’ (Durkheim 1986: 243, 330). The case of Laos seems to support this claim. However, this increase in size and density is a social phenomenon that deserves an explanation. It was first investigated by Durkheim’s student Marcel Mauss, who argued that the giving of presents developed into a ritualized exchange of goods. This evolved not only into the first type of ‘long-distance trade’ but into the first division of labour that went beyond the parameters of kinship and the life cycle. Wallerstein (1974) argued that the exchange of goods before capitalism involved objects that had little value at their point of origin and a high value at their destination. This seems to be the case for early Southeast Asia. He also claimed that these goods were not essential items but luxury goods, which however is not true in the Lao case. One village produced salt, the next pottery and yet another metal. I call this the segmentary division of work, a phenomenon which persisted in Laos until quite recently. Many village names—like ‘fish pond’, ‘salt mine’ and ‘iron mine’—still reflect this kind of specialization. At first, the social structure within villages did not change with the advent of a segmentary division of work. However, there was inequality between villages. This can be called an intersocial structure. As communication intensified, a new division of work within villages arose. Some villagers did not run the gamut of the ‘standardized’ life cycle, but became full-time specialists or labourers for life, supplying goods for exchange. This in turn put pressure on the internal organization of labour to supply the essentials of village life. Markets and occupational specialization arose at the same time. As a result, social inequality was no longer exclusively linked to kinship and the life cycle, but to groups consisting of professions within the division of work. These occupational groups were ascribed a particular social rank by secular rulers, meaning that the division of work was

30 Sociocultures now identified with social structure. For this reason, I call this type a (socio)structural division of work. It is characteristic of the Middle Ages in Laos as well as in Europe.14 Both societies included groups of capitalists trading goods in markets with the goal of making profits on the basis of accumulated capital—pace Wallerstein and other theorists of capitalism. This division of work is linked to a clearly stratified social structure, as in the rank society of feudalism and the class society of industrialism. With increasing globalization (or the ‘size and density’ of society), the structural division is slowly superseded by a functional division of work. Social structure and division of work become increasingly independent of each other. At this point, it makes sense to regard the division of work as a configuration of fields. Labour (and increasingly work) is organized in a functional and technocratic way. Who performs a certain task is not determined by social organization, but by the agents’ resources. This is reflected both in hire-and-fire policies and in Ulrich Beck’s thesis of ‘individualization’—i.e., the phenomenon of the seeming dissolution of social structure and socially determined lifestyles (Beck 1986). However, there is neither a complete individualization nor a complete functional division of work. Earlier forms of social structure persist beside the fields, and earlier forms of the division of work persist beneath the fields. Exactly what new kind of social structure is emerging at the end of industrialism, class society and the sociostructural division of work remains unclear. The transformation of a sociostructural division of work into a functional division of work has to do with the emergence of capitalism and the technocratic state. It is epitomized by Foucault’s transition from a sovereign to a ‘disciplinary’ theory of state and law. This transition first took place on the scale of the nation state in eighteenth-century France, but its origins lie in the market economy of early cities, which flourished outside Europe as well. It is evident that the increase in size and density of the social world explains very much of what we have come to call globalization. The brief sketch presented here—to be supported by empirical evidence in the following chapters—also indicates that the increase in size and density of the social structure is linked to an increase in the segmentary division of work. This corresponds to Wallerstein’s argument (which in turn is closely related to Rosa Luxemburg’s (1921) explanation of the ‘accumulation of capital’). However, both failed to analyse pre-European systems of exchange in Asia, where markets, inequitable exchange and capital existed before European colonialism. But the accumulation of capital through investment and exploitation of the segmentary division of work seems to be specific to European capitalism. The increase in size and density in the contemporary world seems to have eroded the segmentary division of work in favour of a functional division. This has led to new forms of social inequality and social structures—and characterizes contemporary globalization. Like Marx and Luxemburg, Wallerstein failed to distinguish between the division of labour and social structure. Thus, he could not explain the current ‘individualization’ and the reconfiguration of inequalities derived from stratified social structure into global structures. Where the functional division of work holds

Sociocultures 31 sway, the organization of social structure is seemingly rendered superfluous. Financial, political and economic engineering alone seem to be sufficient for the ruling classes to accumulate their capital on a gigantic scale. The functional division of work converges partly with neoliberalism, and with a world of ‘horror’ as described by Adorno and Horkheimer as well as by Foucault. As it does not seem to be sustainable, many Asian countries have already dismissed neoliberalism in favour of social policies that use old models for new realities. I suppose that the capitalist focus on labour will have to give way to a more general appreciation of work. We all have to come to grips with these new realities. In this study, I argue that they are made intelligible on the basis of a revised version of Bourdieu’s sociology. This approach must go beyond the container model and Eurocentrism to examine culture and society, take a historical perspective and distinguish social structure from the division of work. Fields are defined by their goals and their rules: the former constitute their social function, while the latter form an important part of culture. In the following chapters, it will become apparent that cultures extend over various fields and that there may be different cultures in a given field. Metaphorically speaking, different players can play the same game in various ways and interpret it differently. Of course, there are strong unifying tendencies since the core of the field excludes other cultures and subsumes all phenomena under the dominant culture. This tendency was at the centre of Bourdieu’s interest. But there are also historical changes and tendencies by fields to include other fields. Fields form a hierarchy according to their respective influence. Beneath the configuration of fields lies the division of work and its history. Thus, it is not sufficient to consider the fields alone—one also has to take account of sociocultures. In Laos, a functional division of work has only recently started to appear. French colonialism introduced Western capitalism and technocracy as cultures, but altered social structure and the division of work very little outside the major towns. Socialism involved the (attempted) return to a structural division of work. Only after 1986 did the ‘autonomization’ or differentiation of fields begin. This study shows that the autonomization is both paralleled and countered by strong unifying tendencies in the political and economic fields. Bourdieu’s autonomization cannot be proclaimed as a historical law; history seems rather to proceed in cycles of integration and disintegration, as Victor Lieberman (2003) has argued. In the long run, however, the ‘size and density’ of society do seem to increase. This in turn can be explained by the relationship of social structure to the division of work outlined in abstract terms above. This relationship is the topic of the following chapter, with reference to Lao history. The development of this relationship does not seem to follow a historical law, but is rather an accident of configurations (in the technical sense). Just as the world is becoming globalized, it may also deglobalize—or be destroyed by human activity.

2

The evolution of Lao sociocultures

In this chapter, I aim to reconstruct the development of Lao social structure in relation to the division of work.1 I argue that all the earlier forms of social structure and the division of work persist in Laos and continue to determine current patterns of acting as sociocultures. With contemporary globalization, a multitude of fields have started to emerge. These fields are not autonomous, but are dominated by the political and, increasingly, the economic fields which are engaged in a struggle to determine the hierarchy of fields within Laos. However, they are not pure systems with a unified logic and structure, as they include earlier cultures and structures. Fields, sociocultures and social structures form a complex configuration that can only be understood historically. What follows is an attempt to contribute to the understanding of Lao social structure. There has been very little sociological research on Laos. Except for a brief period in the first phase of American intervention, practically no sociological texts have been produced.2 However, for purposes of historical reconstruction we can rely on some outstanding works on Southeast Asia (especially Higham 1989; Lieberman 2003; Reid 1993; Terwiel 1983) which provide a foundation for creating a general picture of the evolution of social structure and the division of work in Laos. My reconstruction is not meant to render an adequate picture of Lao history; it aims rather at an analysis of the layers of sociocultures that persist beneath and beside contemporary fields. Those wanting detailed narrative treatments of Lao history should consult the excellent studies by Grant Evans (2002) and Martin Stuart-Fox (1997)—even if they both focus on the twentieth century.3 While I have drawn on these and other works, my reconstruction of Lao history is based on a combination of historical sources, archaeological evidence and fieldwork carried out in remote areas of the province of Bolikhamsay between 2001 and 2003 (see Introduction). Under the circumstances, this method seems most appropriate for providing foundations for understanding the findings of my fieldwork and continuity and change in contemporary Laos. In the first section below, I outline a general picture which interprets history as an evolution and succession of sociocultures which persist beneath and beside the currently emerging order of fields. The second section deals with contemporary social structure by examining the structure and relationship of the two most important fields in Lao society—the political and the economic. The final section

The evolution of Lao sociocultures 33 draws a number of additional conclusions for a social theory based on Bourdieu, as outlined in Chapter 1. As a result of the paucity of sociological research, our picture of contemporary Laos remains incomplete and sketchy. At the very least, I hope to provide elements of a theoretical framework for further research.

Social structure The most common conception of social structure views society as containing a hierarchy of groups—e.g., strata, classes or income groups—within the confines of the nation state (see Chapter 1). According to this ‘container model of society’ (Beck 1997), every individual living within the borders of a nation state occupies one precise position within a one- or two-dimensional structure. However, under the conditions of globalization and with the growing differentiation of labour, subcultures and institutions, this conception now tells us little about social structure—if it ever did. In opposition to the one-dimensional character of the container model, Pierre Bourdieu introduced the concept of a social field. A field resembles a game. There are countless different types of games, which have little in common—e.g., ball games, card games and board games. Social agents are like players, who, when joining a game, agree on the rules and goal of the game, but bring differing amounts of resources and skills to it (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992: 107). Different fields call for different resources. In the current economic field, money, property and rational accounting skills are important, as opposed to the academic field, where professional titles, knowledge and publications play dominant roles. The amount and quality of resources at one’s disposal determine one’s social position in the field (ibid.: 108). This means that every field has a specific and unique social structure. To determine the social structure of a society would require us to analyse the configuration of social positions in all fields; it would also require us to analyse the configuration of the fields themselves. Each field has its own rules, aims, postulates and values. It is important to note that different fields overlap and influence one another, but that they are not necessarily co-extensive with a nation state and that some fields are more dominant than others (ibid.: 106). Fields are not entirely independent of one another. First, a dominant position in one field can be used to improve one’s position in another. An academic title or success in sports may become an asset in the economic field, for example. Second, agents with significant resources in one field may try to adapt the rules and values of this and other fields in order to enhance their own resources. Fields emerge historically in a process of division of work and social struggle. However, they are interwoven with human relations that are not competitive and/or not functional, such as joking, helping, flirting and singing. These are cultural phenomena. Fields include cultural phenomena and (at least in part) presuppose cultural phenomena. While Bourdieu does not grant culture a status independent of power and the struggle for improved social positions, his conception is still valuable for non-modern societies because it acknowledges the important role of culture in determining the structure of a society.

34 The evolution of Lao sociocultures In order to arrive at an adequate conception of non-modern societies, we need to take a closer look at the evolution of fields, sociocultures and social structure. In what follows I show that fields emerge from the increasing division of work and a separation of social structure from the division of work. For most of Lao history, social structure has been closely linked to the division of work, but the nature of this link has changed with contemporary globalization and the two have become increasingly independent, with the division of work turning into a configuration of fields. However, for most of Lao history, it makes no sense to distinguish fields. Social structure was not determined by resources required in dominant fields, but by the relatively stable hierarchies discussed below. For half a century, scholars have engaged in an extended discussion of Thai social structure, a debate which has also influenced the study of Lao social structure (e.g., Kaufman 1957). The debate began with a paper by John F. Embree entitled ‘Thailand—a Loosely Structured Social System’ (1955; reprinted in Evers 1969). Embree argued that Thai society allowed for a high variation of individual behaviour, a level of tolerance which he interpreted in terms of a ‘loose social structure’. His interpretation was applied and tested in research undertaken by Cornell University in Bang Chan near Bangkok in the late 1950s and 1960s. It was brilliantly supported by Herbert Phillips (1965), who even argued that Thailand’s social structure was characterized by ‘individualism’. Later, however, Embree’s argument was demolished on both empirical and theoretical grounds. Empirically, it was shown that Bang Chan was an atypical settlement comprising large numbers of migrants, foreigners and urban workers. Theoretically, it was argued that every society has a clearly defined structure, even if it is not evident to the observer. Both arguments are made in several of the papers on the debate collected by Evers (1969). Working in opposition to the ‘loose structure’ thesis, Jack Potter (1976) sought to create a precise picture of social structure in rural areas of Thailand. With much diligence and insight, the dimensions of social structure and the division of work are unfolded in this book. In the end, however, the reader is left with a welter of perspectives and elements but without a clear idea of their significance and interrelationships. This is because Potter indiscriminately mixes elements of national bureaucracy, global economy, rural–urban relations and peasant sociocultures. He finds eleven ‘structural principles’ underlying Thai society (Potter 1976: 149): ‘the extended-stem family cycle (including the compound); the bilateral kindred; neighborliness and formal neighborhoods; cooperative labor-exchange groups; the junior–senior relationship; class and status divisions; entourages; political factions; administrative hamlets; the village community; and the wad’ (the Buddhist monastery). But this is not all: ‘In addition, there are other structural features, such as irrigation societies, formal neighborhood groups organized to rotate foodsending to the temple, matrilineal kin groups, village guardian spirits, associations for financing funerals, and young people’s groups’ (ibid.: 150). Not only does Potter combine different (historical and spatial) layers of social structure in his list, but he fails to distinguish between social structure and the division of work. However, if we reorganize the structural features and principles

The evolution of Lao sociocultures 35 he lists, the historical picture becomes clearer. Administrative hamlets, political factions and young people’s groups all emerged with the nation state, religious institutions and entourages emerged with the evolution of towns, and the others are remnants of peasant society. These elements must be further differentiated into aspects of the division of work (guardian spirits, irrigation groups, labour exchange) and social structure. It is interesting to note that Potter found so many traits of peasant socioculture in a Thai village only twelve kilometres from the major city of Chiang Mai in the 1970s, in a substantially modernized nation state that was well integrated into the capitalist world system. This confirms my thesis that older sociocultures persist and are important for our understanding of contemporary Laos. It is therefore necessary to examine their evolution.

From unitary society to fields Until its integration into the French colonial empire in 1893, Laos was a rural society with only a small percentage of the population living in towns. 4 Insofar as our knowledge reaches into the depths of history, early societies in the region of contemporary Laos were multicultural, multiethnic and scarcely integrated. Although little is known about the Stone Age in Laos, groups of hunters and gatherers had inhabited the region for many millennia before the first settlements appeared (Watson 1979; Higham 1989: 59, passim). It is also likely that these hunters and gatherers were not ethnically related to present-day Lao (Terwiel 1978). Around 3000 BC the first sedentary settlements appeared in the region, some in the vicinity of modern Vientiane. These settlements were built near streams, which were exploited for water and fish but were also used to transport goods and as communication routes (Higham 1989: 5). The forest remained the realm of hunters and gatherers, while the river valleys and plains became dwelling sites for sedentary groups. It is interesting to note that for many of these early settlements there is little evidence of agriculture (White 1984). However, pottery and metal appear in the earliest strata (Hanks 1972: 19; Bayard 1984). This indicates the importance of trade—or the segmentary division of work between areas—for the emergence of settlements. Pottery and metals, as well as raw materials like salt and ore, were traded over considerable distances.5 Settlements would have been established at the sites of raw materials (which is where many Lao settlements still lie today) and at strategic locations for the transport of goods. In both cases, food security must have been an important issue. It is likely, however, that these early settlers still obtained their food mainly through hunting and gathering (Hanks 1972: 20; Keyes 1977: 15). It is well known that the staple food of Laos and the surrounding region today is rice. The systematic cultivation of rice probably emerged in China around 2000 BC and came to Southeast Asia only much later (Hanks 1972: 19). Presumably wild rice was collected as a supplement to the diet before it was grown systematically. The groups utilizing this wild rice were nomadic and roamed the abundant forests of the region (Keyes 1977). ‘They must have organized themselves into small

36 The evolution of Lao sociocultures and rather mobile groups, if they were to feed themselves from the scattered and unpredictable stands of seeds. Because of their mobility, they could not handle large quantities. Thus, through many seasons, they depended on other sources of food, possibly hunting and fishing.’ (Hanks 1972: 27) At some point, these groups began the slash-and-burn cultivation of rice in which a small area of forest is burned, cleared and planted out with seed before the rainy season (Hanks 1972: 30, passim). If there is sufficient rain, one just has to wait until the harvest. The only labour-intensive step in the process consists of clearing the burned forest. No division of labour is necessary. Today, slash-and-burn cultivation is still practised by many of the groups inhabiting the mountainous regions of Laos. Although most of these groups are non-Lao, there is no clear division along ethnolinguistic lines, despite conventional claims. All the Tai groups I visited in mountainous areas in the province of Bolikhamsay practised slash-and-burn cultivation, while many Mon-Khmer groups living in the valleys grow wet rice. The practice of growing wet rice developed much later than slash-and-burn cultivation, possibly around 500 BC (Keyes 1977: 18). It is almost certain that Mon-Khmer groups utilized the technique of growing wet rice in the area of present-day Laos long before the arrival of the Tai. Wet rice cultivation requires flowing water and the building of dams. It produces much larger yields, is more sustainable and demands a division of labour (Hanks 1972: 57). However, it depends on topographical factors and communities of sufficient size. These conditions were fulfilled in the valleys of Laos as well as in much of present-day Thailand and Cambodia. In terms of social structure and division of work, the ethnic affiliations of the early settlers in Laos are of little importance for my historical reconstruction. They are likely to have been very similar in all of the possible ethnic groups. The present-day Lao (and Thai) may not have come to the region before 1200 AD, while the Miao-Yao began to migrate into the region only during the nineteenth century (Terwiel 1978). Even the Mon-Khmer, supposed by the Lao to be culturally inferior aborigines (see Archaimbault 1964; Photisane 1996), probably came to the region after the first settlements had appeared. Of interest in the present context is the complementarity (and sometimes antagonism) of the various migratory and sedentary groups, as well as of valley and mountain peoples (see Leach 1970). These oppositions persist. As my research focused on Lao valley settlements, I will refrain from speculation about the social structure of other groups—present or past. However, there are clear structural differences and division of work between groups—i.e., an intersocial structure and a segmentary division of work. Today, migratory groups are on the verge of extinction in Laos (Rischel 2001), but forest and mountain dwellers still exist. As in the remote past, their social position is inferior to that of the valley-dwellers, with whom they exchange goods on unequal terms. Hmong still provide Lao with roots, herbs and animals from the forest, for which they receive comparatively little in return. This is clearly a segmentary division of work linked to a social hierarchy between villages. There also is a social structure within the Lao village (baan). It is fairly clear and mainly determined by kinship (Condominas 1962: 2).6 Lao villages consist of

The evolution of Lao sociocultures 37

Plate 2.1 The village head of Ban Phonkham grinding tobacco on his porch

between 50 and 1,000 individuals,7 most or all of whom are related to one another (Potter 1976: 35; Rehbein 2004: 34). In addressing one another, people use kinship terms, which imply a social distance. Even today there is a clear hierarchy within the village based on sex, ability and official function (Jullien 1995). I call this a personal social structure. Among the Lao, elders command high respect, as do males. Although gender inequality is less pronounced here than in many other societies, there cannot be any doubt that it exists (see especially Ngaosyvathn 1995).8 However, inequality between age groups is logically different from gender inequality. While an individual passes through all age groups during his or her life, one’s sex is (usually) fixed. Women are not necessarily or in principle excluded from any specific type of work in the village, even though certain activities are considered more suitable for males (see Table 2.1). One could speak of a complementarity of the sexes in the division of work. Inequality is evident in the social structure, however, and expresses itself in the fact that women are usually excluded from one important type of work in the village—politics. The village head is almost always a man, and the council of elders usually consists of men as well.9 Precisely because of the transparency of village social structure, struggles over capital and rules in Bourdieu’s sense are not possible—thus, there are no fields. There is a division of work, but it is neither very pronounced nor binding (see Table 2.1). Tasks that need to be done are usually done by those who are deemed to do them best. The criteria for this are age, sex and ability. The life cycle and sex form the general grid of the division of work, while special abilities qualify for singular

38 The evolution of Lao sociocultures Table 2.1 Division of work in a Lao village Predominantly male

Predominantly female

Council of elders (50+ years) Village head (around 40) House building (15–50) Ploughing Hunting, fishing

Weaving (15–60 years) Birth, little children (15–40) Watching small children (10+) Transplanting Gardening

Harvesting, threshing (tendency towards female labour) Wise man (60+) Wizard (30–60) Brewer (20–50)

Wise woman (60+) Healer (20–70) Entertainer (20–50)

functions. However, in Lao and other Tai villages, I met grandfathers raising their grandchildren, single women doing all the work by themselves, lazy husbands leaving labour in the fields to their wives, and so on. This casual division of work is not identical with social structure, which is very clear and defined. While the older generation is the most respected, its members usually perform little labour. At the same time, the village head is typically an active (male) farmer in his thirties or forties. As most of the villagers are relatives, their respective social positions and power are scarcely disputed.10 I call this type of self-sufficient and allencompassing social entity a unitary society. Although it refers mainly to economic life, some important elements of village culture are included in the term subsistence ethics. The term was coined by James Scott (1976) to characterize the economic culture of Southeast Asian peasants. Although he was referring to peasants in densely populated areas—which Laos is not—many of the characteristics he found still apply to Lao peasants. Their interest is focused on having sufficient resources until the next harvest, not on having as much as possible. They achieve this through mutual aid (reciprocity), by reinforcing family ties and through traditional networks. They are interested in survival and security, not in affluence and profit. I would include reciprocity, family orientation11 and traditional networks in ‘subsistence ethics’ in order to characterize village culture in general. I would therefore call the division of work in a Lao village a subsistential division of work. Where trade intensified, villages grew into market places or towns. There are, of course, markets in rural villages, but these need to be distinguished from markets in towns, where anonymous exchange becomes possible. 12 In villages, one exchanges either as an outsider with a clear position in the intersocial structure or as a member of the village with a clear position in the personal social structure. In towns, people were no longer related to most other inhabitants. Furthermore, a true division of labour developed there—of farmers, traders and artisans. This division of labour was based on the segmentary division of work, but differentiated the group from within.

The evolution of Lao sociocultures 39 As soon as rulers appeared in the towns, the division of work was identified with social structure. The emergence of political rule and the sociostructural division of work forms a very interesting subject in itself. However, in the case of Laos, we have too little evidence to enquire more closely into the process. We know that the emergence of ruling courts corresponded to the fortification of towns and to the social organization of the towns and their hinterlands (Brown 1996; Higham 1989). It is likely that these towns resembled European towns in the Middle Ages: quarters corresponded to professions, there was a market place, and monasteries and court compounds occupied much of the city centre. Wuysthoff (1986) has described the layout of Lao towns in 1641–42 in greater detail (see Grabowsky 2004 for Lanna). Social differentiation mainly took place in the towns—the origin of the economic field and of a competitive (market) culture. There was also political (and military) rivalry between groups, which could constitute the origin of the political field and the phenomenon of power struggles. Immediately controlled by the court, the towns also had a fairly rigid social structure, although some mobility was possible. There were factions inside a given court, conflicts between different courts, opportunities for advancement in the bureaucracy and the military—and economic differences through trade. The fortified towns were ruled by princes long before the Lao are believed to have migrated into the region (Brown 1996). However, the social structure and division of work did not change until the formation of the first integrated states of Lanna and Sukhothai in the thirteenth century and the predecessor of Laos, Lan Sang, in the fourteenth century. In the principalities, minor entities were tied by bonds of loyalty to major entities: i.e., villages were subordinate to towns and towns to a court, and sometimes courts were subordinate to a king or even an emperor in China or Vietnam (see Figure 2.1). Oliver Wolters (1999) has tellingly termed this structure a mandala.13 Even more useful is Raendchen and Raendchen’s (1998) use of the indigenous terms baan–muang (‘villagemunicipality’) to characterize the structure of Lao (and more generally Tai) social entities. Both of these commentaries concentrate on political structures, however, and fail to look more closely at the interrelation of politics, society and culture. In the baan–muang structure, the lesser entities—the baan—retained some independence, especially if they were geographically remote from the centres—the muang. Their relationship was characterized chiefly by the exchange of tribute and manpower (for labour and military service) in return for security (Wolters 1999). Loyalties shifted frequently, according to the ability of the centre to guarantee security and stability. While the Buddhist order was partly integrated into this structure, to some degree it formed a parallel structure. Muang structures were hierarchical as well and closely resembled family relationships. In a muang, however, most people were not related by blood, but were loyal to an authority figure who resembled a father in the social structure of the village. (In both cases, the proper term of address to a superior was ‘father’.) While a superior sought to accumulate as many bonds of loyalty as possible to enhance his position, inferiors looked for superiors who could guarantee their security. Just as subsistence ethics characterized the economic culture of the

40 The evolution of Lao sociocultures Court (Patrimonialism) Buddhist Order Town (Patrimonialism)

Village (Subsistence ethics)

Figure 2.1 Baan–muang structure

village, patrimonialism was the prevalent economic (and political) culture of the elites.14 Ernst Boesch (1970) and Norman Jacobs (1971) first used this term coined by Max Weber to characterize the relationship between inferior and superior in Thailand. This is close to Hanks’ (1975) description of Thai social structure as ‘entourage and circle’. In part, baan and muang cultures overlap as the elites themselves consist of families and patrimonialism enters the village through bureaucracy. But, in general, the village is characterized by subsistence ethics, whereas bureaucracy and elites are characterized by patrimonialism.15 Patrimonialism may be classified a special type of a stratified social structure, just as Lao personal social structure constitutes one specific type out of many. However, patrimonialism is not a ‘typical’ stratified social structure and it is not well researched in comparison to a rank or class society. We know much more about stratified social structures than other kinds of structure because class society—and the transformation of a rank society into a class society—has been the central and almost exclusive object of sociological research. Looking at Southeast Asia, it is clear that a general category like stratified social structure is very helpful and perhaps necessary, but it is not sufficient to analyse a whole society. Possibly, even patrimonialism is insufficiently specific and should be replaced by the term baan–muang structure. On this basis, contemporary social structures in Laos (and much of Thailand) become intelligible—which is not the case if we rely exclusively on such general categories as stratified social structure. For this reason, an analysis that relies exclusively on Wallerstein and Marx (and even Bourdieu) will not tell us very much about Laos. In some instances, the scope of political integration in the region exceeded the muang and became closer to a state, especially with the political integration of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. This structure that bore the name sakdina was similar to Western absolutistic entities and may have constituted a unitary society (see Figure 2.2).16 Every person was assigned a particular number that was equivalent to his or her rank and landholding (for a detailed description see Terwiel

The evolution of Lao sociocultures 41 King

Court Towns Order Villages

Figure 2.2 Sakdina structure

1983: 1–13; Photisane 1996). In eighteenth-century Ayutthaya, a woman could attain the same position as a man at the lower levels, but all the leading positions were reserved for males (Terwiel 1983: 16). Slaves occupied the lowest ranks. Everybody (except for prisoners of war and temple slaves) was integrated into the system (ibid.: 19). Peasants had virtually no means of improving their position in this system; their position was just as fixed as within the village.17 This order was the ‘purest’ form of a stratified social structure, possibly much more than in European feudalism and industrialism. It seems to have been recreated in rituals that persisted until 1975 (and are being reinvented today). Charles Archaimbault has demonstrated very clearly how royal rituals embody the social order. Even in traditional boat races, every boat had to cross the finish line according to the social structure— the king first, then the dignitaries and so on (Archaimbault 1973: 35). More importantly, Archaimbault investigated the relationship between rituals, the sociopolitical order and history in four parts of Laos: Luang Phrabang, Sieng Khwang, Vientiane and Champassak. He showed that an identical core of ritual and myth was adjusted to each principality’s political history and ethnic composition. 18 According to the core mythology, royalty and commoners have different origins, while ordinary Lao have the same roots as ethnic minorities (Archaimbault 1964; 1973: 77–95). Lao villages retained the subsistential division of work and a personal social structure even within the more comprehensive political units. Although muang and sakdina structures also possessed traits of a unitary society, differentiation occurred through contact with external social entities. Villages were not equal. This points to the close relationship between a segmentary division of work and intersocial structure. With the founding of Lao principalities (or possibly before), non-Lao (or more generally, non-Tai) villages came under the domination of Lao villages (see Evans 1999b). This inequality resembles the dichotomy of highland and lowland villages as analysed by Edmund Leach (1970). In general, non-Tai had a lower status than Tai, performed servant (or outright slave) duties, and were economically dependent on the Tai. This situation persists today, to some degree.

42 The evolution of Lao sociocultures

Plate 2.2 The three ethnic categories represented on a banknote

From 1893 until 1954, Laos formed part of the French colonial empire within the ‘Indochinese Union’. For the first time, it became a ‘nation state’ with precise borders and an integrated economic field (see Gay 1995). The French created a technocratic administration, a legal system, a Western system of education and a capitalist market economy. But these remained confined to the cities and the mining sector and did not change significantly until the socialist takeover in 1975. In the 1960s, only 1.4 per cent of the population worked in industry (Lejars 1972) and most industrial workers were Vietnamese (Schneider 2000: 51). The same was true for the administration: the French occupied the highest ranks, Vietnamese the intermediate positions, and Lao the basic ranks, while other ethnolinguistic groups were more or less excluded from this role (ibid.: 20). The French system of education was partly responsible for mobilizing the children of the old nobility and royal families into a nationalist movement, which consisted of various families and factions. When the French returned to Indochina after the Second World War they met with serious opposition, especially in Vietnam. The First Indochinese War ended with formal independence and a communist state in North Vietnam plus two communist provinces in northern Laos, Phongsaly and Huaphan. The communist movement in Laos was led mainly by a faction of the old Lao elites, including royalty (Zasloff 1973: 2). Other elite factions pursued a neutralist line, while yet another group sided with American anti-communism during the Cold War. The neutralist faction was whittled away by the increasing conflict between the communists and the Americans, which led to the Second Indochinese War and victory for the communists over all of Indochina in 1975. As a result of the emigration of about a third of the Lao population, the physical impact of the war and the large amount of money pouring into the country, the social structure of the towns changed considerably during the Second Indochinese War. A large percentage of the population left Laos in 1975. French intervention altered the entire Lao society significantly, even though it extended very little

The evolution of Lao sociocultures 43

Plate 2.3 The labourer, a hero of socialism, in the National Museum

beyond the towns. First, as has been said, it created a nation state with clearly defined borders (Gay 1995). Second, it laid the foundation for an integrated society regulated by the state—which led in turn to a great deal of unrest, especially among the ethnic minorities (Gunn 1990). Third, it introduced a market culture (capitalism) and a bureaucratic administration (technocracy). After 1975, Laos mainly reverted to the economic traditions which were dominant before the civil war—i.e., to a peasant economy. Attempts to build a socialist economy following the Soviet model remained unsuccessful (Evans 1990). Most Laotians were subsistence farmers living in social structures based on kinship and according to subsistence ethics. The elites dominated politics and the tiny money economy, which were both structured along patrimonial lines (see Halpern 1961c). However, most of the educated elite was gone, up to a third of the population was displaced and party control extended to every village. That is, Laos was now a modern, integrated nation state, but with pre-modern sociocultures and few economic and intellectual resources. Seemingly, the pre-colonial structure of a ruling elite, a small group of city-dwellers and the peasantry, along with the Buddhist order, had been reproduced in Laos. But the socialist party formed an allencompassing structure that did not comply with the muang model and was closer to the sakdina structure (see Figure 2.3). It also contained bureaucratic elements. In a sense, politics was the only social field under socialist rule. There was no independent economic field or civil society. Since 1986, Laos has increasingly been integrated into the global division of work and supranational political institutions. Its internal institutions have been

44 The evolution of Lao sociocultures Party

Politbureau

Elites

Town

Order Village

Figure 2.3 Social structure under socialism

created or transformed according to the Western model. This transformation includes the standardization of institutions, especially in law and administration, the creation of a liberal market, the multiplication and autonomization of fields, and the emergence of new transnational structures. These phenomena will be studied in the following chapters. The next section will cast some light on the two most important fields and their relationship.

The political and the economic fields The Lao socialist leadership differed little in composition, structure and culture from the old royal elite; more precisely, it was reduced by the loss of individuals and families who had fallen from favour and expanded by the inclusion of the leading revolutionary families (for names, see Halpern 1961c and 1964c: 102). This group still forms the core of the Lao elites. Structures and cultures also remained more or less unchanged. However, socialist Laos was more integrated politically than ever before: the structures of the socialist party extended into every village. A new socioculture that was—in principle—at once more egalitarian and more technocratic than earlier sociocultures spread throughout Laos. When Mikhail Gorbachev announced the end of Soviet economic aid in 1986, the Lao leadership decided to introduce a market economy. 19 The small-scale economy that had been financed by foreign countries for a century was now to stand on its own feet. But the Lao leadership found a new partner in this venture— the international community; over the years, up to 90 per cent of the state budget has been externally financed (National Statistical Centre 2000: 45; Freeman 2001). External forces and the Lao leadership are pursuing the same goal, the development of a national market, especially by attracting international capital. Aid organizations, international organizations and a few private investors are assisting the

The evolution of Lao sociocultures 45 Lao leadership in constructing a modern society, offering aid ranging from local workshops on irrigation to the use of fiscal instruments. This has led to a differentiation of society into fields such as law, an educational system, an administration and so on. As far as scientific and technocratic thinking is concerned, capitalism in the economy and socialism in politics get along fine. Through these structures, the leadership is seeking to construct the hallmark of modernity—the nation state. The Lao nation state is being designed so as to have a distinctive culture, especially in view of the pulling power of the neighbouring giant, Thailand (Evans 1998c). The nation state is being constructed on both real and symbolic levels (see Chapter 5). The public sphere and party structures are the leadership’s main instruments in this process. This means that not only the emergence of the fields but the emergence of a public sphere is controlled and dominated by the party. This system is euphemistically called ‘central democracy’. The party claims to represent all segments of society, which are basically defined by the organization of work.20 Candidates for parliament are selected on this basis, as are delegates to conferences. Viewed from the outside, this is precisely what Durkheim (1986) envisaged as the ideal political system for an ‘organic division of labour’. The difference lies in the mode of selection. According to Durkheim, the segments within the division of labour organize their own associations and nominate representatives. In Laos, this is done by the party. Whereas Western societies are characterized by a permanent struggle between the fields, in Laos all fields seem to move in the same direction—or, more precisely, under the same direction. The intellectual and material resources for this process overwhelmingly come from abroad. One of the significant changes in post-revolutionary society was, of course, the creation of the party, which offered the possibility of upward mobility; the leading revolutionary families even gained access to the existing elites. The party is a unitary and hierarchical structure. It differs from the sakdina structure insofar as its culture is not exclusively patrimonial, but also technocratic. Furthermore, on the symbolic level, egalitarianism and nationalism are propagated. People are not entirely bound in their actions by personal relationships, but are also presented with written guidelines that apply to all. And they place a certain value on achievement. Of course, this socialist culture has existed for only a short time but, although it has not replaced patrimonial and kinship structures, it has certainly left an imprint on Lao sociocultures (something which is absent in Thailand, for example). An important consequence of socialism is the party’s domination of the political field. Basically, one’s position within the party is identical with one’s social position in the political field (see Figure 2.4). Underlying the political field (and most other fields), the sakdina-like structure discussed above persists. The contemporary political field in Laos is inconceivable without this historical base. As patrimonialism is still the prevailing culture among the elites, social ties are the most important resource in that field. Economic capital is valuable only to the degree that it is transformed into or connected to social ties. This has encouraged the marriage of rich businessmen into the elites. Technocratic resources, such as

46 The evolution of Lao sociocultures Party elite ASEAN, UNO

Military elite Provincial governors High-ranking bureaucracy Local leaders

International organizations

Leaders of mass organizations

Aid organizations

Intermediate bureaucracy Party representatives Village heads Population (Right to left: rising overall influence: bottom to top: rising position on political field)

Figure 2.4 Social positions in the political field

knowledge and discipline, can enhance one’s position in the political field, but they are much less important than in Western societies. So far, bureaucracy and politics have not been differentiated to any extent. Both are dominated by party structures and controlled by the political elite. The lower ranks within the party have begun to develop a technocratic culture, while the elites adhere to their patrimonial culture. However, underlying the present political field, the traditional baan– muang structures are easily recognizable. The urban middle classes, who play an important role in the construction of a modern society, have no significant influence in the political field. However, despite the persistence of older structures, the economic field is gaining an increasing independence from the political field. Whereas the social structure under earlier socialism was very close to a unitary society, contemporary Laos is experiencing the emergence of fields. At present, the economic culture associated with the baan–muang structures is under pressure from the market economy.21 Villages are less and less subsistence-oriented. The government (with active support from aid organizations) has shifted upland villages into the valleys, prohibited swidden cultivation (slash-and-burn agriculture), connected small villages to market places and improved the infrastructure. At the same time, peasants have begun to consider themselves as poor—not long after being labelled ‘heroes of the revolution’. Furthermore, the rapid increase in the population, the improved infrastructure, the growing need to pay for goods and services with money, the legal registration of land and the prospect of an easier life in the city have all led to a characteristic outflow of the rural population.22 In other words, push and pull factors have combined to drain the countryside of its most active group. In remoter villages today, the 15–40 age group accounts for only about 25 per cent of the resident population, compared to about 40 per cent in 1960 (see Halpern 1961b: 33).

The evolution of Lao sociocultures 47 Around 80 per cent of the active Lao population work in agriculture, and up to 60 per cent are subsistence farmers with very little input into the economic field (National Statistical Centre 2000: 51). They enter the field only as petty producers and traders. According to their resources, they can be divided into three groups: those with substantial holdings of good land; new cash-crop producers; and those with small areas of poorer land. The last group are mainly those with the poorest ethnic, educational, political, social and geographical resources as well. The bestpositioned farmers seem to be the new cash-crop producers, who also enjoy foreign aid. However, many of them still fail because they lack other important resources, especially geographical, political, social and cultural. The market economy has developed mainly in the towns and has become the dominating culture in the economic field. The value of social resources is increasingly being determined by economic competition. Dwelling in a town, near the Thai border or near an important road means a considerable advantage in the economic field, as only these locations have direct links to the market. 23 Geographical factors are often related to ethnic factors. As ethnic Lao dominate the symbolic universe (through the national language, emblems and the media), other ethnic groups have had to adapt. In order to achieve any form of higher education, the ethnic minorities have to learn Lao language and customs. 24 Of course, Tai groups are better equipped to do this than non-Tai. Old age and political resources lose their value in the economic field. However, political resources are usually linked to social ties, which remain very important in the economic field. Education has lost its inherent value in favour of a specific education for a particular occupation. Social position with regard to the economic field is not determined by capital alone; it also depends on habitus and sociocultures. The emerging Lao economic field is a market economy with a capitalist logic. In order to gain a leading position in this field, it is important to learn the rules of a market economy (see Chapter 4). In a relatively good position are entrepreneurs—even if their business is very small—who have access to foreign capital, have studied or worked abroad or have attended one of the business colleges in Laos—or preferably all of these. Most Lao have not acquired the culture of a market economy: they do not know how to make and invest money, and they do not own money to invest. Both are necessary for success in the emerging economic field, but most Lao businesspeople do not meet these criteria. They act according to patrimonial socioculture. In 1999, 97 per cent of Lao enterprises had fewer than ten employees (National Statistical Centre 2000: 107), most of whom were members of the owner’s household, relatives or unpaid workers. Thus, most businesspeople fare according to chance, dependent on their clients’ means. They are not rational capitalists in Max Weber’s sense, but grasp an opportunity when it presents itself. This attitude towards business corresponds to pre-colonial, non-urban realities. I call it occasionalism. It characterizes the economic culture of petty traders and producers. Wherever foreign money flows, patrimonialism and occasionalism develop into something I term taking culture. Because the donor stands outside patrimonial structures, no reciprocity or loyalty

48 The evolution of Lao sociocultures International organizations Military elite Party elite

Foreign capital Successful entrepreneurs

High-ranking bureaucracy, businesspeople

Emigrants

Professors, professionals, aid personnel, intermediate businesspeople Petty traders, workers Farmers Unemployed Beggars

(Right to left: rising political position: bottom to top: rising position on economic field)

Figure 2.5 Social positions in the economic field

is required. This culture characterizes bureaucrats, employees and others who have access to foreign capital.25

Theoretical consequences Baan–muang sociocultures and socialist structures persist together in Laos. They are woven into a complex structure that is still evolving. If we compare the figures of the economic and political fields (Figures 2.4 and 2.5, above), it is immediately evident that the party elite controls the political field. The influence of foreign institutions and capital is much greater in the economic field, and the urban middle class has a relatively higher position in the economic than the political field. And while the most successful agents in the economic field do not necessarily have access to the political elite, many loyal party people with a relatively high position in the political field often have a rather low position in the economic field. According to Bourdieu’s procedure in Distinction, the political and economic fields require the same resources and can be reduced to an identical social structure represented by the ‘social space’ (Bourdieu 1984; see Figure 1.3, above). The ‘social space’ represents various groups and their relative social distance and difference from one another. This means that not only do all fields require the same resources, but different groups share the same social characteristics in every field. Bourdieu speaks of a ‘homology’ of fields. The preceding brief look at the economic and political fields in Laos has shown that both differ significantly in structure, something that becomes evident if we construct a ‘social space’ for both fields and compare their structure. Contrary to Bourdieu’s claims, groups do not have homologous relations in both fields. Relationships cannot be represented in a single social space. Social positions in the political field are basically identical with rank within the party.

The evolution of Lao sociocultures 49 While some positions in the economic field are related to party membership, most are not. Notably, those with an intermediate position in the political field have a comparatively much lower position in the economic field.26 While they can use their political resources for the accumulation of economic capital (e.g., through corruption), this does not work for all individuals and in all cases. At the other end of the spectrum are returned exiles, who often have a great deal of economic capital but are banned from the political field. Both fields comprise several cultures. Following the model of Distinction, social position should be linked to a certain habitus and culture; cultures could then be represented in the Figure as regions of the field. However, if we examine the political and economic fields in Laos, we see that cultures correspond to a wide range of social positions rather than to a particular group or several neighbouring groups. To use Bourdieu’s terminology, the space occupied by habitus or lifestyles is not homologous with the social space. In Laos, lifestyles are not determined by social position and resources alone because kinship, patrimonial and socialist sociocultures persist beneath and beside the modern fields. Two peasants may have the same resources, but if one has relatives in the West or participates in a development project, he or she will have a significantly different lifestyle. However, if both grew up as revolutionary fighters, either of them may enjoy the lifestyle of a leading politician. Thus, there are no clearly delineated fields in Laos. Neither lifestyles nor cultures can be deduced from social positions; rather, they form a complex configuration, in which history persists in the various layers. These layers do not function according to Bourdieu’s definition of field as an arena of struggle. According to him, all actors strive for an improved social position on the basis of the accumulation of resources. This is certainly not the case for most settings in Laos; personal social structure cannot be modified by struggle—the father will always remain the father. The division of work corresponding to this structure aims at subsistence, not at accumulation and improvement. The Lao political field is restricted to the nation state and corresponds to the ‘container model’ of society much more than is the case with the economic field. Large-scale international assistance has standardized the Lao nation state (see Chapter 5), and international organizations are a key to understanding the Lao political field. However, they have comparatively little influence on Lao politics, in contrast to the economic field. Here, other agents beyond the ‘container’ of the nation state also play an important role, especially exiles, migrants, foreign investors and banks. Thus, transnational agents dominate much of the economic field, while the socialist party dominates the political field.

Conclusion An important aspect of social development is the differentiation and autonomization of fields. Bourdieu considered autonomization to be a descriptive and universal term; but it is equally normative and particular, referring only to certain periods of history and to non-unitary states. In pre-French Laos, there was a differentiation

50 The evolution of Lao sociocultures of village, town and court only in the sense of baan–muang, in addition to the Buddhist order. These were not fields, as they were all subject to a patrimonial and kinship structure, but economic and political fields may have existed for several centuries, characterized by struggle in Bourdieu’s sense. There was a proliferation and autonomization of fields under colonialism, but socialism produced a strong tendency towards a unitary society. With the introduction of a market economy the tide has turned again. The political field is still dominant in Laos, while most other fields are struggling for some autonomy from it. Especially important is the relationship of the economic and political elites. The intermediate groups in the economic field have little chance of advancement in the political field except within the party, and are therefore promoting a decrease in the influence of the political field. Various sociocultures persist in Laos. Subsistence ethics still predominate in many villages, and patrimonialism may still be the dominant socioculture among the elites. The party combines a socialist egalitarian ideology with patrimonialism and technocracy. In terms of transnational relations, a market culture has emerged. Market culture dominates the economic field while patrimonialism dominates the political field. Both are linked to a technocratic culture, which is shared by international organizations. Cultures and groups cannot be related unequivocally to one another, and neither can they be related to specific geographical or social environments. They rather overlap, intermingle and form a complex configuration. I demonstrate these linkages with regard to the economic field in the following two chapters.

3

The economic field

Ever since Max Weber, it has been argued that economics is more than a functional or mathematical system (e.g., Weber 1978; Polanyi 1944; Granovetter 1985; Fukuyama 1995; Bourdieu 2000b).1 The flow of goods, services and means of payment is linked to human action, which in turn is inseparable from culture, society and meaning. In addition, these factors form a different configuration in every empirical instance. Although this argument has mainly been accepted in theoretical discussions, empirical research on economics rarely goes beyond the interpretation of statistics. This is especially true for Laos, despite a substantial and high-quality anthropological literature on the peasant economy in Southeast Asia (e.g., Hanks 1972; Scott 1976). I argue that only a closer scrutiny of sociocultural conditions offers an adequate basis for an understanding of the Lao economy. These conditions can be analysed as the dialectical interaction of structure and culture in the economic field. As I argued in the previous chapter, various cultures can coexist in a single field. Some of these are sociocultures, corresponding to historical forms of social structure and the division of work. Other cultures are new and refer only to particular fields or social environments. In the West, capitalist culture has dominated the economic field ever since Adam Smith turned it into an independent area of research. From this perspective, the economy appears as an autonomous and homogeneous field or system. The core rules of the field have changed very little since Adam Smith’s study, and still provide the raw material for the theory of systems and classical economics. On this basis, the economic field can indeed be conceptualized in a functional and mathematical way because the rules governing it appear as stable as natural laws. In Laos, however, the capitalist economy comprises only a tiny portion of economic activity; in fact, it can be argued that an economic field as a proper set of rules and goals has just started to emerge. To analyse it according to Western textbooks on economics would entail excluding most economic activities in Laos. In recent years, an increasing number of economists have acknowledged the important roles that society and culture play in an economy. They consider the ‘embedding’ of society and culture to be a resource for the economy and call it ‘social capital’ (Putnam 1993; Fukuyama 1995), a term which immediately recalls

52 The economic field Bourdieu’s broad concept of capital. The difference between Bourdieu’s approach and the theories of social capital lies in the perspective adopted. For Bourdieu (2000b)—as for Weber and Polanyi—the economy is only one field of social action among many. Any type of capital is invested with social goals, of which the accumulation of economic capital is only one among many. For Fukuyama and Putnam, on the other hand, society and culture are relevant only as resources for the accumulation of economic capital and the economic competitiveness of a nation state. In this chapter, I adopt the former’s sociological perspective rather than the latter’s economic approach, and seek to cast some light on the complex configuration of cultures, structures and agents in the economic field. The first section describes the different cultures that are situated in and beneath the emerging economic field in Laos. The second section enquires into the value of resources held by various agents with regard to the dominant culture on the economic field, capitalism. In the final section, I attempt to construct a social structure comprising various groups with reference to the economic field. This model is preliminary and incomplete, as it is not linked to an analysis of the entire configuration of fields in Laos and the global division of work.

Economic cultures Until 1893, Laos was a rural region, parts of which were at times unified under a local king or prince. The subsistential division of work within villages was already complemented by the segmentary division of work between villages and the sociostructural division of work in towns (see preceding chapters). Rudiments of an economic field had appeared in the few towns that had market places and were most often political centres as well. However, the overwhelming majority of the population comprised peasants living in small villages. Apart from the court, only a small fraction of the population dwelled in towns. An economic field emerged within a particular element of the stratified social structure—the traders who remained excluded from political power until the intervention of the French. Long-distance trade and crafts were situated in the towns, where the princely courts usually resided.2 Immediately controlled by the court, the towns had a clear-cut social structure, although some mobility was possible. There were factions inside a given court, conflicts between courts, and opportunities for advancement in the bureaucracy and the military. The economy proper was not yet a field of struggle, however, as it was controlled by the court. Between 1893 and 1954, Laos formed part of the French colonial empire. For the first time, it became a ‘nation’ with precise frontiers and an integrated economic field (see Gay 1995). But this field remained confined to the towns, which changed very little during the two following decades of civil war and American domination. As a result of the emigration of about a third of the population, the physical impact of the war and the large amounts of money pouring into the country, the social structure of the towns changed considerably, however. A large percentage of the population affected by these changes left the country after the socialist takeover in

The economic field 53 1975, and Laos largely reverted to the economic traditions obtaining before the civil war—i.e., to a peasant economy. Attempts to build a socialist economy were unsuccessful (Evans 1990), and what was left of an economic field survived on economic aid from socialist brother countries. There was probably less urban trade and industry during this period than in the nineteenth century. When Gorbachev announced the end of economic aid in 1986, the Lao leadership decided to introduce a market economy, a venture heavily assisted by the international community. External forces and the Lao elites both pursue the same goal—the development of a national market—especially by attracting international capital. Today, aid organizations, international banks and a few private investors assist the Lao leadership in blending the ‘ingredients’ needed for the ‘meal’ called the market economy—from a constitution to a two-tier banking system, and from local workshops on irrigation, to the use of fiscal instruments. As far as this type of technocratic thinking is concerned, capitalism and socialism get along fine. And the results are compelling; the fact that they have not worked out exactly as designed is connected with ignorance of the sociocultural factors discussed below.3 There were certainly forms of capitalism (such as rational profit-seeking on the basis of accumulation of economic capital) and production for the market in Laos long before the intervention of the French (Reid 1993). However, this type of capitalism was confined to a single social group, the traders. Capitalism became a state-regulated economic system only under French colonialism—with few consequences for the majority of the Lao population. Only since 1986 has capitalism evolved as an all-encompassing economic system subject to technocratic planning; in this respect, there is very little difference between the Lao socialist government and a Western democratic government. In both systems, the state’s task is to create the sociocultural conditions for the functioning of the abstractly defined rules of a capitalist market economy, supported by a legal and administrative framework. In Laos, the state fulfils this task with the aid of international agents. Here, as elsewhere, capitalism does not merely evolve; it is technocratically produced and monitored. Since the introduction of a market economy in a politically integrated society, profound changes have taken place in Laos. Various fields have emerged, among which the economic field is the most important (although still subordinate to the political field). The development of an economic field has involved the introduction of new rules of action and changes in the value of resources, resulting in a new structure and a new culture. When we talk about economics—and even the economy—we are usually referring to the capitalist market economy. But this is only one form of economic organization. Although its core rules are marked by a functional character, the economy can also be regarded as a culture: if you want to play a game of cards, you need cards; if you want an economy, you need the means of production—and so on. However, the core rules are the only ones considered by traditional economics and schools such as the theory of systems; they form an abstract set of rules of a game that is never actually played. It matters which game is being played, but also how it is played. Apart from this, as Bourdieu

54 The economic field pointed out, the rules are subject to the (social) game itself and are constantly being modified, especially as they reflect power struggles within the field. While we are all intimately familiar with market culture, it still remains to be analysed satisfactorily. In his essay ‘Protestant Ethics’ (1978, vol. I), Max Weber sought to identify the most important traits of capitalist culture, chiefly profitseeking, accounting, rationalization, secularization and free contract labour. With Wallerstein, I would add competition, capital accumulation and the market. A strong regime of law and technocratic supervision are also necessary, both of which Weber discussed extensively in his unfinished work on Economy and Society (1972). In my opinion, capitalism cannot be reduced to any one of these traits. Neither do all the traits need to be present together, either in whole or in part. Rather, some or all of them are found, to a greater or lesser degree, combined in a certain configuration. Whether one calls a particular configuration capitalist or not depends on the purpose of the investigation. In no case can we speak of pure capitalism. Capitalism is partly or even mainly a culture, which is combined with other cultures. This is especially evident in the case of Laos. Apart from the market culture, I would distinguish four main economic cultures in Laos: subsistence ethics, patrimonialism, ‘taking culture’ and occasionalism. The term subsistence ethics was coined by James Scott (1976) to characterize the economic culture of Southeast Asian peasants. Their interest is focused on having enough until the next harvest, not on accumulating as much as possible. They achieve this through mutual aid (reciprocity), reinforcing family ties and traditionalism. For them, survival and security are the goals of economic action, not affluence and profit.4 If one considers that most Lao were born and raised as peasants under socialism and still work at least part-time as farmers, it is not surprising that many elements of subsistence ethics persist, even in downtown Vientiane. There are plenty of petty traders who are unconcerned about such matters as productivity and time management; they sit around the whole day, even if only a single client shows up and virtually no money changes hands. This is regarded as perfectly acceptable as long as it allows the traders to buy the things they need. In most instances, they still divide the market among themselves in the manner of medieval guilds so that everyone gets a share of business. Related to this apparent indifference to competition is the opening of many identical businesses in one location, if a demand is evident. Both Lao and foreign ‘experts’ have made efforts to deter traders from this ‘copycat business’ system, but without considering the motives behind it.5 Just as subsistence ethics characterized the economic culture of the village, patrimonialism expressed the prevalent economic (and political) culture of the elites.6 Ernst Boesch (1970) used the term ‘patrimonialism’ to characterize the relationship between social inferior and superior in Thailand. Norman Jacobs (1971) arrived at a very similar definition, which in turn is close to Hanks’ (1975) description of Thai social structure as ‘entourage and circle’. The term describes the loyalty of inferiors towards their superior in exchange for security. The superior acts very much in the role of a father or a guardian towards his dependants.

The economic field 55 A superior seeks to accumulate as many bonds of loyalty as possible to enhance his position, whereas inferiors look for superiors who can guarantee their security. This, of course, is very similar to a feudal relationship—the difference being the freedom of the Lao dependants. Patrimonialism also resembles the village social structure—i.e., that of an extended family—but the hierarchy of the village is rather static and does not depend on the loyalty–security relationship. The two cultures partly overlap, as the elites consist of families and patrimonialism enters the village through bureaucracy. But, in general, the village economy is characterized by subsistence ethics, while bureaucracy and the elites are characterized by patrimonialism. Both cultures contain remnants of earlier divisions of work and social structure and thus can be classified as sociocultures (see preceding chapters). They contradict the market culture in many respects, as they do not favour competition, productivity and Weber’s economic rationalism (see Chapter 4). However, this does not mean that Lao are ignorant of business practices. While they are entirely capable of recognizing and grasping commercial opportunities, this is not done within the context of a market culture. Lao define such opportunities not according to the demands of profit, but according to their own needs. Development workers complain that Lao are often unwilling to sell their products or to sell them on commission even if the demand and profits are high. I call this way of acting occasionalism, an approach that characterizes the economic culture of petty traders and producers. German adviser Michael Schultze has been trying to market Lao products for many years, especially in Germany.7 He tells how his efforts were often frustrated because producers and potential vendors simply felt no pressing need to make money. In one case, baskets that Schultze was willing to buy at a high price were already promised to another buyer and therefore not sold to him, even though the trader in question could easily have produced more baskets. In another case, a bookseller refused to sell Schultze maps at a high profit because he still had a number of old maps which he wanted to sell first at a low price. In a third case, a woman who needed money for medication tried to sell him a pig at an excessive price because that was the amount she needed. When brought into contact with foreign capital, occasionalism and patrimonialism are transformed into a taking culture. While this culture can be found in all social groups of Laos, it characterizes three groups in particular: bureaucrats charged with the distribution of foreign capital and people working for foreign companies or aid organizations. Lao with access to foreign capital, especially development aid, will exploit their opportunities to the maximum extent. No reciprocity or loyalty is demanded, because the giver stands outside the Lao social structure. No patrimonial or family ties exist. Thus, it is perfectly acceptable to take without giving anything in return. Profits made in this way may be distributed to the family or entourage; they are only used as capital if the recipient has some connection to the market culture. This taking culture may appear to the Western observer as corruption, cronyism or even as criminality—but this is only partly true. To some extent, identity politics may also encourage a taking culture. Nationalist propaganda portrays the outside world as inferior—at least by Lao

56 The economic field moral standards (see Chapter 5). While this attitude has not led to widespread xenophobia, it certainly discourages reciprocity and solidarity in dealing with foreigners. Arguably the most valuable resource in the Lao economic field is access to foreign capital. While this is an aspect of a new global division of work recognized by modernization and dependence theories, it appears to be working in a direction that is acknowledged by neither of these theories. The dependence on aid of elites on the international periphery is transforming into a consciousness of recipient dependence as the developed core needs allies, markets and aid recipients. The rural population, of course, still mainly acts and thinks in terms of subsistence ethics. Among the old elite and a large proportion of the bureaucracy, patrimonialism prevails. Occasionalism defines the modus operandi of most people engaged in petty trade and production. Those with access to foreign capital mostly have a taking culture, which characterizes civil servants and workers with access to development aid, those working in tourism and the growing numbers of beggars. The market culture only characterizes those with practical experience of it abroad or those who have studied it in business schools; very few Lao are learning it by doing it. These last two groups are the smallest, each comprising no more than 5 per cent of the population; whereas up to 70 per cent cling to subsistence ethics and up to 10 per cent to patrimonialism, with the remainder mainly following a culture of occasionalism (for survey data, see Rehbein 2004).

Resources The emergence of an economic field dominated by capitalist culture in Laos has transformed the rules of economic action and brought about a change in the value of resources. I define resources as the means for social action, which Bourdieu called ‘capital’ (see Chapter 1). This section examines the value of resources for action in the emerging economic field in Laos. These means are always relative to the social environment. Knowledge of weather conditions, for example, which is essential for subsistence farming, has little value in urban capitalism. One might think that the means of production alone are necessary for economic action in a market economy. But without markets, local knowledge, infrastructure and an appreciation of sociocultural conditions, this type of capital cannot be used. Some resources gain value, others lose value; some are transformed, others disappear. As in most industrializing societies, the most important development in the Lao economic field has been in the demographic sphere. Under the slogan ‘Eradication of Poverty by 2020’, the government (with the active support of aid organizations) has moved upland villages into the valleys, prohibited swidden cultivation, connected small villages to market places and improved infrastructure. At the same time, peasants have begun considering themselves as poor—whereas before they had been hailed as ‘heroes of the revolution’. In the district of Laksao, 100 per cent of villagers are aware of the government programme and consider themselves potential beneficiaries of it. Furthermore, the rapid increase in the population, the improved infrastructure, the growing need to pay for goods and

The economic field 57 services in money, the legal registration of land and a belief in an easier life in the city (sentiments echoed by 97 per cent of the villagers in the district) have all led to the characteristic emigration of the rural population. In other words, various push and pull factors have combined to drain the countryside of its most active group. In remoter villages today, the 15–40 age group accounts for only about 25 per cent of the resident population, compared to about 40 per cent in 1960 (see Halpern 1961b: 33). Other resources linked with demographic trends include a favourable geographical location. In Laos, the market economy is developing in the towns, especially in Vientiane. Dwelling in a town, near the Thai border or near an important road means a considerable advantage in the economic field as only these locations have a direct link to the market. Proximity to infrastructure is essential for successful participation in the market economy, a fact reflected in the socio-economic ranking of districts according to the Atlas of Laos (2000: 147). In Vientiane, the average income in the 1990s was three times that of people living in remote areas (Bourdet 2000: 134). In the countryside, flat and fertile land with access to water is still a considerable resource, although it must increasingly be combined with these important infrastructural factors. Geographical resources are related to ethnic factors. The dichotomies of mountain- and valley-dwellers as well as of nomadic and sedentary groups persist (see Chapter 2). As ethnic Lao dominate the symbolic universe (through the national language, emblems and the media), other ethnic groups have had to adapt. The Lao proper account for approximately half the population, the other half consists of ‘minorities’. In order to achieve any form of higher education, the ethnic minorities have to learn Lao language and customs.8 Of course, Tai groups are better equipped to do this than non-Tai. Historically, non-Tai groups have had an inferior economic, social and political position. This is still true today, even though the socialist party is making efforts to ensure that the major ethnic groups are represented on various political bodies. A non-Tai is not easily accepted as a business partner, does not enjoy the same social relationships or the same rights as a Tai or, more specifically, a Lao. On the other hand, foreigners often have better economic and cultural resources than Lao. Old age is losing its value as a resource rather quickly. While in baan and muang old age was equivalent to higher status, in the emerging economic field it is a handicap. This is reflected in the fact that all my interviewees over the age of 49 claimed that they could not support their families (average for interviewees in general, 56 per cent) and were afraid of the future (average 71 per cent). Younger urban-dwellers are not only better equipped for learning the rules of the market economy but are more valued as personnel, trainees and consumers. The opposite is the case for the personal social structure of the countryside and the patrimonial structure of the elites. The value of gender is ambivalent. In the rural Lao economy, being female had and still has a certain value as a social resource even though men clearly enjoyed a higher status than women.9 As the division of work was flexible, women were not excluded from most types of social action. They controlled some of the

58 The economic field material resources, especially money, as they were mainly responsible for trade and household affairs. In more than half of Lao households, the wife still determines everyday expenditure (see Lao Women’s Union 2000a). The social value placed on women has been enhanced by socialist propaganda that called for equality—except in the political field (Ireson 1996: 45). In the market economy, women have a disadvantage as motherhood is incompatible with many jobs (Ngaosyvathn 1995). While 63 per cent of small and medium-sized enterprises are run by women (Seibel 1997: 17), men head most of the big companies, units of administration and the party, and enjoy a considerably higher average income (Elderson 1995: 28). While political resources have diminished in value among the general population, especially the urban middle classes, they are still important for the elites. Closely related to political resources are social relationships, which are especially valued by the Lao elites. Education derives its value ever less from a possible career in the political field and, to a degree, all education undertaken before the 1990s has been devalued (Schneider 2000: 297). Only studies in economically important areas—especially English, business and some technical subjects—now have a high value placed on them (Rehbein 2004: 207–8). And, of course, the value of economic capital itself has risen dramatically as a necessary resource for action in the economic field.

Social structure If one places these various resources in relation to one another, they mark out the social structure of the economic field. Individuals do not possess a unique set of resources, but share their major traits with others. For example, most Yao villagers live in remote villages, have virtually no capital, no important social relations or political resources and little education. While a Yao village is clearly structured in itself, in the evolving Lao economic field these differences have become irrelevant —except for personal traits like age, sex and ability, which account for the major differences in Yao positions in the economic field. Most of those who leave the village are between 20 and 40 years of age, especially the abler people. Women often do not return home when they marry. This general pattern applies to most remote villages, regardless of ethnicity. Table 3.1 Change in the value of resources in the economic field Resource Old age Female sex Infra structure Lao ethnicity Political resources Social ties Economic capital Education Western links

Change Decrease Ambivalent Increase Same Decrease (except in elites) Same (decrease in cities) Increase Increase (business, English) Increase

The economic field 59 Certain groups are better equipped for economic action and for a dominant position than others. The picture remains incomplete without considering the cultural background of these groups, to be discussed below. As we saw in Chapter 2, Lao society was historically based on the baan–muang structure, which on the surface appears unchanged in its essentials. However, a look at the distribution of significant resources offers a much more detailed and appropriate picture. I have already discussed the importance of economic capital and its primary source in foreign institutions. Those with access to foreign capital have a strong position in the Lao economic field. These people fall into three main groups: bureaucrats who allocate the distribution of foreign capital; those working for foreign companies or aid organizations; and people who have relatives abroad or have themselves returned from abroad. These groups should be separated as they do not share the same economic culture, something that is already evident from a consideration of political and social resources. The political elite still controls and therefore dominates the economic field. Almost all its members are wealthy, for they either belong to the historically dominant families or have used their position to augment their property holdings.10 And, just as in the village, the members of the elites are mostly related; marriage is practically the only route into these groups. Economic, cultural or political resources qualify one to be an aspirant, but not yet a member of the elite. While some successful returnees and a few nouveaux riches qualify for marriage into this group, or may even be relatives in the first place, others with access to foreign capital qualify only for the ‘new middle class’. This is also true for many entrepreneurs (many of them Chinese) and the young technocrats in the administration. Both groups are excluded from the Lao elites even though they should logically form part of it due to their positions. Along with the new middle class, they are a potential source of conflict and discord in the near future—conflict that stems from their active role in the economic field while lacking political and social influence. All of these groups live mainly in the cities—although not exclusively. They can be found wherever the geographical, economic and social resources discussed above are present. Those with significant cultural resources (mainly education) are found almost exclusively in urban centres, but these resources do not necessarily mean a high position in the economic field. This status is restricted to those with cultural resources appropriate to a market economy, particularly those with a degree from a business college or a foreign school. As such an education is very expensive, only children from families with access to foreign capital can access it. Highly educated people (e.g., a graduate with a degree in Bulgarian and Russian) are often unemployed, and the intellectual elite is badly underpaid—except for those with access to foreign capital. University and college teachers occupy the middle ranks in the economic field, whereas all other teachers, like most administrators, are in a weak position—reflecting the plight of all who have attained a certain level of education that nevertheless does not qualify them as active agents in the economic field. Most town-dwellers still do some gardening or outright agriculture to supplement their income.

60 The economic field In a relatively good position are entrepreneurs—even those with very small businesses—who have access to foreign capital, have studied or worked abroad or have attended a business college in Laos. All other businesspeople fare according to chance—or, more precisely, according to their clients’ means. Once again, the best clients are foreigners, so the most successful businesses are those that cater for their needs. Wealthy Lao are becoming potent clients as well. As most foreigners and well-off Lao dwell in the towns, most profitable businesses are concentrated there and along the major roads. The only exceptions are the major companies operating in Laos that mainly export their goods—the mining, electricity and logging industries (see Walker 1999a). As almost all Lao households engage in some form of trading, supply exceeds demand. The overwhelming majority of Lao businesses are small and medium enterprises. Their labourers are not employees in the legal sense but mostly family members, relatives or unpaid workers. Most of these domestic businesses are affected when one or more family members seek out paid work in order to meet increasing aspirations for goods and services. Due to the very small labour market and a low level of education, workers are in a poor position. A high percentage of workers are migrants; they account for most of the marginalized people as well as the unemployed, the elderly and those without family. They fall through the cracks in the traditional Lao social security system—the family. The only workers in a good position are those receiving training, a group which (once again) is mainly restricted to those working for foreigners or in close contact with foreigners. They are at least able to learn English and possibly some vocational skills. A rather complex picture of the Lao economic field has been presented here, a picture that is somewhat distorted unless some significant statistics are taken into account. More than 80 per cent of the active Lao population work in agriculture, possibly two-thirds being subsistence farmers with very few links to the economic field (National Statistical Centre 2003). They enter the field only as petty producers and traders. According to their resources, they can be divided into three groups: those with substantial holdings of good land; new cash-crop producers; and those with small areas of poorer land. The last group are mainly those with the poorest ethnic, educational, political, social and geographical resources as well. The bestpositioned farmers seem to be the cash-crop producers who also enjoy foreign aid. However, many of them still fail because they lack other important resources, especially geographical, political, social and cultural. The five cultures I have distinguished above overlap to some extent. All exist side by side in the economic field, which at its core has been constructed as a market economy. Those who strive for a dominant position in the field are likely to fare best by sticking to the rules of the market’s own ‘culture’. But most Lao interpret the rules at least in part according to their own cultures (described in the first section of this chapter). Among the rural population, subsistence ethics still is the prevalent culture, while patrimonialism still defines a large proportion of the bureaucracy and the elite. Those with access to foreign capital—such as civil servants and workers dealing directly with development aid money, people working in tourism and beggars—mostly have a taking culture. Occasionalism is

The economic field 61 Table 3.2 Groups in the economic field (percentages refer to 2002) Core

Semi-periphery

Periphery

Market culture

Successful entrepreneurs, old elite (returnees) 0.5% of active population

Employees with a business or vocational education under 30 years 3%

Labourers in big companies under 30 years 2%

Taking culture

Elites 0.5%

Employees of Beggars, labourers in foreign organizations; tourism people with access to 3% foreign money 3%

Patrimonialism

Leading administrators, entrepreneurs 3%

Small entrepreneurs 3%

Occasionalism Subsistence ethics

Informal employees 6%

Petty traders 4% Subsistence farmers 66%

the prevailing culture among petty traders and producers. At present, the market culture spreads only among those social groups who have had practical experience of it abroad or who have studied it in business schools. Following Bourdieu, I have distinguished the core of the economic field— the capitalist market economy—from the periphery. It might be useful further to distinguish at least one intermediate ‘region’, for which Wallerstein’s term ‘semi-periphery’ might serve. Resources and cultures can now be matched with one another to distinguish different social groups according to their utilization of various resources and cultural norms. These relationships give us an overview of the various sociocultures in the economic field, as presented in Table 3.2. The percentages given refer to the total active population and are based on my surveys in Vientiane, Ban Pha Khao and Phonkham in 2003, as well as on data provided by the National Statistical Centre (2003). They should not be regarded as precise, but as general indications of relative weightings.

Conclusion After the political integration of Laos, which accelerated after 1975, economic integration followed from 1986. Although the political field is still dominant in Laos, the economic field is on the rise. Conflict is sure to follow once economically successful individuals discover that they do not have access to the political elite.

62 The economic field While nationalism has become the most important instrument of the political elite (see Chapter 5), liberalism will evolve as the main instrument of the economic elite. Other areas of conflict can be detected as well, which cannot simply be reduced to a Marxist ‘bourgeois revolution’; these are the conflicts between different economic cultures, between groups in the economic field itself and various factors such as geographical, ethnic and gender differences. An important factor in determining economic advancement is access to foreign capital, which usually includes cultural aspects as well. Bourdieu’s concept of field is a useful way of analysing these differences—if it is interpreted sufficiently broadly as the relationship between social structure and culture.

4

Economic habitus

In this chapter, I investigate the ways in which Lao have reacted to the recent changes in their economy. After ten years of socialist rule and subsistence economy (see Evans 1990), the Lao leadership began to ‘implement’ a market economy with assistance from international organizations. Almost everything regarded as necessary for a functioning market economy was constructed from scratch according to contemporary textbooks and practices, from the Lao constitution to marketable cash crops. In the first section, I ask how people are coping with the present changes and which social groups are best able to adapt to them. I show that this is possible only for a tiny minority. Most other Lao are not equipped to deal with current conditions —their habitus (to use one of Bourdieu’s key terms) is ‘ill-fitting’ (in the sense of untimely or outdated). Lao react differently to this situation according to their social position.1 The main consequences of this ill-fitting habitus—the loss of the (embodied) social order to which people had adapted over millennia—are dealt with in the second section. In the last section, I explore if and how Lao may develop a spirit of capitalism (Weber). All these questions are dealt with on the basis of fieldwork carried out in 2003 in the three settings described in the Introduction: Phonkham near the Vietnamese border, Ban Pha Khao on the outskirts of Vientiane and the city centre of Vientiane itself.2 These three settings represent the three dominant socio-economic environments of Laos, although they are not entirely equivalent to the three sociocultural settings described at the end of Chapter 3. At the time my research was conducted, the village of Phonkham relied almost exclusively on subsistence farming. In the last few years, the village of Pha Khao has been transformed from a farming village into a suburb of Vientiane. It hosts the whole range of occupations, from a couple of subsistence farmers to factory owners and university teachers. Finally, the population inhabiting the city centre of Vientiane has now become fully urbanized.

An ill-fitting habitus Most Lao formed their habitus under conditions that are very different from today’s. I use the term ‘habitus’ in the sense popularized by Pierre Bourdieu, who first applied it to the process of modernization in Algeria during the late 1950s. He

64 Economic habitus remarked that ‘traditional’ modes of economic action persisted, even though Algeria’s colonial economy had been reorganized as a market economy by that time (Bourdieu 1977). He referred to this phenomenon as an ‘untimely habitus’. A habitus, according to Bourdieu, is a system of habits or dispositions developed through training under certain conditions of existence—a sort of psychosomatic social memory (Bourdieu 1980: 88). These dispositions comply with the social setting in which they were formed and thus tend to support and replicate these conditions (ibid.: 90). If conditions change, people cannot adapt instantly as the only modes of action at their disposal are those developed under former conditions. This is what happened in Algeria fifty years ago and what is happening in Laos at present. In this section, I explore what this entails for the various groups involved. The Lao government, along with international organizations and financial institutions, is undertaking a more or less coordinated effort to install an integrated Lao market following the Western neoliberal model. This effort includes measures such as institutional reforms, development projects, fiscal and financial reforms, propaganda campaigns, educational, agricultural and demographic measures, and the integration of Laos into the world economy (see, e.g., the contributions in Than/ Tan 1997). Most of these measures are designed to encourage the Lao population to enter the market. But the market has already expanded in such a way that people are under increasing pressure to pay for things that in the past were offered free of charge, did not exist or were accessible through exchange—such as education, medical services, forest products, food, building materials and land. This combination of encouragement and pressure has had two major effects—it has prompted the younger rural population (aged between twenty and forty) to migrate into the towns or abroad, and the urban population to look for employment and participation in the cash economy. On the surface, it appears that most of these people have adapted to the market economy fairly quickly and easily. But the ‘embodied past’ cannot be taken off like a coat. Most Lao grew up in conditions similar to those still enjoyed by the people of Phonkham today. The latter do not have to work excessively to make a living, they have enough land, the surrounding forest contains plenty of food plants and game, there is no economic competition, and the inhabitants are all relatives (with the exception of one Khmu family that recently moved to the village). They are socialists from a long tradition and Buddhists from an even longer tradition. In their thinking and practice, capitalism is very remote and makes very little sense to them. One might argue with Max Weber (1978, vol. II) that profit would be desirable for Buddhists, as for people in general, as it can be used to gain merit and status. However, in a village like Phonkham, status is determined mainly through age and sex (see Chapter 2). While villagers use their occasional profits for donations to the local monastery, given the circumstances of their lives working for profit is hardly possible. Even if the inhabitants of Phonkham were interested in profit, they would not see it in capitalist terms. In 2003, all adult villagers understood that profit (kamlei) derives from the use of capital (theun). When asked to define capital, 75 per cent answered ‘money earned through work’, or similar phrasing. Thus, they regarded

Economic habitus 65 capital as a result, not a cause (something to invest). Their definition of profit is an entirely abstract one; it has no meaning in their lives, as they have very little to do with money. The villagers perceive the relationship between the use of labour and production very clearly. They do not define this relationship according to the market (where the goal is accumulation and profit), however, but according to ‘subsistence ethics’ (Scott 1976)—they know precisely how much rice (and other products) they need, and that is the goal to be achieved with as little labour as possible. When asked about the possible consequences of labour-saving methods of production, the overwhelming majority responded that this would give them ‘more time for partying’ (bun), ‘more time to be together’ and ‘more time to relax’ —i.e., for forms of work that are not labour. Most of the abstract definitions relating to the market economy are filtered down to the people of Phonkham through the socialist party structures. The village head travels to the district capital of Laksao at least once a month to report and to receive instructions. On his return, he informs the villagers about the latest developments. There are two television sets in the village (the electricity is produced by a tiny, home-made generator powered by the creek), but only a few elders watch regularly. Thus, the village population is still very much influenced by party propaganda, the main topic of which has recently been the ‘eradication of poverty by 2020’. After 1975, the peasant was the hero of the revolution, but has now become the symbol of underdevelopment and poverty. The villagers of Phonkham understand very well that this propaganda refers to them; all considered themselves poor and expressed a fear of poverty, despite the fact that they continue to live just as their ancestors did.3 When questioned, 87 per cent were afraid of being unemployed and 75 per cent of being socially marginalized. When I asked how a subsistence farmer could become unemployed, they answered that this, of course, was impossible—but they did not know about the future and the fate of their children. This pressure was not just the result of official propaganda but was very immediate. In order to integrate the villagers into the market economy, the government is encouraging them to merge with a larger village which is very close to the district capital. The villagers were very unhappy about this because they regarded the new village’s soil as poor and suspected that they would lose their autonomy and the land of their ancestors. This kind of pressure had already resulted in the younger generation leaving the village and seeking jobs elsewhere. Three women had married into urban families, several young men had moved in with distant relatives in town to get an education, two young men had joined the military—and nothing was said about others who had left. There was hardly anyone between 25 and 40 left in the village. Most remote villages are in a similar situation—or in an even worse position than Phonkham because land is becoming scarce. Farmers’ fields are officially registered, swidden cultivation has been prohibited, and the rural population is growing due to improved medical care. Given these circumstances, many young Lao have moved to the towns or even abroad. A sizeable proportion end up in slave labour or prostitution. Those with relatives in town are in the best position—they often receive some training or

66 Economic habitus

Plate 4.1 Hmong selling herbs and roots in downtown Vientiane

education or find work in a family business. According to my surveys, almost all urban beggars are migrants without family connections—and most of the poorly paid, untrained factory labourers are recruited from this group as well. These migrants are ill-equipped for urban life and they have no chance of developing a habitus that will fit them for the market economy unless they have family connections in town, receive an education or find work in a business that gives them contact with foreigners. Young migrants working in restaurants, hotels and other service industries may have to work very long hours (up to 110 hours a week, as many live at their place of employment) and earn low wages, but they have frequent contact with foreigners, which gives them opportunities to learn English and gain better jobs. However, other migrants remain marginalized. In Ban Pha Khao, where there are many migrants working in local textile factories, they are not integrated into the village, live in miserable conditions and lack educational opportunities. In the case of petty traders and producers, however, one might expect that they would adapt readily to the new economic regime. Although most traders live in the towns, act as independent operators and deal with the market economy on a daily basis, very few of them behave like capitalists. Trade in Laos has mostly been conducted on an ad hoc basis, directed to obtaining what is necessary or desired at the moment and to ensuring that one’s competitors behave in the same way. A trader may sit in the market for hours trying to sell a couple of bananas worth a ten-minute wage because she needs the money to buy some aspirin for her father. Lao trade is almost entirely devoid of the ‘spirit of capitalism’ and ‘rational

Economic habitus 67 accounting’, something which also marks the internal structure of local businesses. Most Lao enterprises have very few ‘employees’, who are usually members of the owner’s family or regarded as such. As a result of this kind of structure, such businesses feel they need to make only enough surplus to pay for the needs of the household and the means of production. The amount of labour invested is not considered significant. This way of conducting business is closely related to the ‘subsistence ethics’ of the rural population and forms the basis of patrimonialism. By contrast with these groups, those whose habitus has adapted readily to the market economy have usually spent some time abroad, received generous funding from abroad, or worked in foreign companies. Furthermore, a generation of young businesspeople of the future is being formed in expensive private business colleges. What all these groups have in common is that they rely directly or indirectly on foreign capital. They have the necessary resources to enter the market economy as active players, including the cultural resources embodied in their habitus. They have learned how to play the game in an environment that has prepared them for the Lao future.4 Although one might suppose that exposure to foreign capital would encourage people to adapt to the market economy, and although on the surface profitorientation appears rampant in Laos, profit is very rarely considered as something to invest. Most Lao want foreign capital for consumption, but they do not want to earn it. Only the groups mentioned in the previous paragraph show a different attitude; all the others have developed what I call a taking culture (see Chapter 3). This became evident in the answers to my questions about investment. While almost all the respondents in my Vientiane sample were certain that all Lao would use money given to them for investment in a business, when asked what they themselves would do with the gift of a ton of rice, the majority answered they would consume it. All those who said they would either plant it or sell it and invest the return had three key attributes: a good education, a medium income and command of a foreign language.5 Thus, only a very small number of Lao have succeeded in adapting their habitus to the market economy, and most of these formed their habitus either outside Laos or in an environment dominated by foreign culture. While other Lao may appear to have adapted to some extent, this amounts to little more than a ‘makeover’ of older patterns of behaviour. And many cannot adapt at all, especially in the remote countryside. How do people respond to the realization that their habitus is illfitting?

Loss of order In the past, Lao economic and political cultures were characterized by clear-cut hierarchies, reciprocity and patrimonialism (see Boesch 1970; Jacobs 1971). The ideal of social interaction in Thailand has been characterized as ‘smooth’ (Mulder 1992: 47). This is probably true for Laos as well; individuals avoid overt conflict and seek friendly interaction where everyone can ‘save face’. Stratified social positions guarantee clear-cut roles in social interaction. Structures like the family

68 Economic habitus in the village, the quasi-feudal ranking of the sakdina order at the state level (see Terwiel 1983: 11, passim) and bureaucratic hierarchy have little tolerance for deviation from one’s allotted social position. If the possibility of conflict arises, the person of inferior status usually pulls back quite ‘naturally’ (Boesch 1970: 76, 94; Mulder 1992: 49). The clarity of this structure is reflected in modes of personal address (see Rehbein and Sayaseng 2004 and Chapter 6). In the Lao countryside, nouns denoting family relations—such as ‘uncle’ (lung) or ‘child’ (luuk)—are used in place of personal pronouns. When addressing people outside their own social group, rural Lao will first try to retrieve information relevant to the proper form of address—i.e., sex, age and position (the first of these usually being evident). They do not feel comfortable outside this framework. In town, however, social interaction has become much less formal, and anonymous personal pronouns—such as ‘I’ (khoi) and ‘you’ (chao)—are commonly used. For a Lao, such usage implies a lack of social ties.6 As summarized in Chapter 2, Embree’s argument that Thai society is loosely structured (Embree 1969) resulted in a lengthy academic debate. A certain tolerance and variation in individual behaviour in Thai—and Lao—society is evident to even casual observers. But the debate presented the possibility that this variation is due not to a loose social structure, but rather to its opposite. As long as the social order and participants’ ‘face’ remain intact, any behaviour is possible (Boesch 1970; for Laos, see Zago 1972: 13). In the late 1960s, social psychologist Ernst Boesch (1970) conducted an investigation into what he called the ‘social anxiety’ of Thais. He found that, in order to ensure that everyone could ‘save face’ and to maintain personal security, Thais supported a rigid social hierarchy. This situation seems true for Laos as well, despite thirty years of socialism and supposed social equality. However, the market economy has dissolved this clear-cut social order. In the anonymous interaction of the town and the short-lived interaction between buyer and seller—especially if one of them is a foreigner—there is no longer any clear hierarchy. The business transaction becomes more important than the social interaction involved. In some cases, it is a matter of survival. Along with a rigid social order, economic security vanishes. People no longer receive their share according to their position, and can no longer count on their relatives, who often have enough trouble providing for themselves. Apart from this, the economic basis of reciprocity has been undermined. In the village, a house is built for a villager by the whole village with materials taken from the forest; in the town, a house has to be paid for. Only rich relatives can help—and they often renege on their traditional responsibilities, especially if the relatives are too numerous or too demanding. Most Lao still cherish the values embodied in this (increasingly lost) social order. They condemn criminal and immoral actions, and uphold traditional values of respect and trust (napthue, piap, kiat, khaolop)—all of which are also important criteria for the evaluation of economic activity. While it is true that Lao are generally honest in their economic dealings, honesty is linked to the social sphere of reciprocity that does not necessarily extend to other ethnic groups, political

Economic habitus 69

Plate 4.2 A man stops his imaginary motorcycle in front of the newly installed traffic lights in Vientiane (1999)

bodies and anonymous individuals—their most prominent partners in the market economy. While Lao do not readily set aside honesty and trust in the economic field, they rather look for an environment in which they feel secure and ‘at home’. All my informants in Vientiane who were not living with their families expressed the wish to have family in Vientiane or to return to their families at home. Factory workers said they would rather work for less money in a (patrimonial) family business than for an anonymous company.7 Moral standards have also undergone change, but are not socially uniform. Almost all my respondents in Phonkham defined ‘moral activity’ in terms such as ‘diligence’ and ‘respect for others’, which occur in socialist propaganda. Poor urban-dwellers most often mentioned ‘respect for the law’, while the wealthy and well educated responded with virtues such as ‘honesty’ and ‘a clear conscience’. The differences might indicate that, in the economic field, the lower social strata look to the party to reinstate social equality and order, whereas the higher strata prefer a liberal and individualistic moral code. Something very similar can be observed with regard to manners. In central Thailand, Lao (i.e., people from Laos and the Isan, northeastern Thailand) are regarded as country folk—what they in fact are, since they are brought up as peasants and behave like peasants. Not only are rural Lao generally honest, but they are usually straightforward and not very sophisticated—in attributes ranging from eating habits to body posture and maybe even physiognomy. Only those who have received an education abroad or belong to one of the elite families have

70 Economic habitus experienced an upbringing that differs substantially from this pattern. Until 1975, these were a species apart socially. Now, they are beginning to appear in the public sphere as examples to follow, along with Thai media and businesspeople. As a result, the manners of ordinary Lao look ‘outdated’ or ‘rustic’—but there are no obvious alternatives to emulate. Along with manners and moral standards, the Lao attitude towards time is also changing. Lao usually have plenty of time to spare (which is often a problem for foreigners). As with profit, they do not regard time as an economic commodity. In Phonkham, everything has its time, and time devoted to labour—which is often unpleasant—is reduced in favour of time set aside for socializing and relaxing; 86 per cent of the population stated they would rather party than labour at any time. (The dissenters were the village ‘elite’.) In Vientiane, only 30 per cent expressed this opinion. While urban-dwellers know that partying means a waste of time and money, they do not know what else to do with their time. Free time in the village means a good time, while free time in Vientiane is empty time; it means waiting —for work, for a customer, for the end of free time. Although Sunday for most townspeople is a day off labour, it lacks social meaning; it is not seen as the time that follows the accomplishment of necessary tasks, but a time ‘in between’. Lao do not yet ‘live for the weekend’, because a ‘good time’ is time spent together. Townspeople do not live in the tight social community of the village—and even if they are surrounded by friends and family, they do not necessarily have the means to pay for socializing. As a result, many urbanites sleep or watch television on Sundays—the opposite of time together. Only the wealthy can afford to fill their spare time with social occasions.8 The loss of a traditional social order has led to insecurity (Tanabe and Keyes 2002: 1, 9). All my respondents expressed fears—of unemployment, poverty and marginalization—and all felt sceptical and insecure about the future. Only the very old and the very young did not share this feeling. On the other hand, young people lack social and political orientation. They know that—for the first time in Lao history—their parents cannot fully prepare them for their economic futures; they are caught between promises and pressures, hope and despair, future and past. They are especially confused over questions of lifestyle and occupation. While the foreign media praise a life given over to affluence, hedonism and modernity, real conditions in Laos offer little to make these dreams come true. Drug-taking and deviant behaviour have become significant problems during the past ten years among Lao adolescents. At the same time, this group has little involvement in political and trade union issues. Political discontent and calls for change are limited to the new middle classes—once again those with access to foreign capital and a market-proof habitus.

The spirit of capitalism Most Lao are not equipped for the market economy. As we have seen, their habitus is ill-fitting and they have lost their traditional social order. While rural Lao conceptions of the natural world, labour and the good life may seem very modern

Economic habitus 71 to Western eyes, they have been formulated not as reactions to the market economy but in a distinctly pre-modern setting. For this reason, their beliefs and way of life contrast sharply with the ‘spirit of capitalism’. For most Lao, nature is an immediate presence. The rural population lives with the seasons, knows the forest plants and their uses and is aware of the fragile coexistence of humankind and the natural world. While the people of Phonkham praised the beauty of nature in an almost romantic fashion in response to my questions, this was more a way of speaking than an expression of their everyday reality. Their habitual relationship with nature was a practical one, as was evident in their choice of terms to express it. In everyday language, they did not speak of an idealised or ‘literary’ nature (thammasaat) but of a practical one (paa mei)—a realm that is not entirely benign but is also the sphere of wild animals, mosquitoes and threatening spirits. Despite this, the town-dwellers I interviewed claimed to miss contact with nature—unless they owned a vegetable garden. If they had been brought up to work among ‘nature’, they seemed to lack something tangible. Every respondent in Vientiane who had been raised in a rural setting claimed to miss the wilderness and despise the city—with its cars, tarmac and concrete buildings. This squares with my finding that only 19 per cent of respondents in Phonkham believed that life in the past was happier than today, compared with 65 per cent in Vientiane. In official propaganda, this longing for an idealized nature is linked to the image of a great Lao past (see Evans 1998c). Whereas the less desirable aspects of modernity originate from abroad, everything good in Laos is authentically Lao in a nationalist sense. One propaganda slogan, which most inhabitants of Phonkham reeled off when asked for sayings related to the economy, reads: ‘Labour, cleanliness, patriotism, respect for state property and love for nature [thammasaat]’ (see Chapter 5). It is interesting that people in Phonkham and Pha Khao chose this slogan in place of the well-known traditional Tai proverb, ‘In the water are fish, in the field rice.’ This would have exposed them as lazy. In Vientiane, the propaganda slogan was rarely mentioned, but the proverb was cited frequently and with an element of cultural consciousness. Separation from the natural world seems to have a similar effect to separation from the village and the family: it causes a certain existential emptiness and nostalgia for a lost traditional order, but it makes a market-proof habitus possible. This is also evident in the conception of labour. As indicated above, for the villagers of Phonkham, labour is something to be done with as little effort as possible. But the definition of labour was a matter of intense debate. Some held that collective labour accompanied by singing and drinking was not really labour, while others declared that the preparation of non-essential items (e.g., alcohol and tobacco) did not amount to labour either. Not only the definitions but the practices involved in labour were unclear. Apart from a few collective tasks, no activity has set times and hours.9 And very few tasks are strictly defined by social position. This means that village social structure and division of labour retain a certain independence; or rather, the relationship is flexible according to need. For example, a single man might do women’s work, two single women do men’s work, and,

72 Economic habitus although the village might have a specialist brewer, others will brew as well. In a market economy, each labourer has only one (paid) job, which is his or her occupation. This is felt as a loss by urbanites, who no longer practise agriculture and have no vegetable garden. They feel diminished and uprooted, and it is they who express the strongest admiration for ‘nature’. This is particularly true of migrants. That does not necessarily mean that town-dwellers automatically develop a ‘spirit of capitalism’, as most of them do not equate their occupation with their purpose in life. On the contrary, most migrants do not feel an inner attachment to their labour, something reflected in frequent changes of employment among this group. This is not the case for the ‘market-proof’ groups discussed above, nor for entrepreneurs, who feel a certain attachment to their occupation, which is regarded as a way of life. Nevertheless, only a small minority regard it in a capitalist fashion. Another element running counter to the ‘spirit of capitalism’ is the Lao conception of the good life. Children grow up to identify the ‘good’ with the ‘pleasant’ (muan or sabai). Life is good when one feels comfortable, something that is usually experienced in a group setting. Children in rural Laos grow up in peer groups supported by the entire village; they enjoy a relaxed environment, relative freedom, a lot of body contact, very little punishment and few constraints (for Thailand, see deYoung 1958: 52, passim; Terwiel 1975: 54). Rural adults cherish these values as well: ‘Cheerfulness, easy conviviality, nonviolence, and self-reliance characterize the behavior of the peasant’ (deYoung 1958: 174). One might think that consumerism would come easily to Lao and, to a degree, this is the case. But one must not forget that the good life can hardly be imagined outside the group. For a Lao, to be alone or lonely is almost the definition of unhappiness—whereas capitalism and consumerism embody competition and individualism. It is likely that the younger generations of Lao will develop the ‘spirit of capitalism’ in some form. As indigenous concepts of labourers, nature and the good life are deeply rooted in Lao culture and embodied in most habitus, this spirit will not be identical with Weber’s ‘Protestant ethics’. Most Lao children today still grow up in a group setting, enjoying close contact with the natural world, a relaxed lifestyle and with a high value placed on the concepts of muan and sabai. This does not mean that they are better or worse capitalists (or labourers) than Westerners, but they will certainly retain their unique cultural identity for the foreseeable future.

Conclusion While the habitus of most Lao is still firmly rooted in the rural past, it is now being exposed to radical changes and is under pressure to adapt to the market economy. This pressure is not the same for all social groups and environments, but is strongest for migrants and people with access to foreign capital. Whereas the latter are mostly well equipped to adapt to the ‘spirit of capitalism’, migrants—like all other social groups in Laos—are not. For the individual, the loss of the traditional social order has brought insecurity, fear and the undermining of their social and political orientation and moral standards. Many Lao have reacted to this situation

Economic habitus 73 in a conservative or even nostalgic way that is reinforced by official propaganda— the subject of the following chapter. And even if they succeed in adapting to the market economy, Lao often still adhere to traditional conceptions of time, work, happiness and behaviour that are hardly compatible with the ‘spirit of capitalism’.

5

Identity politics

While it is often asserted that globalization works to dissolve the nation state, in Laos the nation state has been strengthened by the trends associated with contemporary globalization.1 In part, this is the result of the general conditions of post-colonialism but, more importantly, the workings of globalization comprise many layers and cannot be reduced to one simple nexus of cause and effect. In some respects, the nation state is diluted by globalization, while in others it is strengthened. Thus, we need to ask how the nation state is being transformed by globalization, rather than weakened. While critics tend to answer such questions in the abstract, with appeals to universal claims of truth, this chapter offers a more modest contribution to the debate by describing some of the political and socioeconomic forces influencing the Lao nation state. These forces interact on many levels, contradicting one another at one level while forming an alliance at another; and they interact with various cultures, structures and groups within the country. The configuration of these forces, groups, structures and cultures is not homologous at any level (pace Bourdieu), but rather enormously complex. In this chapter, I do not attempt to give a comprehensive picture of this complex configuration. Rather, I examine the relationship of nation state, identity politics and nationalism in Laos with regard to the current trends of globalization. I argue that identity politics is the most important strategy used by the Lao leadership to consolidate and reinforce the Lao nation state. Identity politics also dominates much of the political field and especially the symbolic universe of Laos. The leadership seeks to counter the influence of ‘globalization’ by proclaiming and supporting nationalism. While this was a very useful strategy under the conditions of post-colonialism, it has produced unexpected results in the era of globalization. The first section summarizes several influential perspectives on the relationship between globalization and the nation state, while the second gives an overview of the history of the Lao nation state. The third section examines the nation state and identity politics after 1975, while the fourth deals more specifically with national symbols. In the final section, nationalism is linked to Lao social structure and the effects of economic globalization.

Identity politics 75

Globalization and the nation state Ulrich Beck is among those who assert that globalization threatens and will eventually dissolve the nation state (Beck 1997: 13, passim). In his most recent works, he supports this claim with arguments drawn from his book Risk Society (1986) by arguing that the state and its organs cannot cope with the global risks which are characteristic of our time. He then points to deficiencies in the contemporary world economy and communication flows. These arguments are certainly valid and important, and one cannot doubt that the modern nation state is incapable of solving many contemporary problems (see Bourdieu 2001). However, it is doubtful if this incapacity is equivalent to dissolution. Before Beck, Niklas Luhmann (1971) had already claimed that the nation state is not compatible with functional differentiation and will eventually be replaced by a ‘world society’. His student Rudolf Stichweh agrees with him and Beck that a world society should replace the nation state as the primary unit of sociological analysis. A world society would not necessarily be organized into nation states as many agents, such as ethnic groups, operate across national borders (Stichweh 2000: 13). On the other hand, globalization has not yet done away with the nation state, but rather standardizes it (ibid.: 24). ‘Each individual nation state is under structural pressure at the level of world politics to create an institutional pattern that is similar to that of other states’ (ibid.: 26; my translation). Thus, according to Stichweh, in some respects globalization works to strengthen and even create the organs of the nation state. Despite beginning from an almost identical theoretical framework, Stichweh has arrived at a diagnosis which is contrary to Beck’s. Michael Mann has proposed a more complex approach to the problem which may be able to accommodate both diagnoses. He argues that four major threats to the nation state—global capitalism, environmental hazards, identity politics and postmilitarism—have fewer univocal effects than are commonly supposed. According to Mann, nation states retain important powers. Furthermore, the relationship between nation state and threat differs in every case. Mann distinguishes five levels of social interaction: local, national, international, global and transnational (Mann 1997: 116). (By ‘transnational’ he means the crossing of borders, mainly by nonstate actors.) He argues that historical processes have strengthened every level except the local, while the global level remains comparatively undeveloped. Capitalism is largely confined to a symbiosis of the national and transnational levels (ibid.: 122), whereas environmental hazards are the domain of international organizations and organs (ibid.: 134). While identity politics may pose a threat to many nation states, it does not necessarily lead to the dissolution of the nation state as such but to the creation of new, usually smaller, nation states (ibid.: 135). Finally, the end of the Cold War has not brought about the end of militarism and war but has led to new forms of collective violence (ibid.: 138). Mann’s argument illustrates the complexity of the relationship between globalization and the nation state. Like Beck and Stichweh, however, he fails to refer to any empirical evidence—let alone original empirical research. Nonetheless, the

76 Identity politics work of these commentators provides useful hypotheses for further empirical studies. Victor Lieberman (2003) has recently published a masterly study of the history of the Southeast Asian nation state, which provides a valuable framework for further analysis. He argues that the Southeast Asian region has been increasingly organized into nation states, while the number of competing states has decreased over time. The threats to the nation state identified by Mann are relevant here. It would be interesting to know how and on what levels capitalism, environmental hazards, identity politics and post-militarism have affected the young Southeast Asian nation states. In this chapter, I focus exclusively on identity politics in Laos. I argue that, under current conditions, identity politics is a successful strategy for the young nation state of Laos, while globalization continues to produce varying reactions to identity politics among different social groups.

Multiculturalism and multiethnicity The population of Laos is highly heterogeneous. It consists of between 50 and 150 groups that experts presently subsume under five ethnolinguistic families: Tai-Kadai, Mon-Khmer, Miao-Yao, Tibeto-Burman and Viet-Muong. 2 Around half of the population is classified as Lao, who belong to the ethnolinguistic family of the Tai-Kadai (see Edmondson 1988). None of these families is restricted to Laos—there are up to six times as many Lao in Thailand as in Laos. The Lao live mainly in villages and towns along rivers and are virtually absent from the more mountainous parts of the country. Other Tai groups, who comprise around 10 per cent of the population, do live in mountainous areas, especially along the northern Vietnamese border. There are around one million Mon-Khmer in Laos who have settled on the mountain slopes but live in the valleys as well. Miao-Yao and Tibeto-Burmans, comprising approximately 10 per cent of the population, prefer the cooler climate of the mountaintops. All these ethnolinguistic families are considered indigenous to Laos, despite the fact that all were originally migrants. Other migrants, arriving during and after the colonial period, are often considered foreigners and include Indians, Chinese, Vietnamese and others, who mainly dwell in the towns. For non-Tai, Lao is a foreign language and many citizens of Laos do not speak it. Before the arrival of the French, Laos did not exist. The region consisted of numerous small principalities which enjoyed varying relationships of dependence and loyalty. This structure has been described by the composite term baan–muang (see Chapter 2). Large areas as well as some small pockets of the region lay outside the reach of the muang and were settled by non-Tai groups, both sedentary and nomadic (Tooker 1996: 329). The muang themselves were probably always multiethnic and multicultural (Keyes 1995: 139). Between 1353 and 1707, a state covered most of the territory of contemporary Laos, followed by several principalities that were divided between Siam and Vietnam after 1828. When the French occupied most of the region in 1893, they felt obliged to legitimize their occupation of what was officially Siamese territory both politically and legally (see Gay 1995). This was not necessary in the case

Identity politics 77 of Vietnam, as it was already under French rule. Part of the legitimation sought by the French comprised ‘proof’ that Laos had existed historically. The French tried to push the borders of ‘Laos’ as far west as possible. One of the bases of their territorial claims was the unity of the Lao people who inhabited part of Laos and northern Thailand as well as most of northeastern Thailand (Isan). France’s westward movement was halted as the British pushed east from Burma, but animosity between France and Britain was transformed into cooperation in 1904, when these European nation states and colonial powers concluded their Entente Cordiale. After this time, national borders in Indochina were basically fixed in their present forms.3 Under colonial rule, the territory called Laos by the French was part of the French ‘Indochinese Union’. Within this framework it became the nation state of Laos. The French had begun to construct a history of Laos and a Lao identity. Members of the Lao elites left to study in French educational institutions, where they came into contact with theories of nationalism and national liberation (see Schneider 2000). The French were not very interested in Laos, as it had no economic significance and had lost its strategic relevance with the signing of the Entente Cordiale; Geoffrey Gunn (1990) aptly called it a ‘colonial backwater’. The Japanese occupation of Indochina towards the end of the Second World War proved the vulnerability of the European colonial powers. After 1945, two wars of national liberation were fought, both of which ended in defeat for the Western powers. The Americans invested more than their predecessors in the country, but their focus lay on the urban elites and military infrastructure. Neither France nor the US had been interested in creating a modern nation state with standardized organs.

Socialism, capitalism and the nation state On four occasions in less than a century—in 1893, 1945, 1954 and 1975—a (new) nation state was created in Laos. Only in 1945 was its formation not dependent on foreign powers—and it lasted merely half a year. When the communist movement took power in December 1975, Laos was utterly devastated and fragmented. The Communist Bloc offered a favourable framework in which to create a modern nation state. Lenin had redirected the ideology of a communist world revolution to the self-determination of peoples, which referred specifically to the global periphery. At the same time, the small and vulnerable state of Laos received military protection, financial aid and technical assistance from socialist brother nations. However, in 1986, Gorbachev was forced to discontinue assistance as the Soviet Union was on the brink of bankruptcy (Buszynski 1992). This decision forced Laos to seek assistance from the international community, obliging the country to fulfil economic criteria determined by international institutions, especially the Asian Development Bank and the International Monetary Fund. Initially, the Soviet Union assisted Laos in the process of its integration into the international community, a role in which it was increasingly replaced by China. Vietnam has acted as a ‘big brother’ all along.

78 Identity politics How was socialist Laos to construct a national identity? The symbols of colonial rule and royalty were out of the question. Before French intervention there had not been any necessity to construct a national identity. Until 1893, the muang had provided a loose multicultural cohesion, while after that date cohesion was imposed by external powers, at times by force (Gunn 1990). After 1975, the new national government followed socialist ideology by glorifying the revolution—its heroes were the people, workers (or rather labourers), peasants and the party, who were all praised in fulsome socialist rhetoric.4 Immediately after the revolution, royalist and feudalist elements were removed from the Lao language. The language reforms also pursued the goals of alphabetization and a clear distinction from Thai (Rehbein and Sayaseng 2004: 15, passim). Reformed Lao became the country’s official as well as its public language, even though it was a foreign tongue for half the population as well as for many active revolutionaries. As in other socialist countries, the leader of the revolution was intended to serve as a mythical force for national integration. Prime Minister Kaysone Phomvihane wrote treatises that were collected into beautiful hardcover volumes introduced by his portrait—a format very similar to the works of Lenin, Stalin and Mao (Phomvihane 1985). Busts and pictures of the great leader were on display in every corner of the public domain (Evans 1998c: 34, passim). However, this strategy was not nearly as successful as it had been in other socialist states. First, books and reading do not play a significant role in Lao culture (see Vientiane Social Survey 1998). Second, being a communist and half Vietnamese, Kaysone lacked the mythical associations of a holy Buddhist ruler (Evans 1998c). Third, Buddhism is less susceptible to the glorification of worldly rulers than many other religions (ibid.). While there may be more reasons for the socialist state’s failure to convert Kaysone into an icon, that failure is still evident in his grand mausoleum in Vientiane that only tourists seem to visit. Despite these shortcomings, the socialist party was able to integrate most social strata and ethnic groups into the young nation state—but not without conflict and dislocation. Perhaps 30,000 people were sent to education camps (for a personal report, see Bouphanouvong 2003; see Kremmer 1997), and around 300,000 left the country, including the educated middle classes (Stuart-Fox 1997: 162–8). In addition, several groups that had sided with the Americans in the Second Indochinese War continued to fight against the government. While most visitors to Laos are not very impressed by the state and its institutions, if one considers the conditions under which it was created (by uneducated peasants and a tiny educated elite, although with considerable Soviet assistance), it is an outstanding achievement. Socialist rule succeeded in extending the institutions of the modern nation state into every corner of the country. It abolished royalty and the nobility, made considerable progress in alphabetization of the population, created an administrative structure, radically reduced social inequality and created a nation state dominated by Lao culture and cultural symbols. The national integration of the region, as described by Stichweh and Lieberman, was accomplished. However, the socialists’ attempts to construct national symbols were not very successful. This was not problematic as long as Laos was part of the Eastern Bloc,

Identity politics 79 but it became a serious issue after 1986 when Laos began experiencing the effects of economic and cultural globalization. The four threats to the nation state identified by Mann have come to Laos: global capitalism, environmental hazards, identity politics and the aftermath of the Cold War. The young nation state is under pressure. International and regional cooperation are demanding reforms, ethnic groups are developing distinctive identities, the new middle classes are calling for greater freedom, and the market economy is raising people’s material expectations. One might suppose that Laos is entirely at the mercy of global capitalism and international politics. The twin brothers of economics and politics, introduced to the Third World under the slogan of ‘capitalism and democracy’, come as a package in development aid as well. However, the situation is more favourable to the Lao leadership than it seems. In granting development aid, the German government has signalled the advance of the market economy and poverty reduction as its primary goals; democracy is not an explicit aim, although it is mentioned in various working papers and publications. Poverty reduction and marketization are certainly goals that the Lao leadership supports. Lao leaders know perfectly well that a continuous rise in the standard of living is a necessary condition for the maintenance of their own power. These socio-economic aims are also supported by the ASEAN, which is committed to stability and national integration as well as the development of the market economy (see Rüland 2006). Laos has probably never enjoyed such a favourable regional position as it does today. Threats have been replaced by international cooperation which supports the leadership’s own goals: national integration in economics and politics as well as economic growth. The French, Americans and Russians have all assisted the Lao elites in creating an integrated nation state. At present, the international community is assisting Laos with the standardization of the state—the legal, financial, fiscal, health and administrative systems, as well as educational, infrastructural, production and marketing ventures, are all being created with the support of foreign ‘experts’. However, this attempt at standardization has failed to touch the political system, which includes the party’s control over the public sphere and the symbolic universe—the most important fields for the creation of national symbols.

National symbols Lao identity politics is a problematic and contradictory arena. It is not as easy today to construct politically correct national symbols as it was under the conditions of socialist internationalism. The task of identity politics is to create a national identity that is distinct from those of neighbouring states and that includes all ethnic groups. The saying goes that a Lao lives in a house built on stilts, eats sticky rice and plays the khaen. But Khmer and Thai mostly live in stilt houses as well, while Lao in northeastern Thailand also play the khaen. If one turns to the symbols of the muang and of foreign occupation, it is equally difficult to find appropriate material.

80 Identity politics The capital, Vientiane, contains two symbolic buildings that have been ‘rediscovered’ for identity purposes. The first is the That Luang, which has become a major Lao landmark and national emblem (see Plate 5.1). It is a problematic symbol, however. First, it is a Buddhist object and thus incapable of symbolically including the whole population. Second, it was rebuilt by the French—incorrectly, according to Lao. The French also constructed the other symbolic building in Vientiane, the patusei, built in the 1950s as a war memorial. Of course, from the Lao leadership’s perspective, these soldiers died for the wrong cause. The problem is only partly solved by the building’s new dedication to ‘the unknown soldier’. Beyond Vientiane, there are two suitable national symbols which have both been classified as world heritage sites. Vat Phu is an ancient temple in southern Laos— however, it dates from the fifth century AD, which means that it was not built by Lao and never belonged to a Lao state. The other site is the great city of Luang Phrabang, which has the disadvantage of having been the seat of Lao royalty— equated since the revolution with oppression and exploitation. Even if one embraces all of these symbols, which the tourist industry has been doing all along, they are not very impressive. They fill no more than a tiny corner in a hotel lobby (see Plate 5.2). It seems that the Lao leadership was left with only

Plate 5.1 The That Luang and King Setthathirat portrayed in a temple

Identity politics 81

Plate 5.2 The symbols of Laos portrayed in a hotel lobby

one option in its search for national symbols: it rehabilitated royalty—at least those almost mythical kings who ruled so many centuries ago that their memories could readily be detached from the history of the twentieth century (Stuart-Fox 2002: 152). The statue in front of the That Luang depicts King Setthathirat, who ruled in the sixteenth century (see Plate 5.1). A few years ago a statue of the first Lao king, Fa Ngum (fourteenth century), was erected in the centre of Vientiane (Plate 5.3) to form a symmetrical structure with the great city pillar, lak muang. The Prime Minister unveiled the statue with tears in his eyes. The Lao leadership has grasped the important lesson that the past can be neutralized by turning it into a museum. Despite these efforts, this particular strategy of cementing a Lao identity has been largely lost on the general population. Lao failed to read Kaysone’s writings in the past, and they do not visit museums today. These become attractive only when there is a party or festival attached to them. The leadership has made an effort to instrumentalize festivals, but their ideological impact remains to be demonstrated. In the popular mind, nationalist policies and ideology have become increasingly related to globalization. Even if national symbols gain their intended ideological currency, Coca-Cola and Britney Spears are certainly more attractive. The unsophisticated Lao symbolism can hardly compete with professionally marketed global symbols. Furthermore, for every Lao national symbol ten more attractive symbols can be found in neighbouring countries, especially Thailand. The most important of these is the Thai royal house. What value does the statue of a barefoot king have compared with a living monarch who embodies power, wisdom, wealth and

82 Identity politics

Plate 5.3 The newly erected statue of King Fa Ngum

Identity politics 83 modernity (Evans 2002: 228)? He is all the more attractive as he speaks a language that all Lao understand. One might suppose that the three million Lao living in Laos would naturally gravitate towards their wealthy neighbour, especially since that neighbour’s name was changed from Siam to Thailand in 1932 with the explicit purpose of attracting all Tai peoples into one nation, and given that the Lao market and the Lao symbolic sphere are mere annexes to those of Thailand. However, this is not the Lao perspective. This becomes evident when we take a closer look, first at a concrete example and then, in the following section, at the process of social differentiation. Lao proverbs serve as an example of social differentiation. We might well suppose that traditional proverbs are now restricted to a rural setting and that urbanites would prefer globalized catchphrases. However, the opposite is the case. All the respondents I interviewed in Vientiane were able to name several traditional Lao proverbs. This phenomenon reflects the party’s strategic shift from socialism to identity politics; respect for state property has become less important than the properties of the Lao state (see Evans 1998c: 131–3). Lao citizens are constantly informed and educated by the media as to the content of their (Lao) culture. Lao television plays several programmes a day on Lao culture, including a short feature at prime time. Indeed, a classical Tai proverb now functions as a motto for Lao national television: ‘There is fish in the water and rice in the fields.’ The urban middle classes include a high proportion of television viewers and they are familiar with this reconstructed Lao tradition. It is no wonder that almost all of my informants in Vientiane recited this classical Tai proverb when asked for any proverb they knew. Most of the proverbs known in Vientiane characterize Lao village life before socialism, a way of life marked by reciprocity, occasionalism, emphasis on the nuclear family and the cyclic organization of time. These elements are characteristic neither of socialism (except for reciprocity) nor of present-day urban capitalism (except for the stress on the nuclear family). By contrast, when confronted with a number of traditional proverbs, the elders of the remote village of Phonkham (see Introduction) acknowledged knowing them, but regarded them as outdated and misleading. For them, such sayings belonged to a bygone age of oppression and laziness—whereas they themselves were hardworking peasants striving for solidarity. According to the socialist interpretation, a peasant is a hero of collective work; while according to the ‘traditional’ view, he (or she) is a pragmatic subsistence farmer. I was deeply disappointed that the whole village could produce only eight proverbs. But on closer examination, this made sense. The older villagers had grown up in the ‘liberated zone’ during the Civil War, whereas most of the younger people in the village were educated to be good socialists (see Doré 1980: 32). The village elite was composed of party members who presented me with what they believed to be good socialist ideology. The proverbs they came up with had their roots in the collective period when peasants had to adjust to the regulation of their everyday lives by the party (Evans 1990). Today, the peasant belongs to the ‘rural poor’; he or she is no longer a hero or a subsistence artisan, but a ‘backward’ person. The peasant depicted in the Lao media is not the genuine peasant, but the embodiment of an imagined past. A real

84 Identity politics peasant has no wisdom to offer the present—unlike the imaginary peasant of the past. The villagers of Phonkham were aware of this. They did not want to present themselves as backward, but rather as ‘rural poor’ who understood and accepted the party line of transforming peasants into modern market producers.

Nationalism, globalization and social structure Reactions and attitudes towards national identity politics vary substantially because different social groups pursue differing goals—which differ further depending on setting and level. Thus, the threats to the nation state identified by Mann do not have uniform effects within a given nation, and Mann’s five levels have to be differentiated sociologically because they presuppose the nation state as a unity. Furthermore, they belong to two systems of categories. On two of these levels the nation state is the sole agent, while the local and the transnational levels are characterized by the fact that the nation state is not the main agent, and the global level remains largely undefined. If we replace these levels by fields, more complexity and flexibility are possible as fields can be situated on countless levels, intermingle in various ways and include all kinds of agents. They are not defined spatially or politically, but by their rules and goals (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992: 107). Groups are constituted in relation to a given field on the basis of their habitus and capital. In Laos, geography, ethnicity, occupation, sex, education, social ties and rank within the party are important dimensions of capital. In addition, economic capital and ‘foreign relations’ play roles. None of these categories can be reduced to any other, even though there are homologies that allow a general and tentative construction of social groups (see Table 3.2, above). For example, ethnic minorities tend to live on the periphery (far from national infrastructure), have a low level of education (as measured by academic achievement) and are overwhelmingly peasants. The dimensions of capital are complicated by the life cycle: while the older generation is retired, the younger generation has not yet entered the sphere of labour. Even children are already differentiated according to ethnicity, sex and geography. Education then further divides these groups into occupational groupings. And the life cycle is not confined to the present, but has historical roots: the elderly grew up during the Civil War, the middle aged under socialism, while the younger generations are growing up in a globalized world. Only the youngest generation has not experienced socialism—and has not yet entered the economic field. It might be a safe guess that the younger generations will be those most exposed to cultural globalization and least susceptible to nationalism—but even this presumption needs to be differentiated. The most clearly delimited group in Laos is the political elite. This includes the national leadership, which in turn comprises two wings (civil and military), two tendencies (modernizing and socialist) and at least three sources of ideological influence (China, Vietnam and Thailand). Power plays and changing alliances are reflected in the regular repositioning and exclusion of individuals. The military wing forms the core of the political elite, as it usually holds a majority on the

Identity politics 85 central committee of the party and includes the wealthiest individuals (Walker 1999a). Members of the old royal elite as well as successful entrepreneurs are increasingly marrying into the political elite. These people are interested in liberalization and globalization, while the central committee is concerned with control and closure. However, these interests are intermingled as all members of the political elite (who are almost exclusively male) have a spouse or other member of their immediate family who is economically successful. Although not even the core of the political elite embraces a uniform nationalism, the leadership goes to great lengths to propagate national unity and traditionalism among the population.5 But this propaganda has ambivalent effects. It is designed to create a consciousness of national identity and poverty in order to stimulate the desire for economic growth (Evans 1998c: 191), which in turn reinforces the effects of cultural globalization. Those Lao who are threatened by loss of social position and a changing social order—changes produced, in part, by globalization —respond particularly positively to appeals to nationalism and traditionalism (Rehbein 2004: 215, passim). Nationalism is a means of countering their fears— a phenomenon well known in Europe as well. In Laos, sections of the intermediate administration and some employees are most susceptible to this kind of propaganda, especially those over thirty. Beneath the political elite, there are other elites. It would be an exaggeration to speak of an intellectual elite in Laos, or even predict its emergence. Schoolteachers have neither a high level of education nor of income, while university teachers are linked to the intermediate-level administration and do not play a significant social role. The income of these groups is insufficient to secure their subsistence and teachers usually have a second—or ‘first’—job. They have no time for intellectual endeavours and, in any case, Laos lacks a public sphere in which they could express their opinions. Very few people in Laos read books or newspapers, and the government exerts complete censorship over the media. Despite this, a cultural elite has begun to emerge that is connected to the economic field and to global forces. This new elite consists of new professionals with a comparatively high level of education. It has its basis in economics and technology but not in intellectual affairs, and has little interest in nationalism and traditionalism. Conversely, there are intellectuals with knowledge of foreign languages and transnational links who lack a significant position in the economic or political fields. They will have to create their own sphere of action—which will be possible only with the loosening of economic constraints and censorship.6 The urban population is much more exposed to the effects of globalization than the rural peasantry. As we have seen, those with an expectation of upward social mobility—mainly younger urbanites—are less susceptible to nationalism. However, there are other types of nationalism apart from the leadership’s identity politics. One example is Lao youth culture, which is nationalistic in the sense of embracing and glorifying all things Lao (see Chapter 8). The Buddhist order continues to play an important role in Lao society (see Chapter 9). It is a haven for socially marginalized groups and offers them at least

86 Identity politics a chance of upward social mobility. Although the order has suffered a loss of status as values have changed in contemporary Lao society, the political leadership discovered the integrating, nationalist appeal of Buddhism several decades ago. It is possible that the higher ranks of the order are regaining their social and political importance and that a new religious elite might eventually become an administrative and even an intellectual elite, as in Thailand. Both Buddhism and Lao youth culture have managed to integrate the country’s ethnic minorities only to a very limited degree. It seems that one effect of globalization is a growing consciousness of identity among any minority. Socialism declared ethnic minorities to be equivalent to ethnic Lao—insofar as they accepted the domination of the socialist party and Lao culture. Today, groups as diverse as tourists, scholars and aid workers are demanding that minority identities be respected. It seems that it does not matter whether such identity is authentic or reconstructed—as long as it is different. This phenomenon will not necessarily lead to nationalist separatism. Some groups have nurtured a sense of underdevelopment by comparing their own with Lao culture, which is especially attractive to nonLao adolescents. The attraction seems to be stronger in those ethnolinguistic groups that are most closely related to the Lao. Along the Vietnamese border, I observed that Tai languages gave way to Lao, while the Hmong kept their languages and traditions.

Conclusion Those segments of the economy that can be characterized as a market economy are increasingly transcending party control and becoming parts of the global economy. This was very evident after the Asian crisis in 1997, which was extremely detrimental to some sectors of the Lao economy while hardly touching others—those based on subsistence farming. This aspect of globalization has led to counter-measures by the leadership and social groups experiencing downward mobility. Those sectors of the urban population with opportunities or expectations for success in the economic field are increasingly deaf to nationalist propaganda. Upwardly mobile groups are defining themselves not through propaganda slogans but in relation to globalization—i.e., through and against foreign influences that are affecting Laos: tourists, media, capital inflow and aid organizations. They are defining their position within the global order, not within the nation. Development aid and economic policies mandated from abroad are exposing all Lao to the forces of modernization—but only as mediated by state and party organs. To the degree that modernization is linked to specific aspects of globalization, the influence of nationalist propaganda will recede. At the same time, ‘losers’ in this process will embrace nationalism. The future direction of the ethnic minorities, urban adolescents and the cultural elite is uncertain. Globalization in Laos has not led to the dissolution of the nation state. Rather, it has rendered modern nationalism and a modern nation state possible—a state of affairs which could change, however. The intervention of the international community has produced a standardization of the Lao nation state, as Stichweh

Identity politics 87 predicted. However, a closer look reveals the process to be at least as complex as Mann has claimed, and a sociological analysis renders it even more complex. The standardization of the nation state is reinforced by international and regional cooperation. This is also true for multinational companies that practise glocalization by customizing their products for the Lao market—a practice that remains very limited at present, as most companies regard Laos as an annex of the Thai market. This may change as the younger generation demands global products with a distinctly Lao flavour—as is already the case with Lao music (see Chapter 8).

6

Globalization and the Lao language

In this chapter, I want to explore aspects of the relationship between language, culture and society and the language-related changes that have occurred as a result of globalization and identity politics.1 I will argue against a one-dimensional view of language that reduces it either to a timeless set of rules or to a simple reflection of class relations. In some respects, language is a formalized system and thus tends to uniformity, while in other respects it is socially differentiated and closely linked to specific social groups. In any event, it is intelligible only in the context of a particular cultural background, which in turn is based on specific historical circumstances. In the first section below, I summarize two reductive approaches to language which usefully complement each other. On the one hand, Pierre Bourdieu reduces language to a reflection of social conflict and meaning to symbolic violence. On the other, Ludwig Wittgenstein regards language as unconstrained game-playing and meaning as usage. In my opinion, these two approaches need to be combined, which becomes evident as soon as we examine empirical language—which both thinkers really fail to do. A closer look at the Lao language illustrates the ways in which language can be understood as either game or conflict—an issue that cannot be explored without taking the history of Lao into account. Contemporary Lao consists of various linguistic layers corresponding to the sociocultures discussed in Chapter 2. In other words, linguistic analysis serves as a validation of the historical scheme proposed in this book. To elaborate on this point, the second section looks at the history of Lao. The third part is devoted to contemporary language, which is conventionally the only empirical object of study by linguists. Contemporary Lao is characterized by two linguistic trends: a differentiation into sociolects corresponding to the emerging fields and the consolidation of an anonymous language of the public sphere which is subject to the type of identity politics analysed in the previous chapter.

Language games and conflict According to Bourdieu (1991: 37–44), language use is to be understood as a struggle for linguistic resources. He distinguishes formal correctness, which is the object of grammar, from the social value of a linguistic utterance, which must be

Globalization and the Lao language 89 analysed sociologically. According to him, most investigations of language follow Ferdinand de Saussure in separating the formal and social aspects of language. While Saussure interpreted linguistic action as a relationship of exchange, for Bourdieu it is a relationship of power as well. So Bourdieu proposed interpreting language in both senses, within the framework of an ‘economy of symbolic exchange’. If one focuses entirely on exchange, one excludes social differences, such as dialects and sociolects, from linguistics. Saussure emphasized the element of exchange in order to formulate a timeless system of rules which he called ‘langue’. All variations were to be interpreted as contingencies of language use by social and cultural beings. These contingencies, which Saussure called ‘parole’, did not influence the formal system of langue, however. Bourdieu attacks precisely this separation of form and usage. He bases his critique on his own ‘economy of practice’, of which language is merely a special case. This economy of practice examines the strategies of accumulation, reproduction and conversion of social resources aimed at the conservation or improvement of an agent’s social position, which is based on the amount of relevant resources at one’s disposal. Thus, social agents strive for the maximum amount of resources as well as for a maximized evaluation of the resources they dispose of. Bourdieu subsumes all these resources under the concept of capital. From this perspective, language is merely one realm of conflict or struggle for an improved social position and, more specifically, for the accumulation of linguistic resources and their positive evaluation. Bourdieu characterizes this realm of struggle as a market. A speaker tries to ‘sell’ his or her linguistic products at a maximum profit according to current evaluations and in anticipation of future demand and prices (Bourdieu 1991: 50). In language use, two relatively independent causal lines meet: the linguistic formation of the speaker and the linguistic ‘market’. The result of this conjunction is the linguistic utterance (ibid.: 67). The evaluation of a given utterance depends on the state of the market. There are as many markets as there are realms of social action, or fields. At the same time, speakers are equipped differently for each field and share a common linguistic background with other speakers. Thus, the linguistic market is differentiated into fields, while speakers are differentiated into groups or classes. Both groups and fields do not form functional systems, but hierarchies. According to Bourdieu, speaking means acquiring an existing style of language that is part of a hierarchy of styles, which in turn is an exact reflection of the hierarchy of social groups (Bourdieu 1991). Linguistic action displays this hierarchy and reconfirms it. It is one aspect of a lifestyle, which is as much an incorporation of class as it is an active expression and confirmation of class (Bourdieu 1984). For Bourdieu, an individual’s lifestyle depends on his or her habitus and capital. The habitus is the sum of the patterns of action a social agent has acquired. This concept includes a sense of the relationship between habitus and market or, in terms of the present discussion, between linguistic competence and the state of a linguistic market. The sense that a given utterance is required to express guides the speaker’s choice of linguistic means in an unconscious manner. Beneath the sense

90 Globalization and the Lao language lies a social relationship between the (potential or actual) audience and the speaker. The utterance expresses the power relationship between speaker and audience (Bourdieu 1991: 72–6). According to Bourdieu, there is always one dominant linguistic market—the official or legitimate or national language. With the founding of nation states, one social group succeeded in elevating its own way of speaking to the status of an official language. Members of this group acquire the official language as their mother tongue and feel at ease using it. They also use it on an everyday basis in their social environment. Bourdieu (1991: 46) claims that Saussure’s ‘langue’ is nothing other than this privileged language of the dominant social group. Those who speak this language make a symbolic profit, and those who define it will dominate the linguistic market. Through the dominant language, the ruling groups enforce their vision and division of the world. This is what Bourdieu calls ‘symbolic violence’. In my opinion, Bourdieu’s claim that language has a social dimension is convincing. If we look at empirical utterances, however, it is impossible to deduce grammatical forms and meanings from social relationships. Furthermore, not every utterance aims at domination, at the improvement of one’s social position or at social distinction. This is much more the case in competitive societies with a market economy than in rural communities, which have characterized most of human history. We will see this with regard to Laos. While Bourdieu’s conception of language (and of fields in general) introduces important sociological elements into linguistic enquiry, it is unacceptably reductive in three respects. First, it ignores the important link between grammatical and sociological analysis. Second, the unit of analysis is the nation state, which is too restrictive both historically and geographically. Third, it acknowledges only one type of language use, based on the analogy of the competitive market. It is generally accepted that, with modernization, the market economy has spread to every corner of the globe and that hitherto non-economic activities are increasingly being integrated into the market economy. But does this mean that all human activity can be reduced to market behaviour? Bourdieu claimed the opposite, positing a general economy of practice of which economics is only one aspect (Bourdieu 2000b). Although every field is an arena of conflict and struggle where improving one’s social position is the goal, factors such as position, means and the rules of the struggle are specific to each field. In other words, there is an allencompassing market, of which the market economy is only one sector or field. Language is another. Bourdieu’s conception not only equates language with social structure but interprets all social action from an economic perspective. However, even in modern Western societies, there are many spheres of action that cannot convincingly be regarded in terms of conflict. These include obvious examples such as interactions between friends, but also the multiple forms of communication and cooperation that we experience daily—e.g., on the internet. The implausibility of reducing language use to conflict becomes even more evident if we look at non-capitalist societies and historical examples. This point has been argued on

Globalization and the Lao language 91 a theoretical level by Wittgenstein, who claimed that the enormous variety of linguistic settings and practices, which he called language games, is irreducible. According to Wittgenstein, there are ‘countless games’ (Wittgenstein 1984: #23), many of which lack fixed rules. They cannot be reduced to one general model or purpose (#43), but merely bear a ‘family resemblance’ (#63) and possess a certain stability and regularity (#207, passim). They are games in progress. Rules and players are constantly being modified, changed, replaced and added in the process of play. In contrast to Wittgenstein, Bourdieu reduced the function of fields to the accumulation of resources—i.e., to the improvement or conservation of one’s social position in the field. He claimed that every game has to be understood as a struggle for those resources that have most value in the game. His underlying theoretical conception assumes that society consists of competitive fields and that language functions as a specific field. However, when we examine an empirical language in historical perspective, flaws appear in this argument. As we have seen, Bourdieu interpreted society according to the ‘container model’ (Beck 1997)—as a totality contained within the borders of the nation state and structured by a division of labour that allocates every individual an occupation and thereby a single and unequivocal social position. However, Southeast Asian societies have never been totalities or even parts of a greater totality. They are precisely not part of ‘a single division of labour’, as Wallerstein defines the world system. They comprise different levels and forms of the division of work—a wider concept than labour. Earlier social structures and divisions of work persist in these societies and form significant elements of contemporary reality, which I call sociocultures. In addition to these persisting sociocultures, the contemporary division of work comprises various fields, each of which has its own logic and goals. Because each field requires different resources, there are as many dimensions of social structure as there are fields. More precisely, on the one hand, there is the division of work; on the other hand, there are the agents and their resources. The division of work consists of a complex hierarchy of fields and a variety of sociocultures which form a complex and constantly changing configuration. On both a methodological and an empirical level, they need to be interpreted in terms of a kaleidoscope rather than a unified totality. In the case of Lao language, we can observe that earlier historical sociolects—the language of the village, the market, the monastery and the court—persist in various social settings. These sociolects form various strata in contemporary language, located beneath the languages proper to the various fields as well as beneath the national language. Thus, language seems to form part of the fields and even to constitute a field in itself.

Sociocultures and sociolects Except for a few coastal areas, the mostly mountainous territory of presentday Laos has been very sparsely populated until the recent past. As far back as our historical knowledge extends, the region has formed an ethnolinguistic

92 Globalization and the Lao language kaleidoscope. Various groups have been migrating throughout the region up to the present day and settling wherever they found suitable land. Contemporary groups living in remote areas of Laos have a hierarchical social structure, chiefly defined by kinship, more specifically by sex and age (see Chapter 2). Although this hierarchy is modified by extraordinary abilities, it is not fundamentally altered. I call the social structure of this kind of rural group personal. In contrast to social structure, the division of work is not pronounced and not particularly hierarchical. Most of the adult population engages in the same activities, and gender boundaries are continually transgressed. Referring to James Scott (1976), I call this type of division of work subsistential. Peasants seek security for their subsistence lifestyles, and not for profit or wealth; they reach this goal by means of reciprocity, the reinforcement of family ties and traditionalism. Language use in a Lao village reflects this personal social structure as well as the subsistential division of work. Detailed explanations and complex definitions are superfluous in this setting, because the essentials of life are already defined in cultural, practical and social terms. The everyday language of the village is simple and straightforward—‘interwoven with the situation’ (Rehbein and Sayaseng 2004: 13). Simplicity is reflected by the fact that a one-word utterance is grammatically correct, which is not conventionally the case in written language —its meaning is evident from the situation. Nothing else need be said; in fact, any further definition would only complicate things. Nouns, personal names, ‘polite’ words and terms of specification are rarely used. For an outsider, it is almost impossible to follow everyday communication in a village. Rural Lao uses considerably more particles and interjections, and significantly fewer appositions and terms of address, than the written language. While we cannot speak of a norm for language use in rural Laos, neither is there complete chaos. There are traditional ways of saying things, and saying them otherwise might risk misunderstanding— just as there is a social order implicit in saying things, and saying them otherwise might involve social rejection. The social order expresses itself in terms of address. Elders, males and those with special abilities or functions command respect.2 The relative social distance between speakers determines the forms of address used. The linguistic register used for forms of address in the village setting demands the use of kinship terms, which corresponds to the personal social structure (see Table 6.1). The relationship to be expressed in terms of address is based on age and sex. The register can be Table 6.1 Forms of address corresponding to different sociocultures

Village Monastery Courteous Socialism Modern urban

I

You

He

(kinship term) aatamaa khaaphachao sahai khoi

(kinship term) khuubaa/aachaan thaan sahai chao

(kinship term) khuubaa/aachaan phoen sahai lao

Globalization and the Lao language 93 extended to relationships of honour. The general rule goes: the greater the social distance, the more polite utterances must be. With strangers, a rural Lao will always try to determine the hierarchical relationship involved in order to find the correct mode of address. Early Southeast Asian societies increased in both size and density as a result of increasing relationships of exchange between different groups, which in turn were based on differences in the natural environment. The division of work between these various groups reflected first the division of nomadic forest-dwellers and sedentary village, then of valley and mountain. I call this a segmentary division of work. Exchange led to the emergence of markets within the framework of the segmentary division of work. These markets were held in villages, the most important of which grew into towns. It is not known which languages were used in these early markets. In contemporary exchanges between linguistically different groups in remote areas, villagers usually know some relevant vocabulary in their partner’s language, but do not use a lingua franca. Most of the intercourse is done in the language of the dominant group—reflecting intersocial structures. However, long-distance trade in Southeast Asia may have developed various linguae francae depending on the languages spoken by the chief traders, possibly Chinese or Indian languages. Although this remains speculation, the contemporary lingua franca of inter-group exchange is always the appropriate national language (see next section). The segmentary division of work resulted in specialization within sedentary villages and in their social stratification, as is attested to by archaeological evidence (Higham 1989). Some villagers became labourers by performing only one type of work, from which others were increasingly excluded. I term this a sociostructural division of work, since every individual occupied a social position according to their place within the division of work and vice versa. This type of division of work evolved together with the town, which in turn emerged from the market. The evolution of towns also corresponded to the emergence of ruling courts and fortified cities. The specific social structure of Lao towns can be characterized as patrimonial (Jacobs 1971). Patrimonialism signifies a system of personal relationships in which a subordinate exchanges loyalty and service for the protection and remuneration of a superior. Patrimonialism developed along with the sociostructural division of work, but partly contradicts it. The sociostructural division of work finds its most adequate organizational form in a rank or class society and a bureaucratic state. Patrimonialism, however, corresponded to the organizational form of the muang. In many areas of Southeast Asia, the patrimonial model was superseded by a tighter social organization, which resembled European feudalism or absolutism. In areas settled by the Lao, this order was called sakdina. All persons subordinate to a ruler received a number which corresponded to their rank and landholding. Regional states with a ranked social structure survived for a significant period of time only in Thailand and Vietnam. The court and the Buddhist order each developed their own varieties of language, which are much older than the differentiation of fields. Whereas the

94 Globalization and the Lao language language of the court was that used by the ruling class of the muang, Buddhist monasteries originated at almost the same time as towns, at once duplicating their social structure and forming a structure in themselves. The language of the court, which had its own forms of address corresponding to different types of relationships (see Table 6.1, p. 92), has strongly influenced all forms of polite language. Apart from a plethora of politeness terms, court language was marked by a special sense of euphony—something found in village language as well, but not on an everyday basis (Koret 2000). Whereas a member of the court was obliged to follow the rules of euphony, villagers restrict euphony to special occasions of poetry and ceremony. This ‘courteous’ or courtly language is an important root of ‘polite’ usage in contemporary Lao. The other major source of modern polite usage is the language of the market, the inter-group language corresponding to the segmentary division of work. Unfortunately, we cannot trace this language much beyond the early twentieth century. Whereas court, monastery and village formed largely separate social and linguistic universes, the language of the market was a combining and integrating language, linking different social entities. While the court and the monastery each had its own written language, and the various Lao principalities used a distinctly Lao script (Keyes 1995), none of these forms constituted a national Lao language —as Laos did not yet exist. While European colonial rule did not penetrate very far into Laos, it had a huge impact on Lao society. It transformed the muang into a nation state, which integrated the entire population, delineated borders and created a bureaucratic state. In the twentieth century, the container model became Southeast Asian reality. Under French rule, Lao intellectuals trained in the West sought to determine those traits of Lao language that would distinguish it from neighbouring languages, especially Thai. In 1935, Maha Sila Viravong published a grammar of Lao in which he took the languages of the court, the monastery and the market as material and model, while describing morphosyntax in Latin and French terms. A threeway blend of the written courtly language with Buddhist vocabulary and the language of the market became the model for the correct Lao language (Viravong 1935), reflecting the degree of national integration created by French rule. We are here reminded of Bourdieu’s (1991) claim that the ruling classes use ‘official’ languages to enforce their own vision and division of the world. In 1975, Laos returned to a mainly peasant economy and came under the rule of a socialist party proclaiming an egalitarian ideology (Evans 1990). After 1986, Laos came under increasing economic pressure, leading to the introduction of a market economy and integration into the world economy. This is producing a functional division of work whereby social structure is detached from the division of work, which in turn becomes the focus of bureaucratic planning. Under these conditions, the familiar social structure seems to disintegrate—as Ulrich Beck (1986) remarked in his thesis on individualization. Although people still perform their work on the basis of their resources, these resources do not correspond to a clearly defined occupation as in the sociostructural division of work. As we have seen, the social division of work is differentiated into a hierarchy of fields.

Globalization and the Lao language 95 If the functional division of work was a universal reality, we could speak of a world system or a world society. In Laos, however, the muang and its associated sociocultures persist—and not as negligible atavistic relics, but as fundamental components of the present and the future. Lao society consists of various layers corresponding to different historical time periods. These layers cannot be attributed unequivocally to certain spatial or social spheres, but form a complex configuration which must be analysed empirically. And neither do they correspond to the borders of contemporary nation states. All this means that contemporary Laos is intelligible only if we examine local, national and global levels together. In Laos, the functional division of work is reflected in a differentiation of sociolects, which is most evident in vocabulary. Because the fields of economics, politics and law have all been subject to international influence, an increasing number of foreign loan words are being imported into these fields. The language of the fields is becoming more technical and less intelligible to outsiders, while the fields themselves are undergoing a process of differentiation. In order to understand the process, we need to combine the concept of field with that of language games. Not all fields are based on the concepts of labour and conflict, and linguistic interaction is more complex than social structure. An electrician does not share the vocabulary of a plumber, even though they have a similar social position and are actors in the same field. One would have to analyse each separate social setting in order to describe the net of language ‘games’ and sociolects that are evolving in Laos.

Identity politics and the public sphere The socialist leadership has been acutely aware of language and its importance right from the start. One of its first measures after coming to power in 1975 was language reform. Ever since, the leadership has attempted to strengthen the status of Lao as a national language, to control the evolution of the language and to monopolize the public sphere, which, as the integrated field of symbolic action, is to a large degree the arena of linguistic action. Significantly, it is also the sphere of anonymous encounters, which are rare within the village, the court or the monastery. However, the anonymous language of the public sphere has the same twofold origin as most Lao sociolects: the market and the court. Since Laos opened up to the outside world in 1986, various fields and sociolects have started to emerge—although their development has been neither uniform nor fully controlled by the party. Whereas in the areas of popular culture, tourism and cross-border trade the influence of Thai is strong, the influence of other languages is much stronger in politics, law and finance. The standardization of Lao is just as equivocal. On the one hand, the leadership is in a much better position to control language than ever before and the norms of a ‘politically correct’ national language have become familiar to a large percentage of the population through practice and education. On the other hand, linguistic differentiation renders complete control impossible: it is very difficult to prescribe for electricians, plumbers and financial experts rules for a language only they understand.3

96 Globalization and the Lao language Another factor working against the party’s monopoly of the public sphere is the increasing social differentiation of the elites. Exiled royalist families are beginning to return to Laos. They form the spearhead for the other significant social group seeking to dominate the public sphere—economically successful families with little influence in politics (see Chapter 3). The economic elite comprises the upper middle class, some of whose members have managed to marry into the political elite. Thus, the Lao elite is not a homogeneous ruling class with a uniform principle of vision and division of the social world, as Bourdieu (1991) had supposed. It rather pursues a number of contradictory aims: social control through egalitarianism, the accumulation of personal wealth through laissez-faire politics, and construction of a national identity through evocation of the past. Its control of linguistic norms is at once more effective (as the result of political integration) and less feasible (as the result of differentiation). In a globalized market economy where the anonymous encounter becomes the rule rather than the exception, everyday language becomes at the same time highly technical and very decontextualized. In this type of encounter, people are increasingly unfamiliar with the life-worlds and linguistic practices of their interlocutors. They do not necessarily share the same semantic horizons. In addition, there is little time in a market economy for a meaningful linguistic encounter; essential information is transmitted with a minimum of formalities and little shared knowledge. On the other hand, urban language seems to have fewer one-word utterances than the language of the village.4 Particles which function as modifiers, such as ‘please’ or ‘also’, are more numerous.5 Urban language also has a different system of address: personal pronouns are replacing kinship terms as the predominant form of address (see Table 6.1, above). Along with kinship terms and the most general polite terms, personal pronouns constitute the basic modes of address in contemporary Laos. The socialist terms of address have virtually disappeared (see Table 6.1, above), being used now only for defamation. The socialist leadership has lost its control over the national language and is about to lose its monopoly of the public sphere. As far as identity politics is concerned, another lost struggle may be even more important. Only half the inhabitants of Laos grow up with Lao as their mother tongue; the other half speak other, often radically different native languages. The ethnolinguistic groups belonging to the Mon-Khmer, Tibeto-Burman, Miao-Yao and Viet-Muong families have very little in common with the Lao linguistically and culturally. In addition, the effects of globalization are contributing to their ‘ethnic identity’. Tourists, development aid workers, families abroad, media and communication infrastructure are all demanding specific identities for these groups and strengthening their awareness of being different. More importantly, they are raising their self-esteem. In this regard, it matters little if individual components of these identities are ‘traditional’ or constructed; the main point is that they differ from Lao national identity. With very few exceptions, minorities in Laos have lacked unifying symbols, common political representation and a writing system. These are now being constructed in a very globalized fashion. Foreign scholars and aid workers are helping to construct cultural practices demanded (and often paid for) by visiting

Globalization and the Lao language 97 foreigners. Communication between these groups and their families abroad is mobilizing ethnic consciousness and the further construction of cultural symbols. It is interesting to note that the first computer (with internet access) and the first mobile phone I came across in the district of Laksao belonged to some Hmong people (Miao-Yao ethnolinguistic family). They used their equipment to communicate with relatives in the USA and to copy CDs by Hmong musicians produced in China. I am sure this is not an unusual case. The Lao leadership is aware of the potential threats produced by rising ethnic identities, and is undertaking a coordinated effort to strengthen its control over non-Tai groups. The main strategy comprises in resettlement. Officially, resettlement policy pursues very honourable goals—eradication of environmentally hazardous swidden cultivation, poverty reduction (by allocating minorities land suitable for wet-rice cultivation, commercialization and links to the market), development (especially in health and education), and the suppression of opium production. As such goals undoubtedly play an important role in resettlement policies, they receive significant support from aid agencies and foreign donors. At the same time, though, they serve to increase the government’s control over these groups, and resettlement rarely leads to an immediate improvement in living conditions for the groups affected. They are not familiar with life in the valleys, suffer from disease (especially malaria) and fail to sustain themselves (Ireson and Ireson 1991). Many individuals and even whole villages move back to the mountains soon after resettlement. As far as language is concerned, however, the government’s resettlement policy seems to be having the desired outcome, especially with Tai groups. My research in the district of Laksao showed that groups living along the main roads and near the city spoke significantly more and better Lao than other groups. For several Tai groups I studied, their indigenous language had entirely disappeared. In one village, only a supposedly hundred-year-old woman spoke the language—but she did not understand that I wanted to hear it and spoke Lao instead. Linguistically, resettlement is related to inter-group exchange (and the concomitant need for a lingua franca) and to national identity politics. Although these are strong forces working in favour of a standardized national language, they are countered by globalizing and localizing forces.

Conclusion In a general fashion, the historical development of the Lao language confirms the theoretical approach outlined in the first chapter as well as the historical account given in Chapter 2. However, language renders the conception of the division of work as a hierarchy of fields more complex. Language is symbolic work that simultaneously accompanies other work undertaken in the various fields and forms a separate universe. In addition, it comprises various historical layers and linguistic levels. At present, the Lao language is experiencing the effects of nationalism and globalization, while other languages spoken in Laos are increasingly glocalized. Nationalism is the leadership’s main agenda and shapes all parts of the public

98 Globalization and the Lao language sphere, including linguistic aspects. The leadership has lost its monopoly of power and is having to share the public sphere with an increasing number of competitors from both inside and outside Laos. While the outcome is not yet clear, the struggle is fascinating.

7

The Lao academic field

It is well known that intercultural contacts result in hybridization of various kinds (Nederveen Pieterse 2004a)—but how and to what degree?1 Evidently, intercultural contact has changed its character with the most recent impacts of globalization. While in colonial times, Western culture reached only a small percentage of the world’s population, today the effects of globalization reach everyone. This chapter contrasts the process of hybridization that is affecting contemporary Lao academia with earlier forms of hybridization in the Lao education system. It argues that there have been different forms of hybridization, depending on the configurations in place in any given historical period. The second half of the chapter examines the consequences of hybridization for the emerging academic field in Laos. This field forms a complex configuration in which domestic (mainly political) forces are interacting with globalizing forces and the internal structure of the field itself. While several groups can be distinguished in the Lao academic field on the basis of their capital and habitus, neither these groups nor the contemporary forces shaping them form a unity. The development of the academic field is full of complexities, as I show briefly with regard to the emerging technical language of the Lao social sciences.

A history of Lao education Lao—or, more generally, Tai—education traditionally served the needs of everyday life, including people’s spiritual needs. It was strengthened and complemented by Indian traditions, which resulted in a true hybridization. A very small sector served the needs of the state; when the French integrated Laos into their colonial empire in 1893, this sector was replaced by a small component of Western higher education. In 1975, the new socialist leadership of Laos transformed this limited higher education into an ideologically inspired tool for the formation of cadres. Western forces—colonialism and socialism—thus led to the emergence of higher education in Laos, which in turn served the needs of the state by creating administrators. When the Lao leadership began changing the planned economy into a market economy in 1986, elements of higher education were transformed into a university system—i.e., into an academic field.

100 The Lao academic field Although all forms and stages of Lao education can be seen as hybrid, higher education in colonial times and after 1986 included very few local elements and followed the Western model closely. Different types of intercultural contact result in different forms of hybridization. Western technocratic culture exerts a specific pressure on local cultures; in contrast to other types of intercultural contact, it combines economic exchange with political integration and technocratic planning of social processes (see Foucault 1980). Before most of the Lao principalities came under French colonial rule in 1893, the only mode of institutional teaching was education in the monastery. Girls were taught by their parents, while boys had the option of being ordained and educated as novices and then as monks. There is evidence that reading and writing were taught to boys on an informal basis in the villages (Bourlet 1907: 363); those who could read and write passed their knowledge on to the younger generation in the evenings in exchange for valuable commodities such as opium (ibid.: 364). As there was very little literature in the vernacular language, children learned to read and write legends, traditional stories and epic tales. In the monastery, literacy involved the use of a special religious script, Tham, and a religious language, Pali.2 Both the vernacular and religious alphabets were adaptations from India, while most of the texts studied were either of Indian or Tai origin. Thus, learning to read and write involved the hybridization of two different non-Lao cultures. By the time the French integrated the Lao principalities and provinces east of the Mekong into their ‘Indochinese Union’ and transformed them into a state called ‘Laos’, they had already recognized that this area was of little use to their colonial empire except as a ‘buffer state’ to fend off the West (see Dommen 1985). The Mekong was not suitable as a gateway to China, the topography of Laos made any economic endeavour very costly, and the country was extremely underpopulated since Siam had conquered most of Laos and deported a considerable proportion of its population during the nineteenth century. Although the legal status of Laos was never fixed (Gay 1995: 229), Governor Paul Doumer (1897–1902) transformed the protectorate into what was effectively a centrally administered colony. The member states of the Indochinese Union were each required to support themselves financially and were given full administrative responsibility in 1911. However, Laos was never able to fund itself, having to rely on payments from the West,3 a situation which has remained unchanged until the present day. Although the economy did not develop significantly under the French—as late as the 1960s, no more than 1.4 per cent of the Lao population worked in the industry (Lejars 1972)—the country’s population and towns grew, a service sector developed and roads and hospitals were built. The French relied mainly on Vietnamese to service industry and the intermediate ranks of the administration. In the administration, the French themselves occupied the highest ranks, while Lao were confined to inferior roles and the ethnic minorities were excluded entirely.4 Trade and services were dominated by Vietnamese and Chinese, who soon outnumbered the Lao population in the major towns (except in the old capital, Luang Phrabang).

The Lao academic field 101 French rule proved to be a mixed blessing. On the one hand, the French gave the people of Laos a security they had not known before and freed them from slavery. On the other hand, the financial needs of the administration put new strains on them. While many Lao regarded the French as liberators, those minorities that made their living from selling slaves rebelled against the new rulers. Discontent also grew among the Lao as they felt the weight of new taxes. A few groups actually profited from French rule, especially the small urban middle class and the old elite (Halpern 1964c), as well as Vietnamese and Chinese businesspeople (Halpern 1961c). The few jobs reserved for Lao in the administration offered an opportunity for upward social mobility. Before the arrival of the French, social mobility was limited to the middle strata of the urban population and the military. All the leading positions were monopolized by the aristocracy, whose members were interrelated (Halpern 1964c: 18). Although the French drew at first on the aristocracy for the administration, they later introduced schools to form a cadre of educated administrative staff (Gay 1995: 234). While the school system followed the French model, it did not reach very far beyond the urban centres. The first institution of higher education was the Collège Pavie in Vientiane, founded in 1921. The language of instruction was French because the school was intended to educate personnel for the French administration of Laos. Another reason was the lack of Lao teachers. At the end of the 1930s the college—basically a high school—had 120 students, 17 of them female (Stuart-Fox 1997: 43). At the same time, a few Lao attended colleges in Vietnam. All graduates were practically guaranteed access to the Lao elites (Halpern 1964c: 6). In addition to Western technocracy, the French promoted studies in Buddhism and Lao history, chiefly as a means of legitimizing the construction of a Lao nation state and its expansion into Siam as a buffer against Siam and Burma. In 1931, the Lao Buddhist Institute was founded; and in 1937, the Pali College. The revival of Buddhist studies excited the interest of members of the Lao aristocracy and the educated elite in Lao history and literature—an interest that led eventually to the emergence of nationalist sentiment and pride among the Lao elites, especially after the French defeat in the early stages of the Second World War. The educated elite and the Buddhist order (sangha) became the driving forces of opposition to the French return after 1945, which paved the way for independence in 1953–4 (StuartFox 2002: 100). Under colonial rule, the elites began to claim national leadership for themselves, while the members of the sangha were denied a socio-political role. Particularly frustrating for this latter group was the devaluation and diminution of monastic education in urban society, which may have led to a fall in the general level of literacy under the French (Thant and Vokes 1997: 156). One might speak of a three-tier education system under colonial rule: a Western-style education for the elite, a basic education in Westernized schools, and monastery schools. The differentiation of education under the French continued during the Civil War until 1975, when the socialist party took over. Socialist cadres, whose education had consisted of crash courses on Marxism and guerrilla tactics in the

102 The Lao academic field jungle, now had to run a country and administer a well-educated urban elite. An overwhelming percentage of this educated elite left the country, and many leading monks soon followed. By 1985, as many as 90 per cent of educated Lao had emigrated (Stuart-Fox 2002: 245). The new government aimed to spread socialist education to every corner of the country; spelling and grammar were simplified and an ambitious literacy programme was launched (ibid.: 196). However, due to a lack of qualified teachers and printed matter, these efforts met with little success. After initially condemning Buddhism, the new leadership was forced to recruit monks for educational work and get on side with the sangha in order to reach the population at large (Evans 1998c: 63). The socialist educational programme drew on Marx and Lenin as interpreted by the Soviets and Vietnamese; many Marxist terms were translated into Pali and Sanskrit. Although very few Lao spoke these languages, they were used to the esoteric character of higher learning from their everyday Buddhist experience (Doré 1980: 168). Thus, like monastic education, socialist education was a hybrid in its own way. Western ideas were rendered in Indian terms and interpreted in the light of Tai traditions. A socialist elite became acquainted with Marxism in Eastern Europe and Vietnam. Between 1975 and 1985 around 700 Lao per year were sent to study in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, while another 1,200 studied in Vietnam (Stuart-Fox 2002: 245).5 Some of these students were trained to become professionals, but a large percentage studied languages, philosophy and ideology. While very few received an education tailored to Lao conditions (Thant and Vokes 1997: 166), this first generation of Lao trained in the Eastern Bloc was absorbed by the administration and was not required to compete in the labour market (Schneider 2000: 261, passim). The majority of the population learned socialist jargon, but not socialist thinking. Education in rural areas remained rudimentary because of the lack of trained personnel and financial resources—the government paid a large part of teachers’ meagre salaries in coupons. Even today, teachers’ salaries are not guaranteed and they usually have another job to tide them over. Often they farm, especially in rural areas. It is particularly difficult to recruit teachers in remote areas, a situation that mainly affects ethnic minorities in particular; these groups lack financial resources, teaching material and qualified teachers, especially those who are bilingual. And they see little use in schooling because, traditionally, their only options for earning a living have been farming and petty trading.

Lao education after socialism Higher education under socialism served the same purposes as under the French— to provide the state with educated personnel. One might even speak of ‘mandarins’. The direction of higher education began to change after the leadership introduced a market economy in 1986, a decision that resulted from the poor economic performance of Eastern Bloc countries and the economic problems of the Soviet Union (Rehbein 2004). A market economy entails a labour market and, since 1986, higher education been increasingly required to serve this market rather than the

The Lao academic field 103 administration. However, the Lao market for academics is very small and very specific. Because it has little use for those educated in the Eastern Bloc, unemployment is especially high among people with an otherwise excellent educational background (Schneider 2000: 195). Many of the graduates of Eastern Bloc universities who returned after 1986 found themselves without employment as the state delegated them to the market rather than including them in the machinery of government. Even if they were employed by the state, their salaries proved to be increasingly insufficient to meet the costs of living in urban areas. Most state employees make little more than 30 US dollars per month, while the expenditure of an urban middle-class family ranges between 100 and 400 dollars. Thus, many university graduates work as petty traders, entrepreneurs or in the service sector. In 1994, 15 per cent of untrained labourers had a high school education or better (Elderson 1995: 21). The demand for college and university graduates is found mainly in foreign companies and institutions, or in companies that work with foreigners. Command of the English language has become a conditio sine qua non for well-paid employment, whatever a person’s educational background. As even a considerable part of the service sector is geared towards foreigners, instruction in English has become the major sector within the education system. Most of this instruction is offered on a private basis and is of low quality. The best education is offered by private colleges that frequently combine English with business administration and charge fees of up to 500 dollars per year. A basic knowledge of English and the market economy are still sufficient to set up a successful business or to find a job with a foreign company. Very soon, however, graduates will be required to have specific abilities as well. At the lower end of the job market there is almost no demand for qualified labour. The few large companies operating in Laos need cheap labour, while most of the labour force is absorbed by the informal sector—i.e., by patrimonial or family enterprises based on personal relationships rather than educational qualifications (Rehbein 2005). Higher education is not required by the upper levels of the labour market, either. Upward mobility in the party, the military and the administration depends on personal loyalties, whereas economic success is a matter of shrewdness on a moderate scale and of personal loyalties and economic capital on a grand scale (Rehbein 2004). Statistically, an individual’s income generally rises with the level of education achieved.6 However, the available statistics are likely to reflect the unequal chances of access to education rather than the success of the Lao education system. Female sex, ethnic minority, rural origin and scarce economic capital are negative factors for higher educational opportunities (Ireson and Ireson 1991).7 Between 1985 and 1995, only 18.4 per cent of graduates from institutions of higher education were female and only 3.7 per cent were non-Tai (Schneider 2000: 203). In Vientiane, around 60 per cent of people with a degree, but only around 12 per cent of people without any education, were born in the city (author’s own survey). In the city, more than 50 per cent claim to have some knowledge of a foreign language, whereas less than one per cent of subsistence farmers would make this claim. As education is costly, economic capital is a necessary prerequisite. Particularly

104 The Lao academic field expensive are the institutions that award valuable degrees to young Lao: private colleges in Laos and universities in economically advanced countries. Of course, very few Lao can afford to send their children to such institutions. In addition, economic capital equates with a higher social position, which in turn entails a superior knowledge of the requirements of the labour market (Bourdieu 1984). Education and knowledge play different roles in different social environments and are linked to types of education with distinct historical antecedents. On the one hand, most Lao do not favour intellectual activity. In the late 1990s, 61 per cent of the inhabitants of Vientiane had not read a book during the preceding year—and most of those who had were Vietnamese or had studied in Vietnam (Vientiane Social Survey 1998: 53). On the other hand, all Lao have a high esteem for knowledge. For those associated with the sangha, this involves accumulating religious capital for the next life. Most Lao would share this concept of knowledge, and extend it to include supernatural qualities (see Chapter 9); in a supernatural or magical sense, knowledge means power. Civil servants also regard knowledge as power, but in an administrative sense. This kind of power may also be linked to ideological knowledge, which is a form of political capital. And in a modern Western sense, knowledge is regarded as capital in the labour market. The wholly idealistic concept of knowledge, which considers knowledge as a value in itself, has never been institutionalized in Laos. It has been ‘hybridized’, however, with the importation of Indian and Western traditions. Individuals— such as monks, teachers, intellectuals and village elders—have preserved and interpreted these hybrid traditions. This idealistic concept is not identical with Western philosophy, rationalism or technocracy, but is rather linked to a passive or contemplative attitude redolent of the biblical tradition. Knowledge resides in tradition rather than in some present or future endeavour. It is something to be interpreted and understood, not something to be produced and applied; practical knowledge for the needs of modern world is already present in abundance—in the West. However, under the impact of socialism and increasingly of capitalism, this traditional attitude is being paralleled by a technocratic policy. Marxism in Laos was technocratic with respect to the world, but traditional and passive with respect to tradition (Marx’s writings). Capitalism in Laos is technocratic with respect to secular values and the use of Western knowledge, but conservative with respect to Western traditions. Western ‘experts’ have begun to change this attitude as the emerging Lao academic field is intended to produce not only graduates for the labour market but ‘glocalized’ knowledge.

The academic field Laos has only a very modest tertiary sector, although it is expanding rapidly. In 1995, the teachers’ training college at Dong Dok near Vientiane, the National Polytechnical Institute and the Institute of Health Sciences were merged to form a single institution. Named the National University of Laos (NUOL), its first semester was taught in 1996. In 2002, two branches of the university were

The Lao academic field 105 established at Luang Phrabang and Pakse, and several colleges and institutes were chartered. In its first semester, the university had 8,000 students and 770 teachers. The total number of students in Laos at that time was 15,000. In 2002, there were 11,200 university students and 1,000 teachers, 15,400 students in various institutes and 14,100 in technical schools (National Statistical Centre 2003: 81). We can now safely say that a ‘Lao academic field’ has emerged. Bourdieu interprets academia as a social field. According to him, the goal of action in the academic field is to establish a leading position in the field by the accumulation of academic capital. He distinguishes two types of academic capital —scientific and institutional. Scientific capital refers to a scholar’s standing within their discipline (Bourdieu 1998b), represented by publications that are subject to rigorous selection processes. This competitive system stimulates the continual advance of knowledge within the academic community (ibid.). However, as the academic field is also part of the wider society, it is under external pressures which are mainly political and financial. According to Bourdieu, individuals who are not successful in the struggle for scientific capital can compensate by accumulating institutional capital, which links the academic field to these external forces (ibid.). Institutional capital may take the form of an administrative function, a position on a board or membership of a prestigious committee. Bourdieu claims that an individual’s position in the academic field is determined by the combination of both types of capital. The structure (the totality of rules, goals, positions and external forces) of the academic field is mainly determined by the value allotted to these two types of capital.8 Applying Bourdieu’s concept of the academic field to Laos, it is immediately evident that scientific capital is very scarce and that academia is dominated by external constraints. Laos also adds a historical and a transnational dimension to Bourdieu’s concept. In Laos, the academic field is emerging in front of our eyes. It is not just evolving; it is being constructed with the help of foreign advisers, with foreign money and according to foreign models in a poor country under socialist rule. University teachers in Laos lack scientific capital compared with teachers in other countries. Fewer than 5 per cent have a Ph.D., which is considered a minimum qualification for university teachers in the West. The majority of Lao academics received their positions as loyal socialists, as very few intellectuals remained in the country after 1975. Political loyalty remains a strong factor for recruitment up to the present day, as institutions of higher education still serve the administration as well as the high-end labour market. Loyalty is not identical with institutional capital, however—a form of capital that is entirely external to academia but an important element in the structure of the Lao academic field. In this case, it is more accurately called political capital (see Bourdieu 1998a). However, political capital in Laos is closely linked to social capital as all the important figures in the political field know one another and are mostly related. This is true for the academic field as well—reflected by the fact that many of the leading positions in the education system are occupied by individuals who belong to the Tai Phuan ethnic group.

106 The Lao academic field During the past ten years, Lao university teachers have increasingly received training and advice from foreign advisers, mainly university teachers themselves. They have attended conferences and university courses abroad, and some have received additional degrees in the West or have trained in Laos for further qualifications. In these settings, they are becoming increasingly familiar with the criteria of the modern academic profession, especially research. Very few Lao have ever conducted scientific research and they are generally unfamiliar with the whole concept. In the past, they have lacked access to scholarly literature—for material, political and linguistic reasons. In their teaching, they lacked original contemporary texts and were forced to draw on the scarce materials available, which were mainly of Soviet origin (sometimes translated into Vietnamese). This situation has changed recently as more literature from Thailand is becoming available, which Lao can read. So far, very little of this literature has found its way into teaching, however. The older generation of university teachers has become very uneasy about themselves and their purpose. Although their rapid acquaintance with Western academia—Bourdieu’s academic field—must have involved a considerable culture shock, the younger generation is growing into the new environment. For their thesis work, students increasingly have to perform some kind of research, which often surpasses anything their teachers are likely to produce in terms of quality. Although, as junior teachers, they may be much more qualified than their departmental heads, they remain juniors, since political capital is still more valuable than scientific capital. The important role of political capital led many promising scholars to leave Lao institutions of higher education (or even the country) after 1975; more academic books and papers have been written by individuals outside the country’s academic institutions than by faculty members. Other scholars have left Lao institutions because of poor remuneration. Like all teachers, tertiary faculty members receive meagre salaries, usually between thirty and fifty US dollars per month. After 1975, almost all Lao were peasants and revolutionaries first and foremost, with jobs such as teaching playing a secondary role. Today, teachers in urban areas have neither the time nor the land to make their living from agriculture. They usually have a second job as private teachers (e.g., in private colleges) or seek work with a foreign sponsor (e.g., as an adviser or a Ph.D. student). If a Lao university teacher lacks a second job, he or she needs access to foreign capital to make a living. Although Bourdieu subsumed grant acquisition under institutional capital, in Laos grants have a different function. In the first place, they constitute a salary. Grants and projects are really economic capital, which plays a role in structuring the new Lao economic field. If the grant leads to a Ph.D., a further degree or publication, it adds to the individual’s scientific capital as well. At present, political capital alone no longer qualifies an applicant for a (new) academic position; a degree is essential. To become a departmental head or dean, one needs some of Bourdieu’s ‘scientific capital’. People now have an incentive to conduct research, which they are learning from Western advisers. However, the goal is not the accumulation of scientific capital, but to gain a secure or even leading position in the institution; or, in

The Lao academic field 107 Bourdieu’s terms, to convert scientific into institutional capital. Institutional capital in Laos is beginning to differ from political capital. To be a departmental head, member of an evaluation committee or director of an institute does not necessarily presuppose an important position in the socialist party, and vice versa. The relative value of the four kinds of capital—scientific, economic, political and institutional—in the academic field is difficult to determine. In the context of the wider society, political capital remains most important. The president of the NUOL is subordinate to both the Education Ministry and the party, but he enjoys a higher status than any university teacher with an important grant or project (such as a new hospital building), who in turn is ranked above an ordinary scholar. However, some degree of academic achievement has become a necessary condition for obtaining a leading institutional position and will increasingly be required by foreign donors as well. Thus, in the Lao academic field, capital has at least four dimensions, which can each be related to the different interpretations of knowledge discussed above. The four dimensions of capital correspond to four groups. These groups are neither distinct nor absolute, but rather resemble nodes in a complex network. The first group is composed of those who owe their position exclusively to political capital. It includes all those who, even under globalized conditions, retain an administrative function in the academic field. These are people working in the Education Ministry, vice-deans and many members of institutes. The second group consists of administrators who owe their position to their achievements in the academic field; it includes most deans and many faculty members. The main characteristic of the third group is to be found in its links with foreign institutions and organizations. Although the individuals who make up this group lack other important capital in the field, they are beginning to adjust to globalized academia and accumulating some scientific capital. The fourth group consists of those who have been marginalized due to lack of capital: older teachers with little formal education, intellectuals without political and institutional capital or links to foreign institutions, and young graduates who lack opportunities for upward mobility in the field. Of course, apart from their marginalized status, this last group lacks cohesion and sociological unity. (However, the three other groups are also sociological constructs with little unity and agency.) This fourfold structure tells us something about the structure of the wider Lao society as well as the relationship of the local academic field to global trends. The socialist leadership remains in charge of the country, despite the pressures exerted by global and local economic trends on Lao society and the academic field. Political capital is still the most important social resource in Laos. Beneath the surface, however, economic necessities and intercultural contacts have substantially eroded socialist structures. Unlike pre-capitalist economic relations, the modern market economy entered Laos in concert with institutions, cultural elements and foreign advisers who are in the process of installing an academic field of the Western type. While the local academic field remains a hybrid because of its rapid introduction into a poor socialist country, its structure is increasingly likely to converge with the French academic field described by Bourdieu.

108 The Lao academic field We can also see the emergence of Bourdieu’s ‘order of faculties’ in Laos (see Bourdieu and Passeron 1970). According to Bourdieu and Passeron, in France university faculties were ordered into a hierarchy based on their respective status within the university. Older disciplines—such as philosophy and literature— enjoyed a higher standing than newer disciplines, such as the social sciences; and socially more prestigious disciplines—such as law and medicine—had a higher status than purely ‘intellectual’ disciplines, such as languages. Of course, these two criteria partly contradict each other. In Laos, there is a certain contradiction between the oldest and politically most loyal disciplines—such as Lao language and political science—and the economically most important disciplines, such as medicine and economics. The latter receive most aid money, have the newest facilities and an increasing number of staff, while professors from the old loyalist disciplines still dominate the administration. This order is reflected in the faculty buildings at NUOL, all of which are dwarfed by the administration building (see Plates 7.1–4). It is evident that the hierarchy of faculties at the university is determined entirely by external forces and has nothing to do with academic values. The ‘mission’ of the Faculty of Social Sciences, as stated in an official publication, underlines this: ‘FSS mission is to meet the development objectives of the Lao PDR in a sustainable, efficient and equitable manner.’ These objectives are determined by political agencies in their interaction with external institutions.

Plate 7.1 The Faculty of Languages

The Lao academic field 109

Plate 7.2 The Faculty of Social Sciences

Plate 7.3 The Faculty of Economics

110 The Lao academic field

Plate 7.4 The administration building

The hybridization of academic language Presently, the system of higher education in Laos is evolving from a political organ into an academic field. The academic disciplines at the Lao institutions of higher education are coming under pressure from at least two quarters. Globalization is connecting Lao academics with a regional (and increasingly a global) discourse, in which they need to participate if they want to be taken seriously in the long run. They must also meet the needs of the increasingly differentiated labour market in a competitive market economy if they want to retain their more promising students (and keep their own jobs). Those university teachers who do not owe their position exclusively to old loyalties are thus struggling to improve their competitive edge. This includes the development of a technical language in the vernacular within their chosen discipline. Although these technical languages differ only little in syntax from standard written Lao, scholars have to devise appropriate lexical items for terms which are imported along with the knowledge itself. This importation is an active process, however, which is neither one-dimensional nor exclusively determined by power relations. Teachers at the National University of Laos participate in courses led by representatives of various intellectual traditions from all parts of the world. While these sessions are sometimes conducted in English, often they are taught in the national language. There are three main options for dealing with the technical terms encountered in these sessions. First, Lao university teachers look for a corresponding term in their own intellectual tradition or personal usage. Second, Thai textbooks are consulted. Third, a term is translated literally. An

The Lao academic field 111 example of the first strategy is the use of the phrase saatsanaa phii (spirit religion) to translate the English word ‘animism’; of the second, the word patithaanninyom for ‘positivism’; and of the third, thong naa (rice field) for Bourdieu’s ‘field’. As this process advances, it is becoming increasingly difficult to trace the origin of these terms—they are becoming part of a glocalized academic language to which scholars in all parts of the world (but mainly the West) are contributing. While these technical terms are the property of the academic field, at the same time the Lao term is integrated into the Lao setting and reinterpreted on this basis—in other words, it is glocalized. And it is also an aspect of the resistance of the academic field against the influence of the political and economic fields.

Conclusion Hybridization has many dimensions and levels. It forms part of a complex social configuration and constitutes a configuration in itself. The Lao education system began as a hybrid of Indian and Tai traditions which was then complemented by a technocratic Western field of higher education designed to serve the needs of the French administration and economy. Under socialism, the goal of higher education did not change but its content did. With the introduction of a market economy, higher education has been partly transformed into an academic field which is subject to contrary influences. While it is still required to serve the socialist state, it is increasingly shaped by a capitalist labour market at the same time as it adapts to Western academic traditions. Insofar as higher education retains elements drawn from Lao socialism, it is a hybrid; insofar as it is shaped by economic and academic pressures, it is becoming Westernized. However, this Westernization is not unequivocal, as the development of an academic terminology shows.

8

A globalized music scene

A look at the Lao music scene provides an interesting case study, not only of the cultural phenomena of glocalization (Robertson 1992), creolization (Hannerz 1987) and hybridization (Nederveen Pieterse 2004a), but of the relationship between fields and the division of work. In human life, music has traditionally been regarded as work rather than labour; it is a mode of expression and a source of joy and other emotions. As soon as the first musical instruments came into use, a certain division of musical work must have emerged, as not everyone played all instruments equally well and willingly. However, musical activity has always been clearly distinguished from labour—defined as work undertaken by the need for survival (see Chapter 1). This has changed dramatically in the recent past with music becoming a product for sale. The transformation is currently taking place in Laos, where we can witness at once the emergence of a music scene and its usurpation by the economic field. In this Chapter, I enquire into the recent development of Lao popular music.1 The first section summarizes important aspects of the role music has played in Lao society. In the second section, I look at the emergence of a market for Lao popular music, while the third section deals with the dynamics of globalization and identity politics, an issue which has already been discussed in the two preceding chapters.

Prehistory of the Lao music scene In the Lao countryside, music plays an important role in people’s lives. While it is very likely that this has been the case for thousands of years, there is no definite proof for this claim—although evidence of musical instruments in Stone Age communities has been found in southern China (Chang 1986: 297). Today, Lao villagers engage in communal singing as night-time entertainment, while singing as an accompaniment to work and other activities is frequent during the day. The village of Phonkham boasts a small ensemble with several instruments. The ‘band’ gathers spontaneously to perform in front of the other villagers and also plays on numerous special occasions. The village head plays the national instrument, the khaen, a type of mouth organ. The other instruments include strings (some resembling guitars, others violins) and drums, all of which were made by the villagers themselves. There are no regular vocalists—according to a true

A globalized music scene 113 division of work—but anyone with the time and inclination joins in to sing along with the band. The same informal structure is true of the audience—as in other village activities. Villagers clearly distinguish between labour, work and leisure activities, such as making music. While this may seem a trivial point, it deserves mention because villagers do not perform ‘alienated’ economic wage-labour. They consume what they produce with their own hands, and they produce only what they reckon they will need. Under the heading of ‘labour’ they subsume activities that have to be done to ensure their survival and are regarded as unpleasant (viak). Grinding tobacco is labour, but rolling a cigarette is fun. Interestingly, cooking is not considered labour (viak) by all male villagers, but other typically female activities like weaving and collecting herbs are. This seems to indicate that there is no clear distinction between the domestic household and the world outside as far as labour is concerned. Weaving and grinding tobacco are undertaken within the house compound, while collecting herbs is mostly done outside. Music is defined as an activity to be distinguished from labour—indeed, it is almost its opposite. It is certainly not viak. It is also defined as a collective and rather formal activity. Singing done during the day as an accompaniment to other activities is not considered to be music, but if villagers sing in front of or together with other villagers, it is. Singing is certainly classed as music if it is accompanied by instruments. We can conclude that music is thus an anthropological possibility and constitutes a social activity linked to the division of work. The music performed by Lao villagers is not ‘original’, ‘primitive’ music. It blends many influences, ranging from India to Indonesia as well as Mon-Khmer traditions. The history and structure of Lao music remain to be studied and do not concern us here. It is certain, however, that Lao music underwent a socially significant change with the emergence of city rulers and princes. While we lack sources attesting to the origins of court music, we have a few hints dating from the seventeenth century (Marini 1664; Wuysthoff 1986). Rulers employed orchestras for their entertainment and the musicians involved may have been professionals, thus forming a part of the sociostructural division of work (see Chapter 2). It would be interesting to know if their function—as employees of the ruler with a certain social rank—was linked to a specific musical style and if both were inspired by another society, such as India or Java. A very different type of music is also likely to have emerged in the same period as court music—Buddhist music linked to monastic rituals. Although definitive proof is lacking, every segment of the baan–muang structure is likely to have had its own type of music. It is likely that regular ‘band’ performances by and for villagers ceased with the increasing division of work in the cities. In contemporary Lao cities, people do not make music together. They might break into song, especially after a couple of beers, but this is not considered to be music. Another joint activity is karaoke, which is popular all over Asia. Karaoke, however, presupposes the commercialization of music—the musical content is provided by a professionally produced consumer item, not by the joint activity of the participants. By contrast, the villagers of Phonkham do not use recorded musical products. During my visits

114 A globalized music scene there between 2001 and 2003, no villager owned a cassette-, CD- or DVD-player— whereas, according to my own survey, almost every urban household owned at least one of these items. The use of recorded musical products is evidently linked to the division of work. It also presupposes the commodification of music, which I interpret as the usurpation of music by the economic field. In the following section, I examine this transformation with a special emphasis on the producers of musical material, who are entrepreneurs in Max Weber’s sense. The commodification of music cannot be achieved by entrepreneurs alone, as musicians and consumers are vital parts of the picture. How has this new division of work come about?

The market The emergence of a market for Lao music shows how cultural and social factors interact with economic factors in the strict sense. It also provides an interesting case study of the making of Lao entrepreneurs and capitalists (see Chapter 4). If, as is usually the case, Lao entrepreneurs lack experience of a market culture in a Western setting, they start off as occasionalists. By occasionalism, I mean the culture of groups that do not engage in forward planning for their business activities, but rather seize economic opportunities when they arise (see Chapter 3). They seek profit for their immediate goals and needs, but do not aim at a systematic maximization of profit. Neither do they accumulate and invest capital, but make use of what is immediately at hand. By a market culture, I mean the kind of economic culture that has been characterized by Max Weber (1978, vol. I). While his portrait is apt, I do not agree with Weber’s method of simply accumulating separate traits or characteristics. I would rather say that there can be many configurations that go to make up a market culture, which each share a family resemblance (Wittgenstein 1984). In fact, Weber elsewhere allows for this method by claiming that capitalism is a ‘historical individual’ and ‘a complex of relations’ (Weber 1978, vol. I: 30). At the core of a market culture is the market—which is a necessary and not a sufficient condition for a market culture, however. For a true market culture to operate, there must be a high degree of the segmentary division of work. Buyers and sellers must be competitors in their respective fields, which implies that they are not part of a personal social structure or a subsistential division of work. Production, circulation and consumption must each be separated. Growth and accumulation must be the goals of economic action in a market culture (Wallerstein 1984: 17). Private property, a formal medium of exchange (such as money), economic rationality, bookkeeping and formal wage-labour may also be present (Weber 1978, vol. I). While not essential elements, they always form a specific configuration if present. As a result of the regularity of their circumstances and a certain ‘habitualization’, producers of Lao music have transformed themselves from occasionalists into adherents of a market culture, or even capitalists (see Chapter 4). The circumstances that give rise to this situation need to include not only a regular supply

A globalized music scene 115 and demand but the pressure to make a living from labour and an income in money. The increasing division of work and labour has led to the overwhelming majority of the population losing the skill of playing an instrument, which in turn has opened up a gap filled by professional musicians. Capitalists employ these producers of music and distribute their products as commodities in the market. They advertise their goods through ‘branding’ (Klein 1999), while the population at large are transformed into consumers—a system that combines the neoclassical economy of supply and demand with a Marxian economy of production, circulation and consumption. Both mechanisms remain unintelligible without a Weberian perspective on economic culture and a sociology that relates social structure to the division of work. The first shop to sell musical consumer products in Laos after socialism opened in Vientiane in the early 1990s. It sold pirated copies of Western and Thai music, which is a typical form of occasionalism. After the slow opening up of the Lao economy from 1986, people were able to acquire television sets and cassetteplayers from Thailand. They came into touch with musical products, which they then had to buy abroad. Although one retailer saw a growing opportunity and took advantage of it, there were insufficient customers and the shop shut around 1994.2 This unnamed shop also sold Lao music recorded in Thailand and the USA. The Thai cassettes contained ‘original’ music from the Isan (northeastern Thailand), while the American cassettes were produced by Lao exiles.3 They ranged across the entire spectrum of contemporary popular music, from rural folk music to pop and rock. As Lao had not been exposed to Western music—at least not after 1975—and anything Western was still classified as ‘anti-revolutionary’ (StuartFox 1997: 173), the demand was very low. It is no surprise that the first cassettes recorded in Laos contained ‘traditional’ music—i.e., songs and instruments played by villagers like those in Phonkham. According to my information, the owner of this first music shop recorded the very first tape in the Hotel Lane Xang, where a former court orchestra performed nightly for the few Western tourists in Vientiane at this time. It is likely that the shop owner geared the cassette specifically to this tourist market.4 Very soon Lao were demanding cassettes with Lao music, which the shop owner provided by recording further tapes using musicians he happened to know. The sound quality was terrible, the price cheap and the profit marginal. This first music shop never evolved into a real business. However, other entrepreneurs took up the idea, and some of them became ‘tycoons’ and are still in business. One is the owner of BK Productions, probably the market leader around 2000. The company had its base in a tiny stall at the morning market in Vientiane. A couple of employees assembled the tapes (and later CDs) and stacked them in the shop (see Plate 8.1). The products were sold over a glass counter and distributed all over Laos. Like the owner of the first shop, the entrepreneur involved began as an occasionalist, as this extract from an interview conducted in 2002 reveals: I began in 1996 by selling cassette tapes. I had a small stall on the market where I copied and sold the cassettes. Then CDs and video CDs started to

116 A globalized music scene come along. We asked three or four singers to record something for us. Demand increased rapidly, but only for Thai recordings—nobody wanted stuff recorded in Laos. The owner of a recording studio I knew had contacts in a production company in Thailand where we sent the master tapes—that’s how we could sell professionally recorded video CDs with Lao music. In Laos, there is no CD factory because our runs are tiny. The factory would not be efficient, and the market is too small. In Thailand, the quality is good and the price is cheap. We can sell our products at the same price as the copied stuff. Only CDs copied on a home computer are cheaper, and they really hurt our business. But of course they don’t last as long and don’t look as nice . . . The singers send a demo tape or stop by in person. Then we decide about production. We have a band in the studio that rehearses the songs. After rehearsals, it takes one or two days to record a CD. We pay for everything, but sometimes the singers cover the costs. We sell more than 1,500 CDs every day. Every title sells up to 100,000 copies. I don’t think this is very much. The price [per CD] is 6,000 kip [around 60 US cents]. Compared to the handful of tapes sold in 1994, BK Productions now enjoys a huge turnover, which even European record companies might envy—allowing for the differences in pricing. Within less than a decade, a substantial market for musical products has evolved in Laos. This has attracted professional entrepreneurs who are entering the market as capitalists rather than occasionalists, equipped with a marketing strategy and the goal of maximizing profit.

Plate 8.1 The stall of BK Productions at the morning market (2002)

A globalized music scene 117 Another example of a professional record company is Art Media, which in late 2006 may well be the most successful contender in the field. The company was launched in 2001 after its founders had studied the market and established appropriate business connections. The commercial director had studied business, while the technical director was a sound engineer—very much as in a Western music company. Together, they run the business. In 2002, the commercial director recounted the company’s story in an interview: If you know a couple of musicians, you get to know others who are good as well. They just catch your eye. We did our very first production with musicians we knew. It was already of excellent quality, because we started off with a sound engineer. He had a good recording studio, plenty of experience and sufficient knowledge to do the job. So far we have sold more than 100,000 CDs, some of them in the USA and France. Right from the outset, we were very confident that we’d be successful, but of course we were scared. We just wanted to check it out. That’s how we proceeded with our second production and our concerts as well. It has been an uphill ride all along. We recently staged the first concerts where all our artists were performing together—the first got an attendance of 20,000, and the second 30,000. We’re hoping for even bigger numbers next time. But of course this depends very much on the venue where the concert takes place. We do a lot of promotion on TV and the other media, beginning about two weeks before the concert. There is now a booming market in Laos for CDs catering to all tastes, ages and social groups. While the CD has replaced the cassette tape, as in the rest of the world, tapes are still used widely as CD players remain rare in the countryside. Given the choice, peasants would rather buy a television set than a CD-player and those who own CD-players put greater emphasis on volume than quality. As CDs by companies like Art Media are very professionally produced, Lao consumers detect little difference in quality between foreign and domestically produced CDs. What is important is not the origin of the CD, but the musical style it represents. The music industry is acknowledged as a major economic factor in Laos. Not only are there music programmes on national television and several new journals devoted to teenage music, but the topic figures highly on the party’s cultural agenda. Not a week passes without a newspaper report on the cultural role and impact of the music scene. One finds discussions in the press about the strength of foreign influences, cultural degeneration, the use of language, and so on (see Chapter 5). However, there are economic discussions as well. A recent report suggests that a ‘music entrepreneurs association’ should be established to organize the field, represent owners’ interests and strengthen the economic potential of the industry (Update, No. 2, 2006). The same report also discusses options to attract more investors to the Lao music industry and prevent illegal copying, as well as pleas to the ASEAN to help with these problems. In this respect, Laos has caught up with Europe.

118 A globalized music scene

Glocalization It should by now be evident that, far from tottering on the verge of extinction, Lao music is being produced on a hitherto unknown scale. Within the large field of Lao music, ‘traditional’ rural music (as still performed in Phonkham) occupies a diminishing position and in the future will survive only in specialist media and museums as subsistence farmers and their social environment disappear. However, there will always be individuals, whether in Laos, Chicago, Idaho Falls or Strasbourg, who enjoy music played on a khaen. As long as there is a market, there will be suppliers who will make efforts to promote their products—filling the kind of niche market that is becoming easier to satisfy with the increasing globalization of capitalism. However, foreign music has a much stronger presence in the public sphere than Lao music. T-shirts, Thai television channels, the internet and the international music charts are dominated by foreign names. The urban and suburban clientele who have access to these products and services have developed global tastes. There are several reasons for this. First, these groups enjoy increasingly globalized lifestyles, bringing them closer to the European middle class than to the villagers of Phonkham. Second, globalized tastes entail distinction from a social world regarded as inferior and underdeveloped (see Bourdieu 1984). Third, the development of such tastes is a way of guarding against the monopolization of the public sphere by the party. The socialist party is aware of these developments and has reacted against them with a crusade against foreign culture, especially in the field of music. A few years ago, the party organ Pathet Lao (23 December 2002) complained that Lao were no longer listening to Lao music because of poor performance quality and that foreign music should be cut back to encourage improved standards of local music. On 17 July 2005, the newspaper Van Athit reported that Lao music would soon be extinct because at parties and in discos people exclusively played foreign music— 90 per cent of which originated from Thailand—at maximum volume.5 With increasing globalization, the party is today only one of many players in the musical field. In the years immediately prior to 1986, it had rarely intruded into the world of music, which was then confined to village culture. Music was not part of the public sphere and did not pose a threat to the party’s symbolic monopoly of national life.6 The strategy used by the party to outflank competition is to convert the field of music (and all other cultural fields) into a national field—over which it can then claim complete legal authority and control. This is reflected in the newspaper articles discussed above and in the name chosen by the party for its political system, ‘central democracy’. The party is still attempting to impose full control over the public sphere. Every item published in Laos has to pass censorship, which entails serious economic consequences for producers. ‘Many singers and composers in the Lao folk music industry have turned to selling their music in Thailand after their songs were found to be inappropriate for this country’ (Vientiane Times, 14 May 2004). The same newspaper report adds that the prohibition of music that has already been produced has led to many people losing a lot of money.7

A globalized music scene 119 It is likely that current trends will increase and intensify. There will be different types of music catering for different tastes (Chapman 2007), and there will be an increasing differentiation. The party’s ‘taste’ will cater only for a specific group of consumers who are mostly older, associated with the party, socio-economically under threat and not ‘globalized’ in their outlook—in other words, conservatives. The first CDs containing revolutionary songs have been produced and are being sold on the market just like any other CD. One of the biggest Lao hits is a song encouraging people to vote; it even has an accompanying (rather dull) video clip which is shown regularly on television ahead of elections. In the near future, there are likely to be more styles of music than social groups. A distinct line can be drawn between the two major genres—folk and pop/ rock music. The older generation listens to folk music, which is derived from Lao village music. Many folk songs are known to everybody, and the khaen usually plays a major role in them as it is considered to be a distinctly Lao instrument. State organs support this type of music. Since folk music shows have been introduced to Lao television, the number of viewers has increased. Under the conditions of globalization, village music is readily turned into folk music. At the same time as the younger generation is calling for Western culture, Western tourists are demanding ‘traditional’ music. However, none of these musical styles is identical to that played by the villagers of Phonkham—they are commodities and identity constructs. The field of music is increasingly being compartmentalized into ‘autonomous’ fields: pop/rock for the younger generation; ‘traditional’ music for older people and tourists; and a proliferation of subcultural styles. Many young Lao listen to an international, globalized music—which is glocalized because it uses Lao language for the lyrics (see Chapman in press). It is based on the same harmonies, melodies and instrumentation as Western pop/ rock music, and the lyrics focus on relationships between the sexes—what else? However, the language and content of these songs make it clear that these are Lao relationships: specific cultural patterns are evoked, even if they continue to exist only in linguistic constructs. To the foreign observer, though, their wording is almost indistinguishable from Western songs. As in music produced for young Western consumers, the universe is reduced to language and emotion celebrating the romantic couple as the meaning of life: a culturally implanted yearning that is reiterated and celebrated by youthful globalized stars who appear and disappear every other week. As in the West, at any given time there are a couple of hits in the charts that everyone has to know yet nobody cares about after a short while. While the musical divide between folk and pop/rock is large, less distinct lines run between the various subcultural styles. A differentiation between hip-hop, house, trance, techno and so on is beginning to appear but has not yet resulted in the formation of distinct subcultures. This will certainly happen in the near future, however.8 There is a strong tendency for adolescents to adopt global (sub)cultural styles and to follow the international bands associated with them. There is also a trend for Lao bands to adopt these international styles while singing in Lao. All my informants claimed that there was something specifically Lao about their

120 A globalized music scene music, even if they did not sing in Lao. To a lesser degree, new Lao bands are imitating Thai subcultures. The Lao language is increasingly used by singers, contrary to predictions that it would soon disappear from music (Enfield 1999: 281).9 Pop/rock bands sing in Lao because both they and their audience identify with the language. Folk bands sing in Lao to ‘preserve’ Lao culture and to comply with official policy. And both types of band sing in Lao to cater for consumers’ demands—consumers who are spread around the world and form something like an ‘ethnoscape’ (Appadurai 1991). Increasingly, these consumers are people whose lifestyles include some ‘Lao-ness’, for whatever reason—they may not be Lao and may not even have been to Laos. In 2007, Lao national television is broadcast even in the United States. The first Art Media stars in 2001–2 imitated the Thai music scene in style, looks and pronunciation. They would not have met with any success, however, had they not included a specifically Lao element—which in their case was being Lao and singing in Lao. Although these artists affected Thai accents, the lyrics and storylines of their songs were distinctively Lao, meshing with the life-world of young urban Lao who flocked in large numbers to see the first Art Media concerts. In late 2002 and early 2003, these were the biggest events in Lao popular culture. On 18 January 2003, 30,000 young people jammed into a concert by Pan, Alexandra and others in Savannakhet (a city of around 70,000). Similar numbers attended subsequent shows held in other Lao cities (Vientiane Times, 28–30 January 2003). These concerts witnessed large-scale advertising and promotional activities. The multinational corporation Unilever, which has a big market share in Thailand, sponsored them and used them as extensive ‘branding’ exercises. Significantly, the advertising material used was in English and Lao, but not Thai (although it must have been readily available). The company had a clearly defined target group— Lao youngsters aged between about 16 and 25—and identified Lao language as a necessary element to reach this group (despite their fluency in Thai). This is exactly the strategy that has been termed ‘glocalization’ by Japanese marketing experts (Robertson 1992, 1998). The strategy of glocalization characterizes Unilever as much as it fits the Art Media pop stars. These companies have realized the potential of the Lao market and achieved some degree of success within it—the brand ‘Lao music’ has been successful not only in Laos, but even in Thailand. After 2000, Lao slang became fashionable among Bangkok youth for a while, followed by Lao music. Probably the most popular Art Media singer—in Laos and abroad—is Alexandra (Thidavanh Bounxouei), who also performs in Thailand. She has become a true superstar in a thoroughly global sense. She is a public figure who regularly features on the covers of the new magazines for Lao adolescents and is frequently interviewed about her hobbies and food preferences. Young people hang on her every word: in 2004, a rumour circulated that, at the Patthaya Music Festival, she revealed how much she regretted being born into such an uncivilized country as Laos (Vientiane Times, 14 May 2004; see also Pathet Lao,

A globalized music scene 121

Plate 8.2 Alexandra on a billboard advertising mobile phones

8 April 2004). However, the truth was rather different and the matter was resolved in an interview on Lao television. Everybody wants to profit from Alexandra’s popularity—the government is seeking to enlist her for identity politics and moral purposes (see Vientiane Times, 29 December 2005),10 Art Media wants to sell her records, and companies vie to use her image in advertising their products (see Plate 8.2). Her image is continually being made over. In Star Vientiane (Dala Viengchan), a new teenage magazine, an article showing Alexandra as a fashion model is followed by another containing the stereotypical pop star interview. Star Vientiane is a high-quality production printed on glossy paper and written almost exclusively in Lao. Apart from Alexandra, it features articles on beauty, Vientiane clubs, ‘Lao culture’, adolescent problems and so on. Only 8 of the almost 100 pages in the first issue were devoted to foreign stars like Britney Spears. Another new magazine of this type is Lao Teens, which first appeared in January 2006 and is published monthly. It is also written almost entirely in Lao and, except for a Hollywood gossip page and a double-page sports feature, contains very little material on foreign artists. It features a ‘top ten’ song chart, all of which are by Lao musicians, and discusses new releases by indigenous artists.

122 A globalized music scene

Conclusion While there can be no doubt that, in contemporary Laos, music is commodified and has produced a thriving industry that involves only a particular segment of the population, this has not led to the extinction of the Lao language—against all expectations. And neither does it mean that Lao music will inevitably be replaced by standardized American pop music in the long run. Rather, the Lao music scene has become more differentiated. Musical ‘work’ shows an increasing variety and at the same time is becoming ever more restricted to specialists, whether amateur or professional, rather than being the spontaneous productions of an active rural population. This division of work is linked on the one hand to the emergence of subcultures and, on the other, to glocalization as marketing strategy. Finally, music is a universe in itself, very much like language and the public sphere. It is a realm of expression and symbolic representation. There is a reflexive element to music, which couples contemporary sociocultural trends and the field of music. This would certainly be an interesting subject for study, as we could learn a great deal more about Laos and globalization if we understood better how Lao are reflecting on this relationship in their art. This remains to be undertaken in a separate study.

9

Village beliefs

While scholars have conducted a long and sophisticated discussion about the terms ‘religion’ and ‘animism’ and their relationship,1 in this chapter I make some observations about this relationship without entering fully into the debate. More precisely, I examine the repercussions of globalization on the attitude towards Buddhism and animism in a Lao village from a sociological perspective. I take it for granted that the beliefs of some adherents comply with orthodox Buddhism as laid out in the Pali Canon more than others’, and that some villagers’ beliefs should be classified as superstition or animism from the orthodox perspective. From a historical and philosophical point of view, it is impossible to draw a firm line between them, as is the case with pagan and Christian beliefs. For the kind of sociological enquiry I wish to undertake here, it is not necessary to draw a line at all. I argue that different social groups have different sets of beliefs which may be classified in various ways. While such differentiation is on the increase in Laos, it does not correspond to economic stratification. Classifications such as ‘Buddhism’ and ‘animism’ are problematic. Not only do these entities contain a host of tendencies and elements, which means that it is dubious to conceptualize them as entities at all, but they carry popular associations which could skew our analysis. These associations include the conviction that Buddhism is a ‘civilized’ religion with a written canon and a clear orthodoxy, while animism involves a ‘primitive’ belief in ghosts and the forces of nature. In this chapter, I advance the argument that, while it is virtually impossible to draw a firm line between these two sets of associations, any belief system forms a specific configuration. The concept of ‘belief’ is equally problematic.2 It suggests a conscious set of standards or propositions which combine to form a creed or dogma. This is not my understanding of the term in this chapter. I rather interpret it in the pragmatist tradition as an almost transcendental presupposition that has been fully integrated with one’s world-view. Referring to Bourdieu, a belief might be described as an element of one’s mental habitus and, more specifically, a set of dispositions for interpreting reality. I have prefaced this chapter with an unusually lengthy introduction since the questions and answers I posit are scarcely intelligible without providing some background. To this end, I draw on an influential theory of the relationship

124 Village beliefs between Buddhism and animism put forward by Barend J. Terwiel (1975), which is introduced in the first section of the chapter. The second section outlines the history and present status of Buddhism in Laos, while the third describes the village setting of the enquiry. In the fourth section, the results of my own research are summarized.3

Monks and magic In his book Monks and Magic, Terwiel investigates Buddhism in a Thai rural setting. He argues against generalized views of Thai religion by distinguishing between urban and rural Buddhism. He further distinguishes two basic interpretations of Thai Buddhism by Western scholars (Terwiel 1975: 1). One group interprets Thai Buddhism as syncretistic, whereby Buddhist and local (especially Tai animist) elements are blended. Other scholars hold that there is a compartmentalization of religion in Thailand, in which only the educated classes can claim to be true believers in a ‘pure’ form of Buddhism. For both groups, there is only one Thai religion—either a syncretistic faith subscribed to by all, or a script-based religion which is not properly understood by all. According to Terwiel, both groups focus too exclusively on either of the two possible settings for Buddhism in Thailand, the urban and the rural. While the urban elites are familiar with the ‘pure’ philosophical elements of Buddhism, which are more or less irrelevant to the rural population, in the countryside Buddhism is reinterpreted to fit a mainly animistic set of beliefs (Terwiel 1975: 3). Buddhism does not represent a civilized veneer, under which a primordial animism still prevails, but rather forms an integrated blend (or hybrid) with local peasant beliefs. More precisely, Terwiel argues, the rural population believes that Buddhism aims at a supernatural realm that transcends animism; as a result, Buddhist monks have greater supernatural power than (animist) specialists in the magical realm (ibid.: 18, 134). While the rural Tai population embraced monks and Buddhism because of their supreme power over the animistic, magical world (ibid.: 4), early city rulers embraced them because they could enhance the rulers’ authority and power (ibid.: 13, passim). Urban Buddhism was powerful insofar as it was based on scripture, whereas in the countryside its power was based on its ability to control the supernatural realm. In both cases, it was adapted to the sociocultural environment, which it changed by changing itself. Practices which were strongly at variance with Buddhist teachings, such as animal sacrifices, slowly disappeared (ibid.: 19). From this basic, historically founded distinction between urban and rural Buddhism, Terwiel (1975: 5) derives a typology of Thai Buddhism. He argues that the two schools interpreting Thai Buddhism simply refer to different social environments and therefore do not necessarily contradict each other. ‘Syncretist Buddhism’ is typically found among lower socio-economic strata with little education, such as farmers, fishermen and servants, who mostly live in rural areas. ‘Compartmentalized Buddhism’, on the other hand, characterizes the upper strata with higher education living in towns, such as the aristocracy, the upper middle

Village beliefs 125 classes and bureaucrats. At the same time as he outlines his typology, Terwiel concedes that it is ‘probably too rough a model’ (ibid.: 5). He speculates that there may be other types of Buddhism and suggests that compartmentalized Buddhism comprises several varieties which might be distinguished by a more detailed analysis. This attempt at a more sophisticated set of distinctions is precisely the approach I adopt here. While my own data are insufficient for a complete typology, I want rather to indicate how such a typology might be constructed. The only social distinction Terwiel makes is between urban and rural settings. Within the urban setting, he considers only the educated elites, failing to take into account city rulers, artisans, labourers and others. Apart from his own interests, this restriction in scope can perhaps be explained by the fact that he eschews a sociological approach: he specifically states that religion is not a social system (or field), but most often an aspect of behaviour (Terwiel 1975: 39). I believe it is both. Sociological reductionism is just as inadequate as a psychological or anthropological description for making sense of Southeast Asian Buddhism. Nevertheless, Terwiel’s typology fits the indigenous structure of baan and muang very well (see Chapter 2), a structural logic that, in my opinion, underpins Lao society. However, with the advent of colonialism, other cultures and structures added their own layers to the system. Terwiel does not tell us anything about these later accretions, as his interest focuses on pre-modern times and the rural setting. The historical sketch that follows should be read against the background provided in Chapter 2.

The development of Lao Buddhism It is very likely that Buddhism first expanded due to missionary efforts, particularly during the reign of Ashoka in the second century BC (Villiers 1965: 48).4 There is a consensus among scholars that, after the missionaries, traders became the most important disseminators of Buddhism (Coedès 1948: 43–7; Higham 1989: 282). Several centuries after Ashoka, traders seem to have taken the leading role in the spread of Buddhism to Southeast Asia, and Tongking became one of the major centres of Buddhism, most likely as an expression of Vietnamese resistance against Chinese domination (Villiers 1965: 15, 48). In most areas of Southeast Asia, the emerging city rulers adopted Indian religions. In the region comprising presentday Laos, Cambodia and Thailand, Buddhism and Hinduism appeared almost simultaneously with the development of fortified towns (see Chapter 2). The first ethnolinguistic families to adopt Indian religions in the region were the Khmer (with a centre in contemporary Cambodia, particularly Angkor) and the Mon (with a centre in contemporary Myanmar, particularly Pagan). Some of the Mon towns had direct links to Sri Lanka and their inhabitants were Buddhists of the Theravada school, while the Khmer towns adhered predominantly to Hinduism and the Mahayana school (Brown 1996: 20, passim). Both traditions overlapped roughly west of the Mekong River and in southern Laos—a situation which is still evident today. This zone of overlap is precisely the area later settled by the Tai, especially by the Lao, who continued to derive

126 Village beliefs religious inspiration from the Mon (Coedès 1926; Briggs 1949). However, before the first Tai principalities were founded, their adaptation of Buddhism became more rigid—the local languages, which had previously been used for religious purposes, were replaced by Pali and the rulers called on religious specialists to reform religious practices on the basis of the Buddhist scriptures (Bizot 2000: 524 passim; see Photisane 1996). Special symbols of orthodoxy and worship were imported from abroad (Reynolds 1978a). While early Buddhism was certainly a medium for rulers to extend and consolidate their power, it also was a belief system, and the Buddhist order (sangha) was not merely an instrument for secular rulers to use. In most periods of Tai history, the order was organized in a fashion exactly parallel to the secular administration, with each rank in the order corresponding to an administrative rank (Zago 1972: 40, passim). Successive rulers tried to instrumentalize the order by means of its organization, as the prince or king claimed to be not only the secular but the spiritual head of society and was responsible for the appointment of senior monks (ibid.: 65, passim). However, the order also had an internal hierarchy which was based mainly on special honours and seniority (ibid.: 41). Furthermore, it was socioculturally linked to the various levels of secular society, as each monastery had interdependent relationships with the village or town where it was located (see Chapter 2). While court Buddhism flourished at times when the secular courts were politically strong, the other levels of the order were highly dependent on economic resources (Barber 1974b: 47). Monasteries had to be supported, monks had to be fed and laypeople needed sufficient spare time to devote themselves to religion. These preconditions were usually fulfilled in the Lao countryside, where Buddhism expanded in a non-Buddhist setting following the model analysed by Terwiel. Monasteries were built, festivals organized and local beliefs integrated into monastic rituals (Zago 1972: 39, passim). By such means, Buddhist monasteries commended themselves to the surrounding population and developed into centres of community life—which they still are today. With Thai conquest after 1827, the Lao Buddhist order virtually fell to pieces (see Ngaosyvathn/Ngaosyvathn 1988). It was reanimated by the French, who exploited various aspects of Buddhism for their own purposes. First, the order was useful for keeping people’s minds off politics (Barber 1974b: 48). Second, it helped with the organization and administration of the country. Third—and perhaps most importantly—it contributed greatly to forming a Lao identity and countering Thai influence. This led to the French founding Buddhist institutes in Phnom Penh and Vientiane in the early 1930s (Evans 1998c: 50, passim). French control and political manipulation of the Buddhist order increased during the following decades, which was certainly a factor in encouraging a large proportion of monks to side with the communist movement during the Second Indochinese War (ibid.). Another important factor was the Westernization of urban life under American domination, which was perceived as moral decay.5 While the corrupt royal Lao government exerted excessive control over the order, the communists, on the other hand, refrained from overt control and drew heavily on moralistic

Village beliefs 127 discourse (Bechert 2000: 283–99). This image was underpinned by the impeccable Buddhist reputations of the half-brothers Suvanna Phuma (who took a neutralist stance during the war) and Suphanuvong (an important revolutionary leader). In the 1960s and 1970s, a faction of the Buddhist order played an important role in the socialist revolution in Laos (Ladwig in press a). Buddhists’ hopes for a society that would be at once socialist and Buddhist were shattered after 1975. Although the socialist government did not carry out a purge as in Cambodia, neither did it conceal its Marxist interpretation of religion as ‘the opium of the people’. The previously covert manipulation of the order became blatant, as monks were forced to attend seminars on socialism and urged to disseminate socialism among laypeople. The two ‘sects’, Thammayut and Mahanikay, were unified under the umbrella of a socialist mass organization, the United Buddhist Association. People were discouraged from almsgiving and organizing festivals in monasteries, as such activities were considered wasteful (Evans 1998c: 59). The new regime soon acquired the label of bor muan—‘no fun’ (ibid.)—the worst verdict possible in Lao eyes (see Chapter 4). Monks now had to work for their own living and for the benefit of the people. A popular reaction soon set in: the socialist government’s religious policies were denounced by the rural population, the urban elites and the royalists alike. Many monks fled to Thailand, and soon the government was forced to revise its policies. Like the French before them, the socialists began to understand Buddhism’s potential for the building of a Lao nation and a Lao identity (see Chapter 5). Patrice Ladwig (in press a) has observed two parallel tendencies characterizing contemporary Buddhism in Laos that partly contradict each other. One is an officially sanctioned ‘Re-Buddhization’ (Evans 1998c), the other a major loss of religious knowledge and involvement among the general population. While both tendencies certainly exist and dominate the public sphere, they do not characterize the underlying sociocultures, however. Although the authorities have themselves acknowledged the decline in religious knowledge, rural Buddhism has changed very little over recent decades and not all sectors of the urban population have lost interest in the religion. The current official policy reflects identity politics and is guided by the Ministry of Information and Culture—which has replaced the king as the supreme head of the order.6 Novices and monks are urged to acquire further education, study meditation and scripture, and combat animism (Ladwig in press a). However, Buddhist practice and official policies have achieved socially differentiated outcomes, some of which are analysed in the following section, using Ban Pha Khao as a case study.

Village and religion The village of Ban Pha Khao, which lies about ten kilometres north of downtown Vientiane (see Figure 0.2, above), was studied in the 1950s by the JapaneseAmerican anthropologist Tsuneo Ayabe (1961). It is thus a suitable case for further studies, as sociocultural change can be investigated using Ayabe’s report for comparison. When Ayabe visited the village, it had 402 inhabitants. He was told

128 Village beliefs that the village was established after 1860, when the area was entirely rural and Vientiane itself had been reduced to a village by the Thai conquest of 1827–8. The land is flat and suitable for wet-rice cultivation. The village was built along the road that today is Road 13 to Pakse. In the twentieth century, it was moved 500 metres to the west, away from the road, in order to avoid flooding during the rainy season. However, in so doing the immediate link to Vientiane, which was growing rapidly at the time of Ayabe’s research, was lost. According to Ayabe, 74 of the 88 (male) heads of households in Ban Pha Khao described themselves as rice farmers, and between them they produced around 200 tons of rice per year. The other household heads were taxi-drivers, a couple of labourers, a businessman, a teacher and several low-level civil servants. Except for the teacher, all these men had moved to the village within the five years preceding Ayabe’s visit. Ninety per cent of the population had been born in the village, and most had married within it. According to Ayabe, the economy of the village was closely linked to the rice-growing cycle, which is labour intensive during the rainy season (and immediately before it), after which the rice is harvested. At the time of Ayabe’s research, most households in the village consisted of nuclear families and were both matrilocal and matrilineal. According to Ayabe, there was no division of labour; social status was determined by age, achievement and wealth. The social status of a woman was usually determined by that of her husband. Although, according to Ayabe, the social structure of the village was ‘loose’ (see Chapter 2), he also describes it as rather clear cut. The village head, the teacher and the animist priest enjoyed an elevated social status, as did the two resident Buddhist monks, who were assisted by four novices. The villagers maintained that the monastery had been the nucleus of the village, a claim they still reiterate today—although it has never been confirmed. Male villagers were expected to spend some time in the monastery—at least a couple of days at some point in their lives. Ayabe claimed that Buddhism played an important role in village life, as did animism, but he failed to expand on this. Since Ayabe’s study in the 1950s, Ban Pha Khao has grown significantly— today it has around 3,000 inhabitants. Although the village has grown more or less continuously, the highest increase occurred after economic liberalization in 1986 (see Faculty of Social Sciences 2006). This growth has mostly been the result of migration, mainly from inside Laos.7 In 2005, around 20 per cent of migrants reported relocating mainly because of factory employment, a quarter named the university (which is around three kilometres away) and another 25 per cent mentioned the availability of schools. But by far the biggest percentage (almost half) gave the traditional reason for migration in Laos: finding land for cultivation (ibid.).8 Even today, half of the households in Ban Pha Khao report that ricegrowing is their major source of income. Ban Pha Khao has grown almost to its limits on all sides. Most importantly, it has again reached the road, which now runs through one of the most important industrial areas of Laos. A number of companies have opened up in Ban Pha Khao. Within the village limits, there were eight knitting factories in 1985, while in 2003

Village beliefs 129 there were thirty-one, not counting neighbouring factories. All these enterprises provide jobs for the villagers. The level of female employment has increased in Ban Pha Khao, while the number of female peasants has decreased. Most of the jobs require unskilled labour. While half the village population has attended only elementary school or lower, 10 per cent are university students or teachers. Scarcity of land has already led to the ‘traditional’ response, a split in the village: several villagers have founded a new village around ten kilometres to the north, where they produce flowers for the market. In 2007, Ban Pha Khao is turning from a village into a suburb of Vientiane, a tendency already noted by Ayabe fifty years ago. This helps explain the fact that most Lao social groups are represented in Ban Pha Khao, from the subsistence farmer to the administrator and the intellectual. Subsistence ethics and a subsistential division of work no longer play significant roles; the village has been integrated into the market economy and is experiencing the full impact of contemporary globalization. These developments might lead us to conclude that we could no longer expect to find ‘authentic’ beliefs in Ban Pha Khao, or that the villagers would fall into Terwiel’s two categories of syncretists and compartmentalists. However, while villagers are not Buddhists or animists, their beliefs represent hybrids corresponding to different compositions of capital and habitus. As elsewhere in the region, male Buddhists are supposed to spend some time in the monastery before marriage (see Zago 1972: 69). This entails merit (bun)—not only for the individual concerned but for his parents. Most commonly, ordination takes place at the beginning of the Buddhist Lent after the start of the rainy season. For the villagers, there is no fundamental difference between temporary and longterm members of the order (see Terwiel 1975: 104).9 Lay villagers and members of the order complement one another: ‘The layperson seeks moral support, advice and especially the means to acquire merit for his present and future life from the monk. The monk . . . depends on laypersons for his subsistence’ (Zago 1972: 47; my translation). Subsistence includes housing, food and infrastructure (ibid.). The villagers are usually responsible for building the monastery and renovating it when necessary. The monastery at Ban Pha Khao had just been refurbished at the time of my research (see Plate 9.1). Each morning, food is given to the members of the order during the famous processions of monks and novices through the streets in their orange-coloured robes. The ordination of new monks and novices is one of the most important events of the year. Almost the whole village gathers in the monastery to celebrate this ritual with a party (bun). Presents are given to the monastery, and the monks are fed. The villagers stand in line in front of the monastery hall where they enter to distribute their presents on a table and receive a blessing. Later, there is chanting and eating. In 2004, the monastery of Ban Pha Khao received six million kip (around US$ 600) in addition to many other gifts. There were a handful of new novices, who stayed for periods ranging between a day and the entire Lent. In general, very few men remain in the order to become full monks. In the dry season, the monastery of Ban Pha Khao contains virtually no monks apart from the abbot and, typically, between two and four novices.

130 Village beliefs

Plate 9.1 The refurbished sim of Ban Pha Khao

Village beliefs 131 Today, the monastery is still the centre of community life—aside from the square in front of the school where more secular communal gatherings take place. Meetings and festivals can take place at either location. The village head is elected in the monastery, while his office is next to the school overlooking the square. Religious festivals are celebrated in the monastery compound, but many other activities take place there as well, much as in a Western church. Lao villagers are supposed to be Buddhists, to participate in the life of the monastery and to obey the precepts of Buddhism (see next section). Monks and novices in their turn are not expected to be holy beings, as they are typically ordinary villagers known to everyone, with all their virtues and failings. The division between ‘script religion’, the final goal of which is to overcome this world and attain nirvana, and ‘lay religion’, the goal of which is rebirth under more favourable circumstances, is not very pronounced (see Zago 1972: 93). In everyday life, the most important duty of the monks is to perform rituals and blessings. Apart from the early morning processions, these are the only occasions when monks spatially enter the lay world. The villagers call on the monks to perform rituals (especially blessings) related to important events such as birth, marriage, illness and death. However, there are plenty of other, more trivial occasions on which the monks can perform rituals—anything from a visit by a foreigner to the acquisition of a precious object. On such occasions, monks are called upon to perform the baci, a ritual involving spirits who are invoked and asked for their benevolent assistance. These rituals must be labelled syncretistic at least, if not outright animist. This form of animism persists in Ban Pha Khao. Many rocks, mountains and plant and animal species are each believed to be inhabited by a spirit (phii) with a particular name and character. Some spirits are evil, others are good and some are capable of changing their nature. There are rituals associated with every type of spirit. Disease and fate are often explained by spirits, which are linked to the internal spirits or components of the soul called khwan. Human beings are supposed to be inhabited by thirty-two khwan that together form the soul. If any one of them leaves the body, the person falls ill. In this case, rituals are performed to call back the khwan, usually by monks or spirit doctors. The villagers of Ban Pha Khao do not perform these rituals as often as rural Lao. However, the most popular form of summoning the khwan, the ritual of baci (sukhwan), has become something of a Lao cultural icon (in addition to the khaen and sticky rice), and is performed ever more frequently. People tie white cotton strings around one another’s wrists to call the spirits and to wish one another well. Evil spirits typically reside in the forest (paa mei). As there is little forest left in Ban Pha Khao, there is little to fear from this type of spirit. However, the khwan of people who die an unlucky death (such as in an accident or during pregnancy) are believed to turn evil and need special offerings to keep them quiet. Other spirits also need attention, especially the village spirit or protector. When first asked, almost all villagers in Ban Pha Khao denied the existence of a village spirit; as it turned out, however, many villagers ‘visit’ this spirit regularly.10 As in other Lao villages, ‘he’—or sometimes the spirit takes the form of a couple—lives in a

132 Village beliefs

Plate 9.2 The house of the village spirit in Ban Pha Khao

special house built exclusively for him in the village. It was even refurbished in 2002 (see Plate 9.2). An annual ritual is also held for the village spirit (for a detailed description, see Faculty of Social Sciences 2006). A (female) spirit doctor presides over this ritual, which is supposed to ensure the well-being of the entire village. In the course of the ritual, alcohol and sweets are offered to the spirit and a chicken is sacrificed, or sometimes a bigger animal such as a pig. Villagers eat part of the animal and offer a portion to the spirit. Every family is supposed to donate money or goods as an offering. The central event in the ritual occurs when the spirit doctor throws eggs onto the path in front of the spirit house; if they all break, the village will fare well until next year’s ritual—if not, there will be trouble.

Social structure and belief in the village After the propaganda campaign directed against Buddhism in the years immediately after the socialist takeover in 1975 (see Zago 1972: 387 for the anti-Buddhist propaganda that was initiated during the war), the party came to realize its futility. Slowly, its attitude towards Buddhism changed from total opposition to almost complete support. Buddhism is now an integral component of Lao identity, as prescribed by the dominant forces in the political field (see Chapter 5). The party leadership regards it as a bulwark against the detrimental effects of globalization and as a medium through which it can influence the population. It is now

Village beliefs 133 concentrating on a purge of animism, which seems almost as futile as its earlier campaign against Buddhism. For the purposes of propaganda and national identity, Buddhism and socialism are regarded as compatible—something that is not felt to be the case with animism. This has led to measures being taken against animism and its ‘representatives’, especially spirit doctors (Evans 1998c: 71). However, as Buddhism has merged with many elements of ‘animism’—something evident in the rituals described above—the measures taken against animism have once again produced tensions between the party and the order (ibid.). It is difficult to predict the forms of hybridization that will result from the interaction of religious traditions, national identity politics and globalization. Rituals like the baci are interpreted as essentially Lao, even by the leadership. The baci is performed by officials whenever a guest has to be honoured, and tourist companies and upmarket hotels perform one for their paying guests. It has become a symbol of Lao-ness like the khaen, sticky rice and Luang Phrabang. In other words, animism and Buddhism will continue to form ever-changing hybrids that vary with the circumstances. These hybrids differ according to their social context. It is no longer true, as Terwiel found for Thailand in the 1970s, that the urban middle classes tend to embrace pure script religion and despise animism and animist elements in Buddhism. On the contrary, the urban middle classes in Thailand have rediscovered and reinvented animism, ‘superstition’ and spirit doctors (for Laos, Evans 1998c: 75; for Thailand, Swearer 1995). However, this observation has itself to be differentiated—some groupings within the middle classes perform animist rituals, while others prefer ‘pure’ Buddhism. This phenomenon can be studied in Ban Pha Khao, where all of the elders declare themselves to be Buddhists—compared to 93 per cent of the entire village population. This does not mean that the younger generation no longer subscribes to Buddhism, as the local non-Buddhists are almost exclusively non-Lao immigrants. However, elders visit the monastery much more regularly than villagers under sixty years of age. This is especially true for the most regular Buddhist event, the Van Sin—the equivalent of the Christian Sunday. It has also been remarked that the lay population who visit the monastery are almost exclusively women—which is similarly the case for those who give the monks food each morning. This does not mean that Buddhism is the preserve of the old and women, but rather that, in contemporary Laos, younger males have become labourers with regular working hours and the need to relax during the weekend (see Terwiel 1975: 56). Most men who attend Buddhist ceremonies on a regular basis in Ban Pha Khao are unemployed, farmers, or elderly—all groups with some spare time at their disposal. However, their perspectives on religious belief show some variation. Increased leisure time is not the only reason why elderly people in general seem to show more interest and belief in religion—the imminence of death must play a role, too. In Laos, village elders also treat the monastery compound as a meeting place. Peasants seem to be attached to the customs and beliefs of their ancestors much more firmly than other social groups. This is reflected in the reason they gave

134 Village beliefs for their religious motivation: all respondents in this group stated that they were acting as their ancestors had done before them.11 There is also a clear social differentiation insofar as the performance and attendance of rituals is concerned. Here, the differences depend on time, money and education. Terwiel (1975: 196) had already remarked that poor peasants were not able to participate in all the activities regarded as necessary to acquire large amounts of bun (merit). To a marked degree, bun correlates directly with the amount of money spent on acquiring it (ibid.: 218). All the villagers of Ban Pha Khao agreed with Terwiel on this point. On the other hand, in many cases poverty is linked to an abundance of time—or rather a lack of fixed working hours. This is true for unemployed villagers, peasants, elders, women and petty traders. It is not the case for unskilled labourers who constitute up to 10 per cent of the village population and are mostly aged between eighteen and thirty. This is also the group with the highest percentage of migrants and of non-Buddhists. It comes as no surprise that the groups with a relatively large amount of spare time are those who perform the Van Sin; these groups also dominate the ritual for the summoning of the village spirit. However, performance of ritual has to be distinguished from belief. Since the time of Ayabe’s research, the percentage of villagers who ‘officially’ subscribe to animism has hardly changed. And although there are fewer Buddhists, due to immigration of non-Lao, the overall proportion of Buddhists has probably remained stable as well. However, the quality of belief has changed and become socially more differentiated. As we have seen, the intensity and comprehensiveness of belief in both animism and Buddhism seem to increase with age and to decrease with education. Seventy per cent of the villagers believe that the village spirit possesses magical powers (such as killing, healing and protecting), while about half stated that he exerts an important influence on the village and villagers’ lives. Rather fewer people expressed the same views with regard to the monastery. All these beliefs were clearly correlated with age and education. Older and less educated people also expressed stronger belief in the Buddhist hell, merit, spirits and the power of tradition. While just 10 per cent of the villagers claimed to have seen a spirit, 65 per cent said that they believed in spirits because their parents had held the same beliefs. Belief in spirits was almost unanimous among those villagers with no education. And while a high percentage of businesspeople and farmers believe in spirits, this belief was not very pronounced among administrators, university teachers, white-collar employees and students. These figures give a very clear indication that belief in the spirit-world decreases with education—although there is no correlation between income and belief. The correlation between age and belief in spirits is less pronounced, as many children believe in them. Finally, one also has to distinguish between knowledge, belief and practice. Many villagers who are familiar with religious precepts and traditions do not necessarily follow them. This is most evident with respect to the five Buddhist precepts, especially the prohibition on the killing of animals. Although this precept was known to almost all the villagers, all of them stated it was necessary to slaughter animals for food—except perhaps on Van Sin. This involves an almost

Village beliefs 135 complete contradiction between knowledge and praxis/belief. This contradiction was also rather pronounced with respect to lying. While it might be argued—as in Christianity—that these precepts are too lofty to be followed in everyday life, the contradiction is situated at a deeper level as knowledge becomes detached from praxis and religion becomes one field among many. Although the Buddha’s teaching about the cycle of birth and rebirth and its dependence on merit was known to virtually every villager, many young people had discounted it as they had observed that immoral actions often lead to wealth and happiness and very rarely to punishment. As with proverbs (see Chapter 5), religious praxis is best known to peasants and well-educated people, while religious knowledge becomes more comprehensive with an increasing level of education. Immigrants and labourers with little education know significantly less about religious traditions. Phut Simmalavong (2004: 23–8) has demonstrated this with respect to Lao traditions of house-building; while peasants and intellectuals knew most about these traditions, intellectuals did not believe in them. This is true for Buddhist and animist traditions as well. For example, only elders, peasants and well-educated people in Ban Pha Khao knew the correct term for the monks’ morning meal (san chang han).

Conclusion If one focuses exclusively on religious belief, as Terwiel did in his analysis of Thai rural Buddhism, his claim that dogmatic ‘purity’ increases with the level of education is still true in Laos to some extent. However, belief has to be distinguished from knowledge and from performance, which reflect different social dividing lines. Furthermore, purity is not a very meaningful concept under the conditions of socialism and globalization—if it ever was. Buddhism has long become a hybrid with strong elements of animism, such as the baci. Only a tiny minority of intellectuals has the ability and interest to tease out these components, as social forces such as the socialist party and glocalization are working to make them indistinguishable. My study of village culture demonstrates a lack of a uniform interdependence of knowledge, belief and practice. Peasants know, believe and perform traditional religious rituals, whereas ‘independent’ intellectuals have the knowledge, but their religious beliefs are much less intense and their practice is rare. However, intellectuals with important official functions claim to believe and perform significantly more often. If one distinguishes belief from education, however, there is a clear correlation between ‘compartmentalized religion’ and educational attainment, as Terwiel has claimed. This type of belief is related to education as well as to exposure to socialist propaganda and globalization. These are not equivalent; their configuration produces differing hybrids of beliefs that deserve a more detailed analysis.

10 Configurations of globalization in Laos

In this chapter, I summarize some important points made in the book, give an overview of current trends and effects of globalization in Laos, and draw a few conclusions. In the first chapter, I argued that we need to distinguish between the division of work and social structure, and that both are unintelligible without a consideration of their history, which produces a layered configuration of sociocultures. The chapters that followed were intended to illustrate and validate this argument. They explored various aspects and dimensions of the configuration, focusing mainly on the relationship between the distribution of social resources and specific fields. However, the history of sociocultures in combination with the configuration of fields is not sufficient to understand Lao society. This book has also explored the concepts of habitus and the life cycle, the symbolic universe and globalization. It became apparent that many Lao have an ‘ill-fitting’ habitus and that the generations differ greatly in their respective cultures and habitus. They also react differently to the effects of globalization and to identity politics, as well as playing differing active roles in Lao society. Finally, Laos is not a ‘container’ intelligible in itself, but has to be understood in the framework of global and transnational processes. It is this aspect that I wish to explore further in this final chapter.

Sociocultures The basic—and, quantitatively, still dominant—sector of Lao society is the rural village (baan). It is a safe guess that more than half of the inhabitants of Laos are still peasants. In earlier chapters, I explored various aspects of their (changing) culture, social structure and division of work. Lao villages have a social structure based on kinship (categorized according to sex and age) and modified by special abilities retained by individuals. I have called this a personal social structure. James Scott’s (1976) concept of ‘subsistence ethics’ is a useful term to describe the division of work in a Lao village. Peasants focus on having enough until the next harvest, not on having as much as possible; they are interested in survival and security, not in affluence and profit. They achieve these goals by mutual aid (reciprocity), reinforcing family ties and traditionalism. I call the division of work in a Lao village a subsistential division of work.

Configurations of globalization in Laos 137 In present-day Laos and neighbouring areas, major political entities rose and fell over several centuries. The best known are Angkor, which covered present-day Cambodia as well as some of Laos and Thailand, and Lan Sang, which included most of Laos and northeastern Thailand. Raendchen and Raendchen (1998) have usefully described Tai political entities as baan–muang, village–town. These units were dominated by a town, which was usually fortified and had a market. Civic rulers paid tribute to a more powerful ruler in a larger town or city, who in turn might pay tribute to the Chinese emperor. The muang were not Oriental despotisms or bureaucratic states, but entities based on loyalties owed by minor rulers to a major ruler. The Buddhist order was to some degree integrated into the muang; smaller monasteries were located in villages and the more important ones in the cities. But to some degree the order was an autonomous institution—i.e., something like a field in Bourdieu’s sense. Ruling courts attempted to integrate large segments of the surrounding population in various ways, and in the more integrated societies all citizens were allocated a specific rank. In Tai societies this type of organization was called sakdina. For the most part, Tai muang did not develop into a sakdina structure—or a typical rank or class society. They were instead characterized by patrimonialism (Jacobs 1971), a hierarchical relationship in which loyalty and services are exchanged for protection and remuneration. Although this relationship resembles kinship, it includes individuals who are neither related nor bound by kinship structures. Sakdina, on the other hand, is a clearly defined rank society and has influenced Tai social structure up to this day. Patrimonialism remains more influential, however, because it is more deeply entrenched. When the French subdued the region in the nineteenth century, they created a new state with the name of Laos. As in other colonial territories, hitherto non-existent borders were drawn up that cut across historical, cultural and ethnic ties. The French had little interest in Laos and did little to develop the economy, administration or education. But their presence led to the development of a Western-style urban culture, a small but important group of intellectuals, a modern nation state, the abolition of slavery and the integration of minorities and other marginalized entities into a larger political structure. Resistance to the French return after the Second World War and to the intervention of the United States finally resulted in the foundation of the socialist state of Laos in 1975. After the socialist takeover, some elite groups and most of the urban middle classes fled.1 Because the Lao socialist leadership comprised members of the royal family and members of various minorities, it was able to gain the support of a substantial proportion of the population. In foreign policy, the leadership tried to balance the influence of external powers in order to preserve both independence and security. In domestic policy, it mapped out an ideologically based socialist programme but quickly revised it when obstacles appeared (Evans 1990). After 1978, it progressively shut down cooperative ventures and allowed rudimentary market structures to operate. Buddhism was fully supported after a brief period of suppression. In many respects, socialist Laos returned to pre-French structures. However, most of the educated elite was gone, up to a third of the population had

138 Configurations of globalization in Laos been displaced and party control extended into every village. Laos was now an integrated nation state, but without economic and intellectual resources. The precolonial structure of a ruling elite, a small group of city-dwellers and the mass of the peasantry, along with the Buddhist order, was superseded—but not abolished— by an all-encompassing socialist party.

Globalization Rather hesitantly, Laos has opened up to the international community in recent years, but without abolishing one-party rule. Following the pattern of Vietnam, the first economic reforms were initiated in 1979, followed by the more comprehensive reforms of 1986, which began to make themselves felt around 1994. Only a few years ago, most Lao peasants had never seen aid workers, tourists or businesspeople. Television is just beginning to reach the most remote areas. When asked in 2003 about their material wants, the villagers of Phonkham failed to mention cars or television sets—they wanted practical aids for their peasant life such as fishponds and tractors. In similar interviews, urbanites replied that they wanted cars and houses—interests reflecting the trends of contemporary globalization. For most of history, globalization (where it has occurred) has been the outcome of an increase in the segmentary division of work—i.e., the exchange between socially distinct and economically specialized social entities. What we have come to call ‘globalization’—the ‘compression of time and space’ or ‘the world growing

Plate 10.1 Half of the Lao population has no experience of socialism

Configurations of globalization in Laos 139 together’—is based not on the segmentary but on the functional division of work. Whereas a term like ‘compression’ reflects a segmentary division, phenomena like neoliberalism, hybridization, the emergence of fields, diasporas and transnationalism refer to the functional division of work. This is a new phenomenon, which we do not yet entirely understand. Thinkers from Adorno and Arendt to Foucault and Luhmann have argued that the modern age is characterized by the functional division of labour, and thus by technocracy and specialized labour. However, these theorists all lacked historical perspective and were restricted by a totalizing Eurocentric framework. While we need their theories to understand the present, we cannot rely exclusively on them. Having made this point, my analysis of the symbolic dimensions of Lao society shows that contemporary globalization does not consist exclusively of a functional differentiation, but comprises segmentary elements as well. These are not mere atavisms, doomed to disappear. While it is true that globalization has led to a ‘denationalization’ of fields, at the same time it has strengthened and standardized the nation state, the national language and elements of a national culture, as well as numerous local entities and phenomena. Even if we agree with Luhmann and Wallerstein that there is one all-encompassing division of labour, it is theoretically inappropriate to focus exclusively on this global system. Earlier social structures and divisions of work form essential elements of contemporary configurations and may never disappear entirely.2

Fields and inequality Today, the division of work is increasingly constituted by a (functional) configuration of fields. In analysing social structure, the multitude of fields can be reduced by asking the question: which fields usurp the logic of other fields? Not all fields are equally important with regard to social structure because they embody differing degrees of power, which can often be transferred to other fields. Thus, it is sufficient to analyse the goals, rules and structure of the dominant fields, which in turns leads us to ask which resources are required to occupy the most coveted positions in the dominant fields. To determine social structure, it is sufficient to classify a given population according to their resources (and habitus) with respect to the requirements of the dominant fields. This analysis is complicated by the persistence of earlier sociocultures forming layers beneath and alongside the functional configuration of fields. Both—i.e., layers of sociocultures and the configuration of fields—have to be analysed in their interrelation. For historical reasons, contemporary Laos is very unevenly ‘developed’. It comprises various sociocultures and social environments, some of which formed distinct societies until very recently. There are pronounced inequalities between urban and rural regions, between the ethnic majority and minorities, mountain and valley peoples, the national capital and the periphery, and rich and poor, as well as between different regions. There are no clearly delineated fields in Laos. Neither lifestyles nor cultures can be deduced from social position alone—they rather form a complex configuration in which history persists as a set of layers.

140 Configurations of globalization in Laos In Laos, the political field undoubtedly occupies the leading position. However, this position is being challenged by the economic field and increasingly threatened by symbolic phenomena such as language, cultural expressions, non-Lao identity symbols and globalizing cultural trends. Until recently, simply setting out the party hierarchy may have given an adequate picture of Lao social structure. However, this is scarcely relevant to an understanding of the social dynamics based on the early sociocultures and contemporary external forces we have examined, especially current globalization. In any case, we cannot neglect the economic field and the symbolic sphere in our analysis of Lao social structure. The socialist leadership has tried to eliminate social differences as far as possible—although this levelling process has stopped short of the leadership itself. The leadership has always consisted of a patrimonially structured group: the same families run the country today that ran it before the revolution (see Halpern 1964c; Rehbein 2004). Only the most exposed individuals and a handful of family names have disappeared. And beneath the elites, the social structure has changed little. One of the important changes in post-revolutionary society was the advent of the party, which offered the opportunity of upward mobility; the leading revolutionary families even gained access to the elites. Thus, the majority of the population lives in traditional kinship structures, while a small minority is embedded in patrimonial or bureaucratic structures. At the same time, the position of the elites remains unthreatened—a situation which may change. First, the elites are growing too numerous, resulting in factional struggles between families and political groups as well as economic competition. Second, globalized city-dwellers have no desire to improve their social position through the party alone. Third, the party structure has always cut across traditional structures, something which will become a more serious issue as peasants develop alternative infrastructures to enable them to break out of village and party structures. The Lao political field is confined by the nation state and the container model of society in ways that the economic field is not. International assistance has brought about the standardization of the Lao nation state (see Chapter 5). While international organizations are a key to understanding the Lao political field, they have comparatively little influence on Lao politics. Transnational agents dominate much of the economic field while the socialist party dominates the political field, which remains largely identical with the party and its structure. Although the party is attempting to control and dominate all other emerging fields as well, it has already lost this battle. The most important factor determining the future of the economy of Laos is the relationship between the economic and the political fields. Because the economy remains dominated by the Lao leadership, which does not face any competition in the political field, a certain amount of economic competition may be granted in the intermediate spheres of the economic field (Rehbein 2005). Competition in the economic field arises in these intermediate spheres and comes from the rising middle classes, which are a mainly urban phenomenon: in 2003, the average income in Vientiane was ten times that of remote villages (Rehbein 2004: 248).

Configurations of globalization in Laos 141 Most of this income was generated by employees and entrepreneurs.3 Chinese, Vietnamese, returnees from abroad and people with higher education in English and economics are acting as dynamic entrepreneurs. The most successful are admitted to the elites—mostly through marriage. Until quite recently, there were few ‘push’ factors encouraging peasants to leave their rural environment. The segments of society that are integrated into the market economy are beginning to be stratified into income groups; this includes the emergence of a ‘reserve army’ of unemployed, beggars, working poor and so on. But the majority of the Lao population does not yet form part of the market economy. However, symbolic globalization has reached Laos. People no longer define their social position exclusively in relation to their village or their muang, but increasingly in terms of the international community. Global integration entails national integration, so that people are not primarily members of a village, a group or a muang but of a nation. Nonetheless, national integration is not very advanced in Laos. The dominant ethnic group, the Lao, comprises only about 50 per cent of the population, while the other half consists of culturally marginalized minorities who find it difficult to identify with Laos and being Lao. All ethnic Lao are privileged in relation to the minorities, especially as the latter have no influence in shaping the symbolic universe. The lack of an autonomous public sphere is detrimental to Laos’ development as it hampers learning, social differentiation and the emergence of ‘intermediate institutions’ (Fukuyama 1995). Even in the existing public sphere, political oppression has had at least one positive side-effect: because the internet offers a certain freedom of speech Laos has a rapidly increasing number of users (unlike Lao television). This developing electronic literacy will remain largely outside the party’s control. It has also lost control of the development of language(s)—the various fields are developing their own languages, minority languages are being rediscovered, and even the national language is influenced by globalization. Given the conditions of globalization, it is difficult to represent Lao social structure in one neat diagram like Bourdieu’s ‘social space’. While it is no longer synonymous with the party, neither has Laos acquired the (supposed) unity and homogeneity of France in the 1960s. It may be possible to determine something like a social hierarchy based on the hierarchy of fields. However, in doing so we would lose sight of the ambiguities, currents, trends, dimensions and aspects of society that are revealed by a culturally and historically sensitive analysis. In short, we would not be looking at a configuration but at a container model.

Configurations The position of the nation state of Laos in a globalizing world is rather ambiguous. On the one hand, Laos enjoys considerable domestic stability. On the other, it is a small, poor, remote, heterogeneous country which has little to offer to the rest of the world. Its economy is entirely dependent on foreign aid—or, more precisely, ‘development’ or ‘modernization’ depend heavily on external forces. Although levels of foreign direct investment and foreign aid have risen continuously, it

142 Configurations of globalization in Laos remains to be seen if they will actually strengthen Laos’ position in the world market. The country has joined the World Trade Organization, which will be a major drawback for the textile industry. Besides textiles, electricity, mining products and lumber are equally important export items, which all have the potential for massive ecological destruction, especially deforestation. Furthermore, Laos suffers from a lack of qualified manpower, poor infrastructure, little transparency in government and a lack of investment capital. The immediate economic prospects for Laos are therefore not bright. The effects of globalization in Laos and its position in the world market have some important implications for social structure. As we have seen, politics and economics are the dominant fields in Laos, with the public sphere playing an important role. Most sociologists have considered differentiation to be a merely descriptive and historically universal term, but this may not be the case. Lieberman’s (2003) interpretation of history seems to underline this point. Up till now, political oppression may have contributed positively to ‘development’ in Laos, as it has moderated the destabilizing effects of globalization. But as the economic middle classes demand greater freedom to develop market cultures and associated possibilities for action, political oppression will become increasingly detrimental. As it is, differentiation is beginning to challenge the party’s monopoly of power, but there may be other alternatives to increasing differentiation on the one hand or a totalitarian state on the other. At present, globalizing trends are slowly gaining ground in Laos, foreign aid has been continuously growing and a considerable percentage of the population is hopeful of economic improvement. The leadership does not yet feel threatened by social change, as its dominant position in the political field remains unchallenged, a situation which also entails a strong position in the economic field and the public sphere. Poverty in both the urban and rural sectors will rise with increasing globalization, as Laos has little to export and requires substantial imports. Only the political field has the ability to manage poverty—something which the Lao Table 10.1 Indicators of globalization in Laos

Gini coefficient Absolute poverty (less than US$ 1 per day) GDP per capita Percentage working in: Agriculture Industry Services Urban population Western tourists

Before 2004

2004–5

0.28 (1993) 8% (1992)

0.37 28.8%

US$ 280 (2000) (2000) 85% 6% 9% 15.4% (1990) 140,000 (1999)

US$ 390

21.6%

Sources: National Statistical Centre of Laos 2003; Asian Development Bank 2001, 2006

Configurations of globalization in Laos 143 Table 10.2 Aspects of the configuration in Laos Globalization

Result on fields

Localization

Slow globalization International integration Rising foreign aid International help

Middle class Party control Political discontent

Unthreatened Party rule Social nets Nepotism Oppression of minorities

government recognizes perfectly well. One way for the socialist party to legitimize its monopoly of power is to play on popular fears of increasing inequality and social unrest. However, this is likely to be a dangerous game as the socialist party is dominated by a patrimonial leadership which always acts in its own interests. Other possible sources of conflict in the near future are the political control of the public sphere and the oppression of minorities. Both issues will become more serious with increasing globalization, as citizens will have better access to outside information and to networking. In this book, I have tried to present aspects of the kaleidoscope which is contemporary Lao reality. While the multi-layered structure of this configuration may appear unnecessarily complex, it remains a basic sketch and, if anything, is oversimplified. The model of sociocultural configurations I have adopted is highly complex and does not allow for clear and simple predictions. Nevertheless, I believe it offers a more adequate picture than the widespread container model of social reality, which itself is becoming ever more complex with increasing globalization. The effects of globalization are double-edged—while not necessarily helpful for development, they may well contribute to the emergence of an independent public sphere, increased social networking and communication.

Notes

Introduction 1 This view is explicit in Marx’s articles on India (e.g., in the New York Daily Tribune, 10 June 1853). 2 Laurent Chazée (1995) found more than 130 groups. However, Joachim Schlesinger (2002) showed some of these groups to be identical and arrives at an estimate of no more than a hundred groups. 3 See the preface for the transcription of Lao terms. 4 In this book, I do not systematically distinguish between socialism and communism, as the boundary between them was blurred for the Lao individuals and movements involved. From an orthodox Marxist point of view, the communist party seeks to establish socialism as the last stage of the evolution towards communism. The ideology of historical stages was never suited to Laos, where revolutionary aims and methods were never entirely clear (see Phomvihane 1985). Contemporary official ideology can be interpreted as a return to orthodoxy in that capitalism must be fully developed before socialism can be achieved. However, I did not meet a single Lao who supported this notion. 5 The example of Algeria cannot be simply transferred to Laos, even though there are many parallels. Bourdieu dealt with a male-dominated culture, in which the social structure was largely determined by struggles for honour. In Lao villages, the relation between the sexes can be characterized as reciprocal and social structure is mainly determined by kinship relations. Therefore, concepts such as the struggle for an enhanced social position and the accumulation of honour make little sense—even if they constitute one aspect of social structure in Lao villages. 1 Sociocultures 1 A striking example is the book by Carine Hahn (1999), which is easy to read but rather romanticizes its subject. 2 Influential authors like Parsons in the USA and Geiger, Hradil and Geißler in Germany make this assumption explicit in their writings. 3 Throughout this chapter, I refer to the West as comprising most of Europe and the Anglo-Saxon world, or more precisely the regions in which modern capitalism, technocracy and science emerged. In my terminology, it comprises the regions in which a functional division of labour first began to appear. The distinction between West and non-West applies specifically to the historical period of the appearance of the nation state (and with it the container model of society). This also means that the distinction has lost much of its value in the contemporary era. 4 The first comprehensive outline of this concept comprises the first part of Distinction (1984).

Notes 145 5 This has led to the criticism that the concept of capital lacks precision. Although this is probably true, the call for precision may be misplaced because the different types of capital need not share the same properties. Until more research on this point has been carried out, the tentative use of capital as a general term seems acceptable. 6 The Weight of the World (Bourdieu et al. 1999) is dedicated to this topic. It consists of interviews selected to illustrate contrasting perspectives on the social world (see Rehbein 2006b: chs. 7.1 and 7.2). 7 Paul Sorrell points to popular magazines portraying the lives of the rich and famous. The emphasis has to be on portraying. These magazines tell us more about their own purpose and value than about real lives of living persons. 8 Bourdieu acknowledged and addressed all of these problems in his later writings. He changed his focus from the social space to fields but never adapted his theory to the shift. 9 Bourdieu frequently cites Wittgenstein on his notions of practice and language games. However, he ignores the fact that Wittgenstein has a much broader idea of practice than his own—and fails to criticize Wittgenstein for his neglect of social inequality. 10 The concept of field shares these characteristics with Appadurai’s (1991) concept of ‘scape’. The difference lies in the fact that scapes refer to different forms of reality (physical, technical, ideal), while fields share the same ontological status and differ only in their rules and goals. 11 My present research integrates Laos into the regional framework and seeks to develop a transnational sociological approach. Theoretically, I draw on Rehbein and Schwengel (2007). 12 To distance myself from the economism inherent in Bourdieu’s model, I have replaced the concept of capital with the more general concept of resources in many of my earlier papers. While I still seek to avoid economism, the terminology and general perspective of Bourdieu may have pushed me in this direction in some instances where a Wittgensteinian perspective might have been more appropriate. 13 In fact, Arendt distinguishes between work, labour and action. Work for her means production with the aim of transcending one’s earthly existence, while action refers to politically motivated interaction. I do not find this categorization very convincing and therefore do not follow it. However, Arendt’s identification of labour as merely one type of human activity is groundbreaking (see Rehbein and Schwengel 2007). 14 In my opinion, Marx’s model of a society divided into two classes is the final subtype in the structural division of labour. Ruling class and working class are simultaneously assigned particular occupational roles and social positions. 2 The evolution of Lao sociocultures 1 An earlier but much shorter version of this chapter appeared in Compton et al. Reprinted by permission. 2 At the centre of the American literature are the ‘Laos Project Papers’, initiated by Joel M. Halpern at the University of California. 3 There is also the great scholarly project edited by Souneth Photisane (2000) in Lao. This massive volume has brought together a host of (mainly Western) sources to produce a history of Laos from prehistory to the present. Although it has failed to impress most professional historians, I regard it is an outstanding achievement. Much research on pre-French history is being carried out at present by such scholars as Volker Grabowsky and Michel Lorrillard. We will soon know more about this period, for which we still need to refer to classical texts like Coedès (1926; 1948) and Boulanger (1931). 4 After the defeat of Chao Anu in 1827, a large proportion of the Lao population was deported to Siam (Thailand). Around 1900, Laos had only 400,000 inhabitants (Halpern 1961a: 8). In 1910, the population had risen to 800,000 (Stuart-Fox 1997:

146 Notes

5

6

7 8

9 10 11 12

13 14 15

16 17

18 19

42). Even in 1943, the seven largest cities in Laos had a total population of only 51,150 (Halpern 1961a). According to the testimony of Wuysthoff as late as 1641. Salt was weighed in gold (Reid 1993: 65). Charles Archaimbault (1973: 1–16) analysed the rituals performed for the salt spirits in a village called ‘Salt Mine’. His study notes the importance of salt as an object of intensive domestic trade. Various trade goods are displayed at archaeological sites in north-eastern Thailand; the museum at Ban Chiang (best reached from Udon Thani) is especially revealing. In the village of Phonkham, Laksao, where I undertook fieldwork between 2001 and 2003, all the villagers where related except for one family of Mon-Khmer origin, which had emigrated following a dispute in their own village. This is not an exceptional pattern in Laos. However, the immigrants are usually not fully integrated into the village community for many years. For the layout of Thai (and Lao) settlements, see deYoung (1958). It would certainly be revealing to investigate myths and rituals relating to gender relations. Archaimbault points to the well-known fact that the rocket fired in the bun bang fai (rocket festival) is equivalent to the male phallus. Less obvious is its supposed role in subduing evil spirits residing in the female sexual organs (Archaimbault 1973: 40). (Apparently, there are no evil spirits residing in the male sexual organs.) This, of course, is a clearly patriarchical interpretation. In the early 1990s, Carol Ireson (1996: 45) failed to find any female minister or head of province, district or village in Laos. A Western family reunion is the equivalent of the social structure of a Lao village. ‘Family orientation’ in Lao villages refers mainly to nuclear families, in other ethnic groups mainly to extended families, especially with regard to the Hmong (see Tomforde 2006). Writing on Algeria in the 1960s, Bourdieu (1977) emphasized the decisive cleavage between village markets, where relatives and acquaintances conducted their exchange, and town markets that were the breeding ground for honour, credit and accumulation of wealth. He also argued that the emergence of town markets corresponded to the erosion of the economy’s ‘embeddedness’ in culture and society (see also Polanyi 1944; and Chapter 3). Grabowsky (2004: 11) has rightly pointed to the fact that Wolters does not distinguish between principalities and the later empires. One might even think of subsistence ethics as the original culture of the baan and of patrimonialism as that of the muang. Hanks (1975) characterizes contemporary Thailand as an undifferentiated ‘segmentary society’ made up of units, without any organic solidarity. Even though this description fits patrimonial structures very well, it precludes historical analysis, which reveals a more complex picture consisting of various layers and types of ‘units’. In contemporary Lao books, sakdina is used to translate the English word ‘feudalism’. Marcel Zago (1972: 363, plus 365 fn.) argues that religious order corresponds to social order: the Buddha occupies the highest position, followed by the thewada and former (holy) monarchs. Next in the hierarchy comes the present king. Beneath the king are the ministers and the nobility, corresponding to the gods, then the village heads and the village spirit. Below them stand the people, and last in line are the kha. Charles Archaimbault argued for the same schema in a series of papers (1973: 20–96) which referred mainly to important rituals in various parts of Laos but also to monuments, especially the that (ibid.: 37). I find his argument very convincing. It has been reiterated by Frank Reynolds (1978a). For a summary in English, see Archaimbault (1964). In fact, preliminary trials and seminars on the market economy were carried out in early 1986, even before Gorbachev’s official speech in Vladivostok. This was documented in the Khao San Pathet Lao, especially 2 June and 12 August 1986.

Notes 147 20 In the tourist town of Vang Vieng, service providers are organized into groups with titles like the ‘hotel association’ and the ‘kayak association’ (personal information from Damdouane Khouangvichit). They are agents in the local political field, along with mass organizations like the ‘old people’s association’ and the ‘women’s union’. These latter institutions are more adequately interpreted as party organs than as interest groups. They are subordinate to the party and serve as organs to disseminate political decisions. 21 For more detail on the economic field, see Chapter 3. 22 For migration patterns, see Atlas of Laos (2000: 50, passim). 23 This situation is clearly reflected in the ranking of districts in the Atlas of Laos (2000: 147). 24 For some of the problems experienced by minorities, see Ireson and Ireson (1991). 25 ‘Taking culture’ is explained in more detail in Chapter 3. 26 Salaries in this group range from US$ 20–50 per month. Given that noodle soup bought at a stall costs around 30 to 80 cents, a family needs at least 100 dollars per month in an urban setting. 3 The economic field 1 This is a slightly revised version of Rehbein (2005). I am grateful for comments by two anonymous reviewers as well as for feedback from Aris Ananta, Grant Evans, HansDieter Evers and Hermann Schwengel. Printed by permission. 2 For first-hand descriptions, see the accounts of early travellers such as Marini (1664), Wuysthoff (1986) and Mouhot (1986). 3 See the extensive analysis of a small development project by Ing-Britt Trankell (1998). 4 Tai accord a much higher value to the nuclear family, however, than most of Scott’s peasants. In a way, this is very modern and Western but it also means that Tai are not well suited to collective endeavours. As coordination and cooperation are necessary for the functioning of any market economy, this cultural trait is a major stumbling block for development projects. 5 This ‘copycat business’ was the overarching theme of one of the first issues of the Lao business magazine Update (January 2003). 6 One might even think of subsistence ethics as the original culture of the baan and of patrimonialism as that of the muang (see Raendchen Raendchen 1998). 7 The following examples were related to me by Schultze himself (see Rehbein 2004). 8 For some of their problems, see Ireson and Ireson (1991). 9 In Phonkham, all men and most women stated that the household head was always male. Only two single women did not agree that the soul of a male was worth more than that of a female. 10 For example, most of the valuable real estate in downtown Vientiane belongs to members of the political elite. 4 Economic habitus 1 For a discussion of the concept of ‘habitus’ with regard to modernization in Laos and Thailand, see Tanabe and Keyes (2002: 3, passim). 2 The figures presented in this chapter refer to samples from these three settings. I interviewed all adolescents and adults in Ban Phonkham, around 100 people in Ban Pha Khao, and approximately 100 in Vientiane. In the latter two settings, I used a pretest to get representative samples. 3 The village moved to its present location about four generations ago. 4 Their position is reflected in Lao anxieties about unemployment and poverty. In Vientiane, 86 per cent of respondents feared unemployment, 71 per cent poverty. But those with a good education, knowledge of foreign languages and access to foreign

148 Notes

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6 7 8 9

capital were significantly less pessimistic. Around 90 per cent of all older respondents expressed a fear of poverty, and 100 per cent of those with elementary schooling or lower feared unemployment. The value of a ton of rice approximates the average yearly income in Laos. Wealthy respondents mostly answered they would give away the rice or consume it, as for them its value was insignificant. For the poor, on the other hand, a ton of rice would mean a blessing, long-term survival. The same phenomenon exists with regard to personal names. While within the social group nicknames are used exclusively, outside it only ‘official’ names are known and used. In the late 1960s, Norman Jacobs found that Thais resented foreign investment and big companies because of their anonymous character (1971: 167). This is still the case for Lao today. For this reason, they are capable of drinking more than poor people. A practice that also impedes children’s regular attendance at school.

5 Identity politics 1 This chapter is a slightly revised English translation of the chapter ‘Nation, Nationalismus und Globalisierung in Laos’, in Rehbein et al. (2006). Printed by permission. 2 Official agencies have distinguished three ethnic families since the 1940s: Lao Lum, Lao Theung and Lao Sung (‘valley-dwellers’, ‘dwellers of the slopes’ and ‘dwellers of the mountaintops’). These categories were supposed to emphasize national unity and the dominance of the Lao, who form a group with other Tai (Kossikov 2000: 231). This tripartition persists and dominates much of the discourse, although the party now officially distinguishes 68 ethnic groups. Although Laurent Chazée (1995) found more than 130, Joachim Schlesinger’s four-volume study (2002) showed some of Chazée’s groups to be identical. 3 However, there have been continual conflicts, revisions and occasional battles over stretches of the borders up to the present day. 4 The writings of the revolutionary leader and first Lao prime minister after 1975, Kaysone Phomvihane (1981, 1985), reflect this ideology very closely. 5 The following paragraphs are based on a survey in Vientiane and Ban Pha Khao in 2003. The survey contained questions concerning knowledge of nationalist propaganda, attitude towards censorship, and opinion on globalized cultural products. 6 It remains to be seen if this happens. By moving almost directly from a subsistence economy under socialism to a market economy, Laos has virtually omitted the struggles of the old nobility and elites against their loss of social status. In this regard, Laos is more ‘developed’ than Europe—assuming there is a universal path of development. Labourers are increasingly paid solely on the basis of their position in the economic field—or rather the market. Thus, while teachers, writers and members of the upper classes who lack business interests may be comparatively well off in European societies, their counterparts in Laos are poor because their labour and products fetch low returns in the market. 6 Globalization and the Lao language 1 This chapter has a complex history. It is based on research for a grammar of Lao (Rehbein and Sayaseng 2004), important results of which were presented in talks at Arlington (Texas) and Berkeley in 2005. These talks formed the basis of a paper published in Goudineau and Michel Lorrillard (in press). I had intended to reproduce that paper here. However, in 2006, I was asked to present a paper at the Max-PlanckInstitute in Halle on language, culture and society. While working on my presentation,

Notes 149

2 3 4 5

I realized that my research on Lao offered suitable material to support the theoretical claims set out in Chapters 1 and 2 of this book. As a result, I decided to rewrite the chapter almost from scratch. The comments made on the earlier papers have left their mark on the argument presented here, and I wish to thank Jerry Edmondson, Nick Enfield, Karsten Kumoll, Michel Lorrillard, Sarah Maxim and Olaf Zenker. Nick Enfield relates a case involving an uncle who is younger than his nephew. In this case, two relationships demanding courtesy (age and kinship) are in conflict. I would guess that neither is automatically dominant. The following chapters discuss some of these fields, including the emergence of specific sociolects. Evidence for this is drawn from our samples (see Rehbein and Sayaseng 2004). This and the following observations are based on material collected for our Lao grammar (Rehbein and Sayaseng 2004). They should be regarded as hypotheses as they are not statistically validated.

7 The Lao academic field 1 This chapter was published in a slightly different form in Dominique Schirmer, Gernot Saalmann and Christl Kessler (eds), Hybridising East and West, Münster: LIT, 2006 (pp. 299–315). I would like to thank the editors for their comments. Printed by permission. 2 As in India, the texts were written on palm-leaf manuscripts. While Harald Hundius has collected manuscripts from monasteries throughout Laos and archived copies in the National Library in Vientiane, the study and evaluation of these manuscripts remains an important task. 3 Bernard Gay (1995: 230) calculated that between 1893 and 1940 Laos received 115 million piasters from the Indochinese Union, while generating revenues of 47 million. 4 In 1910, approximately 200 French officials were employed in the Lao administration (Stuart-Fox 1997: 42). 5 Between 1975 and 1985, 44,008 Lao received a professional qualification (2,655 abroad and 41,353 in Laos), 31,803 a technical degree (2,669 abroad and 29,134 in Laos), and 16,489 a college or university degree (5,194 abroad and 11,295 in Laos) (Schneider 2000: 189). 6 However, in 2003, while university graduates in Vientiane had an average income of 500,000 kip and those with some or no basic schooling an income of only 385,000 kip, those with a high school qualification earned on average 780,000 kip, and those with a professional education 960,000 kip (1 US$ = ca.: 10,000 kip at the time). Elderson (1995: 30) gives a similar picture for 1994. While the numbers of respondents in these surveys were low, they at least indicate a relative distribution. It should also be noted that Lao with higher education usually have a second income. 7 Although since then numbers of female university students have increased and the number of female university teachers is high compared to other countries, leading positions in the economic and political fields are almost exclusively reserved for men (see Chapter 2). 8 Motivated by the same conception of completing the project of the Enlightenment that inspired Habermas (1998: 58), Bourdieu called for the removal of external constraints and institutional power in the universities (1998b). Academics should be free to seek truth alone for the sake of the common good. 8 A globalized music scene 1 I am grateful to Grant Evans, who kept me updated by collecting newspaper clippings during the past two years.

150 Notes 2 For those familiar with Vientiane, the shop was sited on the present tourist strip on Samsaenthai Road east of the Lao Plaza Hotel. 3 One of the few cassettes then available in the Lao language was by a Lao-Canadian band called Exile. 4 Unfortunately, Lao music was not on my research agenda at the time and so this question was never clarified. 5 Valentine’s Day has been condemned in especially strong terms, as it supposedly introduced teenagers to sexual intimacy, strange customs and, of course, foreign music. 6 However, immediately after 1975, youth culture and any sign of Western culture were often brutally suppressed, as the party strove to secure its power on both a physical and a symbolic basis. Furthermore, many revolutionary fighters were peasants with little exposure to urban or Western culture and often overreacted against these elements (see Stuart-Fox 1997: 173). 7 We should not forget that the Vientiane Times is itself subject to Lao censorship laws. 8 I like the following quote from the Vientiane Times: ‘The popularity of hard chord [sic] music from bands like Linkin Park is booming among high school students around Vientiane municipality’. 9 This information was provided by Adam Chapman at the First International Conference on Lao Studies, who will publish it separately. 10 A Lao television presenter, Noy Sengsourigna, is capitalizing on her popularity by recording Lao folk tunes in a modernized, glocalized fashion in order to raise the profile of Lao culture among younger Lao (Le Rénovateur, 16 June 2005: 29). 9 Village beliefs 1 I wish to thank John Holt and Patrice Ladwig for their critical comments on this chapter. 2 I am grateful to John Holt for making me aware of this point. 3 My research was carried out in 2003. At the same time, together with Grant Evans, I began acting as an adviser to several groups of researchers from the National University of Laos. One of these groups chose to study religion in Ban Pha Khao and its research results were published in a volume edited by the Faculty of Social Sciences, National University of Laos (2006). Their results should be read together with this chapter in order to get a more complete picture and to contrast my Western point of view with an ‘indigenous’ perspective. This contrast might make an interesting study in itself. 4

Already during the Mon period, towns must have occupied a prominent position in the worldview of inhabitants as well as of the surrounding population. These strongholds of relatively rich people were the places of refuge in times of uncertainty and upheaval. In the town was knowledge, authority and law, it was the place where redress could be obtained if an injustice had taken place. The municipality of these times can be seen as the centre of the universe. The ruler, as guardian of the realm, had often to fulfil a ceremonial role. (Terwiel 1975: 13–14)

5 Grant Evans (1998c: 55) notes that especially poor Lao as well as Lao from northeastern Thailand joined the Buddhist order and sided with the communists. 6 It is important to note that officially there is freedom of religion in Laos. According to the party, there are four recognized religions in Laos—Buddhism, Christianity, Islam and Bahaiism (Vientiane Times, 27 April 2006). The party leaves no room for doubt, however, that the ‘authentic’ Lao religion is Buddhism. 7 But even Ban Pha Khao now has its ‘guest workers’, one Korean and one Pakistani family.

Notes 151 8 As several choices were possible, the total exceeds 100 per cent. 9 Ladwig argues convincingly that, in many respects, villagers in fact categorize members of the order: according to seniority, their former social position, the ‘purity’ of their moral behaviour, their knowledge, and their status within the order itself. I entirely agree. However, Terwiel seems to refer to the general cleavage between laypeople and members of the order, and in this respect there are no important differences detectable on the basis of seniority. 10 Traditionally, the village spirit is the couple supposed to have founded the village. 11 No other group was so unanimous on this point. 10 Configurations of globalization in Laos 1 The revolution and its consequences form a complex process which would require a separate investigation. 2 Globalization raises serious problems for Bourdieu’s social theory. Throughout this study, I have argued that each field has its own structure, rules and goals. Pace Bourdieu, fields are not spread evenly, they do not have a homologous structure and they cannot be reduced to the concept of conflict or struggle. The resources for action are not distributed evenly across the various fields and do not enable agents to act equally in each field. Finally, fields do not correspond to national borders. While these anomalies can be solved without abandoning Bourdieu’s entire theory, his concepts and axiomatic claims need to be revised. I have shown that significant sectors of Lao society have been transformed into a hierarchy of fields, each with its own rules and goals. These have to be determined empirically in each case, as they differ radically from one another and cannot be reduced to a single ‘social space’. Together they form the functional division of work. The concept of social structure needs to be distinguished from the division of work—it is not equivalent to a system based on occupations, income groups or functional systems, but refers to the resources necessary to undertake action in specific fields. 3 In the same study, 86 per cent of households in Vientiane owned a television set and 55 per cent a motorcycle, whereas the respective percentages in remote rural areas were 2 and 1 per cent.

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Index

academic capital 105, 106–7 academic field 13, 99–111; education after socialism 102–4; history of Lao education 99–102; hybridization of academic language 110–11; see also education; intellectuals action 19, 20–1, 25, 51, 90, 151n2; Algeria 64; Arendt’s conception of 145n13; container model 15; economic field 52, 53, 54, 56, 58–9; intellectuals 85; linguistic 89, 95; market culture 114, 142; personal social structure 29; symbolic 95 address, terms of 37, 39, 68, 92–3, 94, 96 administration 44, 126; academic field 103, 105, 108, 111; French rule 42, 43, 100, 101, 137 adolescents 70 Adorno, Theodor W. 26, 31, 139 age 37, 57, 84, 134; see also elders agriculture 4, 6, 35; economic field 47; slash-and-burn 36, 46; Southeast Asian trade 3; subsistence farming 6, 10, 43, 47, 56, 60, 63, 86 Alexandra (Thidavanh Bounxouei) 120–1 Algeria 8, 63–4, 144n5, 146n12 Angkor 137 animism 13, 111, 123, 124, 134, 135; Ban Pha Khao 128, 129, 131–2; purge against 133 Appadurai, Arjun 145n10 Archaimbault, Charles 41, 146n5, 146n8, 146n17 Arendt, Hannah 1, 28, 139, 145n13 aristocracy 101, 124; see also nobility Art Media 117, 120, 121 ASEAN (Association of Southeast Asian Nations) 79, 117 Asia 2, 30, 31

Austin, John L. 14 autonomization 31, 44, 49–50 Ayabe, Tsuneo 9, 28, 29, 127–8 baan 36, 39, 40, 136; age and social status 57; religious beliefs 125; subsistence ethics 146n14; see also villages baan-muang 39, 40, 50, 59, 76, 137; economic culture 46; music 113; sociocultures 48; see also muang; villages baci 131, 133, 135 Bacon, Francis 3 Bahaiism 150n6 Ban Pha Khao 9–10, 63; ‘guest workers’ 150n7; religion 127–32, 133, 134; rural to urban migration 65–6 Ban Phonkham 10, 11, 63, 146n6; conception of time 70; economic habitus 64–5; household heads 147n9; moral activity 69; music 112–14, 119; nature 71; proverbs 83–4 Bangkok 34, 120 Beck, Ulrich 15, 30, 75, 94 beliefs 123–35; Ban Pha Khao 127–32; development of Lao Buddhism 125–7; social structure 132–5; Terwiel’s typology of Buddhism 124–5 BK Productions 115–16 Blasius, Jörg 23 Boesch, Ernst 40, 54, 68 Bolikhamsay (province) 10, 36 Boulanger, Paul le 145n3 Bourdieu, Pierre 12, 14, 18–24, 25–8, 31; academic field 13, 105, 106, 107–8, 149n8; Algeria 8, 63–4, 144n5, 146n12; autonomization 49, 50; beliefs 123; capital 19–22, 51–2, 56; economism 145n12; elites 96; fields 20–3, 33, 48, 49, 62, 151n2; habitus

166 Index 19, 63–4; language 88–91, 94; methodologies 11; rules 53–4; social space 22, 23, 48, 141, 145n8; on Wittgenstein 145n9 Buddhism 13, 64, 78, 123, 124–5, 137; as ‘authentic’ Lao religion 150n6; Ban Pha Khao 128, 129, 131; development of 125–7; education 101, 102; music 113; social structure 132–5 Buddhist order (sangha) 43, 50, 85–6, 93–4, 126; baan-muang structure 39; education 104; muang 137; resistance to French rule 101; socialist revolution 127 Burma see Myanmar

Bourdieu 22, 23, 24, 25, 91; increasing complexity due to globalization 143; political field 140; social hierarchy 141 court 39, 52; Buddhism 126; language use 93–4, 95; music 113 crafts 52 creolization 112 cultivation 35–6, 46, 128; see also agriculture cultural capital 20, 22 cultural symbols 96–7 culture: economic field 51; fields 33, 49, 62; Western 99, 100, 119, 137, 150n6; see also music; youth culture

Cambodia 5, 7, 36, 125, 137 capital 8, 19–22, 23, 27–8, 30, 84; academic 105, 106–7; cultural 20, 22; economic 20, 22, 27–8, 49, 58–9, 103–4, 106; foreign 47–8, 53, 55–6, 59–60, 62, 67, 72; institutional 105, 106–7; lack of conceptual precision 145n5; local definitions of 64–5; resources 56, 89; scientific 105, 106–7; social 19, 24, 51–2; world-systems theory 27 capitalism 2, 3, 8, 18, 45, 104; division of work 30; economic field 47, 51, 53; Eurocentric models 12, 15; French colonialism 31; market culture 54, 114; Marx 15; music 114–15, 116, 118; spirit of 63, 66–7, 70–2, 73; threats to the nation state 75, 79 censorship 85, 118 Champassak 41 Chazée, Laurent 144n2, 148n2 Chiang Mai 35 China 2–3, 5, 7, 77 Christianity 123, 135, 150n6 Civil War 52, 83, 84, 101 climate 4, 76 Coedès, Georges 145n3 Cold War 8, 42, 75, 79 colonialism 3, 77, 94, 137; autonomization of fields 50; capitalism 31, 53; higher education 99, 100 communism 42, 77, 126–7, 144n4 competition 54, 72, 140 Comte, Auguste 15 configuration 26–7, 31, 32, 91, 114, 136, 141–3 consumerism 72 container model 15–16, 18, 33, 49, 94;

Dahrendorf, Ralf 16, 17 democracy 45, 79 development 141–2 development aid 3, 44–5, 55, 56, 79, 141, 142 dialects 89 diaspora 17, 18, 139 differentiation 21, 23, 84, 142; Durkheim 29; elites 96; fields 28, 31, 45, 49–50; functional 12, 75; proverbs 83; religion 123, 134; social structure 33; sociocultures 25; towns 39; villages 41 dispositions 19, 64, 123 division of labour 27–8, 29, 30, 36, 71–2; container model 91; functional 139; organic 45; towns 38 division of work 1, 12, 25, 28–31, 32; fields 33; functional 30–1, 94–5, 139, 151n2; gender 37–8; global 8, 43, 56; music 112, 113, 114, 115, 122; segmentary 29, 36, 38, 52, 93, 94, 114, 138; sociostructural 29–30, 39, 52, 93; Southeast Asia 91; subsistential 29, 38, 41, 52, 92, 129, 136; villages 41 Doumer, Paul 100 Durkheim, Emile 26, 28, 29, 45 Eastern Europe 102, 103 economic capital 20, 22, 27–8, 49, 58–9, 103–4, 106 economic field 12, 32, 46–50, 51–62, 140, 142; academic field resistance to influence 111; music 112, 114; resources 33; socialist rule 43; see also market economy economics 15, 51 economy 7, 140, 141; see also market economy

Index 167 education 42, 47, 58, 59, 64, 99–111; after socialism 102–4; high costs of 103–4; history of 99–102; religious beliefs 134, 135; social differentiation 84 elders 37, 133, 135; see also age Elderson, A. C. A. 149n6 elites 40, 77, 84–5, 137, 140; communists 42; economic field 48, 54–5, 57, 59, 60; education 101, 102; market economy 53; nation state integration 79; nationalism 62; political field 45–6, 48, 50; political resources 58; pre-colonial structure 43, 138; religious 86; social differentiation 96 Embree, John F. 34, 68 empire 35, 42, 52, 99, 100; see also colonialism Enfield, Nick 149n2 entrepreneurs 85, 141; economic field 59, 60, 72; music 114, 115–16, 117 environmental hazards 75, 79, 97 ethnic minorities 57, 84, 86, 96–7; cultural marginalization of 141; education 102, 103; oppression of 143 ethnicity 16, 57, 84 Eurocentrism 12, 15, 27 Europe 3 Evans, Grant 32, 149n1, 150n3, 150n5 Evers, Hans-Dieter 34 exchange: of goods 29, 36, 38; linguistic 89 Fa Ngum, King 81 family 69, 92, 147n4; modes of address 68; proverbs 83; see also kinship relations fields 12–13, 19, 20–4, 50, 139–41, 151n2; accumulation of resources 91; division of work 30, 94; globalization 25–6, 32, 139; language 89, 95; multiplicity of 28; music scene 112; rules 25, 27, 31, 84; ‘scapes’ comparison 145n10; social structure 33–4, 62; see also economic field; political field finance 25, 44, 95; see also development aid fiscal system 3, 7, 53, 79 fishing 35, 36, 38 folk music 119, 120 food production 35–6 Foucault, Michel 26, 30, 31, 139 France 7, 30, 42, 76–7, 137; Buddhism 126; education 13, 100–1, 108

Frank, André Gunder 2 Fukuyama, Francis 19, 52 Gadamer, Hans-Georg 14 Gay, Bernard 149n3 Geiger, Theodor 16 Geißler, Rainer 16 gender 37–8, 57–8, 147n9; educational opportunities 103; myths and rituals 146n8; university students and teachers 149n7; see also sex globalization 1–4, 8, 138–9, 140, 142, 143; cultural 79, 84, 85, 99; fields 25, 32; functional division of work 30; impact on Ban Pha Khao 129; impact on the nation state 74, 75–6, 86–7; language issues 12, 97; minority identities 86; music 118, 119; national symbols 81; religious beliefs 135; social theory 15–18; symbolic 141; Vientiane 9 glocalization 17, 87; academic field 111; music 112, 118–21, 122; religious beliefs 135 ‘good life’ 72 Gorbachev, Mikhail 44, 53, 77 government: corrupt royal 126; education 102, 103; identity politics 121; lack of transparency 142; Lao/Western comparison 53; as market regulator 8; media censorship 85; neoliberalism 64; religious policies 127; resettlement policy 10, 46, 56, 97; socialist ideology 78; see also leadership Grabowsky, Volker 145n3, 146n13 Greece 15 Gunn, Geoffrey 77 habitus 12, 19–20, 27, 84, 136; beliefs 123; economic 63–73; fields 20, 21, 24, 25; linguistic market 89; social position in economic field 47, 49 Hahn, Carine 144n1 Halpern, Joel M. 145n2 Hanks, Lucien 35–6, 40, 54, 146n15 hierarchy 55, 68; Buddhist order 126, 146n17; of fields 27, 31, 32, 91, 94, 97, 141, 151n2; language 89; social structure 33, 36–7, 92; socialist party 140; symbolic 5; university faculties 108 higher education 99, 102–11 Hinduism 125 Hmong 86, 97

168 Index homology 74, 84; fields 21, 22, 24, 27, 48, 151n2; social space 23, 49 honesty 68–9 Horkheimer, Max 31 human capital 19 Hundius, Harald 149n2 hybridization 13, 112, 139; academic field 99, 100, 104, 110–11; religion 133 identity: Buddhism influence on Lao identity 126, 127, 132; minorities 86, 96 identity politics 12, 17, 55, 74–87; Buddhism 127; globalization 76; language issues 88, 96–7; multiculturalism and multiethnicity 76–7; national symbols 79–84; socialist construction of national identity 78–9 incomes 57, 103, 140–1, 149n6 India 2, 3, 7 individualism 34, 69, 72 Indochina 42, 77, 100 industry 42 inequality 29, 30, 37, 139, 143 institutional capital 105, 106–7 intellectuals 7, 85, 94, 105, 107, 135, 137; see also academic field intercultural contact 99, 100, 107 internet 141 intersocial structure 29, 36, 38, 41, 93 Ireson, Carol 146n9 Isan (Northeastern Thailand) 69, 77, 115 Islam 150n6 Jacobs, Norman 40, 54, 148n7 Japan 3 kaleidoscope 26, 91, 143 karaoke 113 kings 39, 41, 52, 127; see also royalty kinship relations 29, 36–7, 43, 92, 137, 140; see also family knowledge: concept of 104; religious 134, 135 labour see work Ladwig, Patrice 127, 151n9 Laksao 10, 56, 65, 97 Lan Sang 39, 137 language 12–13, 57, 88–98, 141; academic 110–11; English 103; ethnic minorities 86; French 101; identity

politics 96–7; Lao language music 119–20; Pali 100; reforms 78, 95; sociocultures 91–5 language games 24–5, 88, 91, 95 Lanna 39 Lao Lum 5, 148n2 Lao Sung 5, 148n2 Lao Theung 5, 148n2 law see legal system Leach, Edmund 41 leadership (Lao) 8, 12, 44–5, 137, 140, 142–3; academic field 99, 107; Buddhism 132–3; identity politics 74; language 95, 96; national symbols 80, 81; nationalism 97–8; propaganda 85; resettlement policy 97; see also government; socialist party legal system 42, 53, 79 Lenin, Vladimir Illich 77, 102 liberalism 62 liberalization 85, 128 Lieberman, Victor 31, 76, 78, 142 linguistics 88–91 Lorrillard, Michel 145n3 loyalty 39–40, 55, 105 Luang Phrabang 41, 80, 100 Luhmann, Niklas 12, 75, 139 Luxemburg, Rosa 30 magic 104, 124, 134 mandala 39 Mann, Michael 75, 84, 87 manners 69–70 market culture 43, 47, 50, 54–6, 61, 114, 142 market economy 8, 44, 46–7, 50, 53, 141; Bourdieu 90; as core of economic field 61; economic habitus 63–4, 67, 70–1, 72; functional division of work 30, 94; gender issues 58; globalization 86; higher education transformation 99, 102–3, 107, 111; impact on social order 68; linguistic encounters 96; material expectations 79; towns 57; see also economic field marketization 79 markets: Bourdieu’s concept of 89; language use 93, 94, 95; town/village 38, 146n12 Marx, Karl 2, 14, 15–16, 26, 40, 102, 145n14 Marxism 104, 127, 144n4 Mauss, Marcel 29

Index 169 media 83 Mekong 100, 125 merit (bun) 129, 134, 135 metal 35 Miao-Yao (ethnolinguistic family) 4, 5, 76, 96 Middle Ages 15, 39 middle class 70, 83, 137, 142; Buddhism 124–5, 133; economic field 59, 140; education 101; political field 46; see also social class migrants 16, 60, 66, 72, 76 migration 52, 57; Ban Pha Khao 128; rural to urban 46, 64, 65–6 military 84–5 modernity 15, 25, 45, 70, 71 modernization 2, 8, 15, 86, 90, 141 Mon-Khmer (ethnolinguistic family) 4, 5, 36, 76; ‘ethnic identity’ 96; music 113; religion 125 monasteries 126–7, 128, 129–31, 137; education 100, 101; language use 94; terms of address 92 moral standards 69 muang 7, 8, 39–40, 95, 137, 141; age and social status 57; differentiation 41; multiculturalism 76, 78; national symbols 79; patrimonialism 146n14; religious beliefs 125; see also baanmuang multiculturalism 76–7, 78 multinational companies 87 music 13, 112–22; glocalization 118–21; market for 114–17; prehistory of 112–14 Myanmar (Burma) 5, 125 nation state 4, 35, 45, 78, 94, 137; creation of Laos 42, 43; Eurocentric models 12; globalization impact on the 12, 74, 75–6, 86–7, 139; political field 140; political integration 6; threats to the 75, 79, 84 national symbols 78, 79–84 National University of Laos (NUOL) 104–5, 107, 108–10 nationalism 12, 42, 62, 71, 77, 81; Buddhism 86; elites 85, 101; identity politics 74; language issues 97–8; propaganda 55, 86; socialist party 45 nature 71, 72 neoliberalism 25, 31, 64, 139 nobility 42, 78, 146n17, 148n6; see also aristocracy; elites

occasionalism 47, 54, 55, 56, 60, 61; entrepreneurs 114; music scene 115; proverbs 83 Orientalism 2, 14, 17 Pali 100, 102, 126 Parsons, Talcott 16 Passeron, Jean-Claude 108 patrimonialism 47, 49, 50, 61, 137; business attitudes 67; elites 40, 43, 54–5, 56, 57, 60; muang 146n14; socialist party 45, 46, 140, 143; sociostructural division of work 93; stratified social structure 40 patusei 80 peasants 6, 10, 46, 83–4, 136, 138; economic field 52, 54, 56; proverbs 83; religious beliefs 133–4, 135; sakdina system 41; subsistence ethics 38, 92; see also rural areas; villages personal social structure 29, 37, 38, 41, 49, 57, 92, 136 Phillips, Herbert 34 Phnom Penh 126 Phomvihane, Kaysone 78, 148n4 Photisane, Souneth 145n3 Polanyi, Karl 52 political capital 20, 105, 106–7 political field 13, 32, 44–6, 48–50, 111, 140, 142–3 politics 12, 79; gender inequality 37; political resources 58; towns 39 Polo, Marco 3 pop music 119, 120–1 population 4 population growth 46, 56–7 post-colonialism 74 post-militarism 75 Potter, Jack 34–5 pottery 35 poverty 65, 134, 142; fear of 70, 147n4; reduction programmes 79, 97 power 24, 89, 90, 104 practice 134, 135; economy of 89, 90; language games 24, 145n9 propaganda 55–6, 65, 71, 73, 85, 86, 135 proverbs 71, 83, 135 Putnam, Robert D. 19, 52 Raendchen, Jana and Oliver 39, 137 reciprocity 38, 67, 92, 136; economic field 54, 55, 56; market economy impact on 68; proverbs 83 religion 123, 124; Ban Pha Khao 127–32;

170 Index recognized religions 150n6; social structure 132–5; see also Buddhism resettlement 10, 46, 56, 97 resources 56–8, 59 revolution 78, 127 rice 35–6, 128 rituals 41, 131, 132, 133, 134 Roman Empire 7, 15 royalty 41, 42, 78, 80, 81; see also kings rules: of a game 21, 22–4, 25, 27, 31, 53–4; language 89, 91 rural areas: Buddhism 124–5; education 102, 103; ‘good life’ 72; migration from 46, 56–7, 64; music 112–14; nature 71; ownership of material goods 151n3; subsistence ethics 60; see also peasants; villages Said, Edward 2 Saint-Simon, Claude-Henri de Rouvroy, Comte de 15 sakdina 40–1, 43, 45, 68, 93, 137 salt 35, 146n5 Saussure, Ferdinand de 89, 90 Schlesinger, Joachim 144n2, 148n2 Schultze, Michael 55 scientific capital 105, 106–7 Scott, James 38, 54, 92, 136 Sengsourigna, Noy 150n10 Setthatirat, King 81 sex 29, 37, 58, 92; capital 84; higher education 103; social status 64; terms of address 68; see also gender Siam see Thailand Sieng Khwang 41 Simmalavong, Phut 135 slash-and-burn cultivation 36, 46 small businesses 58, 60 Smith, Adam 51 social capital 19, 24, 51–2 social class 15, 17, 18, 23, 40, 145n14; see also middle class social differentiation 23, 84, 140, 141; elites 96; proverbs 83; religion 134; towns 39; see also differentiation social distance 92–3 social interaction 67–8, 75 social space 22, 23, 25, 48, 141 social structure 1, 12, 32, 33–5, 58–61; Ayabe’s research 128; Bourdieu 18, 19, 21–3, 25, 27–8; division of work 28, 29–31, 34–5, 39, 115; Eurocentrism 15; fields 27, 62, 139, 151n2; language 12, 90; Marx 15;

peasants 6; personal 29, 37, 38, 41, 49, 57, 92, 136; social interaction 67–8; socialism 43, 44; stratified 40, 41, 52; village beliefs 132–5; villages 36–8; Weber 15–16; see also sociocultures social theory 12, 14, 15–18 socialism 4, 8, 31, 44, 137, 144n4; Buddhism 127, 133; economic field 52–3; education 99, 101–2, 111; ethnic minorities 86; gender equality 58; language use 96; national identity 78–9; Phonkham 65; proverbs 83; sociocultures 43, 45, 49; terms of address 92; unitary society 50 socialist party 50, 57, 83, 138, 141, 143; music 118, 119; political field 45–6, 48–9, 140; propaganda 65; see also leadership sociocultures 1, 12, 25, 31, 32, 50, 136–8; economic field 47, 51, 61; fields 27, 49; patrimonialism 55; socialist 44, 45; sociolects 91–5; see also social structure sociolects 88, 89, 91–5 Sorrell, Paul 145n7 Southeast Asia 2, 3, 17, 91; Buddhism 125; container model 94; exchange of goods 29; long-distance trade 93; nation states 76 Soviet Union 1, 8, 77, 102 spirit doctors 131, 132, 133 spirits (phii) 131–2, 134, 151n10 standardization 44, 75, 79, 86–7, 95, 140 Star Vientiane 121 Stichweh, Rudolf 75, 78, 86–7 Stone Age 29, 35, 112 stratification theory 16 Stuart-Fox, Martin 32 subcultures 16, 119–20, 122 subjectivity 19 subsistence ethics 38, 39–40, 43, 50, 136; baan 146n14; Ban Pha Khao 129; business attitudes 67; economic field 54, 55, 56, 60, 61; Phonkham 65 subsistence farming 6, 10, 43, 47, 56, 60, 63, 86 Sukhothai 39 symbolic capital 20 symbolic sphere 13, 140, 141 symbolic violence 88, 90 symbols 78, 79–84, 96–7 Tai 4, 47, 57, 76; baan-muang 39, 137;

Index 171 education 99, 100, 102, 111; language 86, 97; muang 7, 137; nuclear family 147n4; proverbs 71, 83; religion 124, 125–6; slash-and-burn cultivation 36; social status 41 Tai-Kadai (ethnolinguistic family) 4, 5, 76 ‘taking culture’ 47–8, 54, 55, 56, 60–1, 67 teachers 85, 101, 102, 105–6, 107, 110 technical language 110–11 technocracy 3, 4, 8, 53; French rule 31, 42, 43; knowledge 104; modern age 139; socialist party 45, 46, 50; Western culture 100 Terwiel, Barend J. 124–5, 129, 133, 134, 135, 150n4 Thailand (Siam) 5, 7, 36, 45, 100, 137; Buddhism 124, 125, 133; deportations to 145n4; French rule 76, 77; music 115, 116, 118, 120; national symbols 81–3; patrimonialism 54; rural Lao in 69; as ‘segmentary society’ 146n15; social interaction 67; social structure 34–5, 40, 68 Tham 100 That Luang 80, 81 theory 11, 12, 14 Tibeto-Burman (ethnolinguistic family) 4, 5, 76, 96 time 70 towns 6–7, 35, 38–9, 52, 137, 150n4; market economy 47, 57; markets 146n12; migration to 64, 65–6; patrimonialism 40; see also baan-muang; urban areas trade 3, 35, 66–7; language use 93; long-distance 2, 7, 29, 52, 93; transnational networks 7 traditionalism 85, 92, 136 transnationalism 17, 139 unemployment 65, 70, 147n4 Unilever 120 unitary society 38, 40, 46, 50 United States of America (USA) 3, 120, 137 universities 103, 104–11, 149n7, 149n8 urban areas 6–7, 9, 59; Buddhism 124–5; globalization 85; language use 92, 96; migration to 46, 64, 65–6; music 113, 118; see also towns

urbanization 63 values 68, 69, 72 Vang Vieng 147n20 Vat Phu 80 Vester, Michael 28 Vientiane 9, 10–11, 35, 41, 69, 71; Buddhism 126; conception of time 70; education 103, 104; incomes in 57, 140–1; music scene 115; national symbols 80, 81; ownership of material goods 151n3; urbanization 63 Viet-Muong (ethnolinguistic family) 4, 76, 96 Vietnam 5, 7, 42, 76–7, 102, 138 villages 9–10, 36–8, 41, 58–61, 136; beliefs 123–35; division of work 29, 52; language use 92–3; market economy 46; markets 146n12; music 112–14; religion 127–32, 135; subsistence ethics 40, 55; see also baan; baan-muang; peasants; rural areas Viravong, Maha Sila 94 Wallerstein, Immanuel 14, 40, 54; division of labour 91, 139; exchange of goods 29, 30; ‘semi-periphery’ 61; world-systems theory 27 Weber, Max 2, 26, 47, 64, 72; capitalism 54; economic rationalism 55; economics 51, 52; market culture 114; patrimonialism 40; social structure 15–16 Westernization 111, 126 Winkler, Joachim 23 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 14, 24–5, 88, 90–1, 145n9 Wolters, Oliver 39, 146n13 work (labour) 1, 28, 31, 71–2; Arendt’s conception of 145n13; music 112, 113; Phonkham 65; see also division of work World Bank 17–18 world society 75, 95 world systems 13, 25, 27 Wuysthoff, Gerrit van 39, 146n5 youth culture 13, 85, 86, 120, 150n6 Zago, Marcel 146n17