Film is a performance space for heroes, and it has an uncanny ability to map the trajectory, and then reveal the territory, of the Real of human futures. In this piece I use a psychoanalytic lens to unpack the way that the 2019 film, Ad Astra, merges science and mythology in a narrative that remains resonant with the latest era of the space race.
The mythic hero in Ad Astra – an overview
In outer space films the void is filled with the performance of heroes. Ad Astra (Gray 2019) is a film that engages with our future through the journey of Major Roy McBride (played by Brad Pitt), who is on a mission to save the world.
In the first scene of the film, Roy is maintaining an antenna on a babel-like tower that reaches from the earth into space, when an anti-matter burst hits the tower causing its destruction. He falls from outer space to earth miraculously surviving. Roy is called to a secret meeting with the leaders of SpaceCom where it is revealed his father H. Clifford McBride (Tommy Lee Jones), presumed dead, is thought to be alive. Clifford’s mission, the Lima Project, was to search for distant inhabited worlds. Now the Lima Project station is sending back dangerous energy bursts towards Earth. SpaceCom tasks Roy with attempting to contact his father from a facility on Mars so they can get a fix on the Lima Project station and destroy it before further harm can be done to Earth.
Roy proves himself an exceptional hero. He proves his prowess in combat when he and his escort are attacked by pirates on the moon. He becomes party to secret knowledge, via a file revealing his father’s refusal to allow the Lima Project crew to abandon the station and return home to earth. Roy then leaves for Mars, with four other crew members, but En route they hear a distress call from a laboratory in space. On going to investigate, Roy has to fight a baboon he finds on board, who kills the captain of their own vessel, before Roy can triumph and return with the body.
Roy assists with the landing on Mars proving his competence, focus and skill again. On Mars the SpaceCom officers give him a scripted message to read to his father. There is no response. It is only when Roy goes off-script that a reply is received. He again goes rogue, ignoring his order to return to Earth, after learning his father in fact killed the entire crew for mutiny. When he attempts to stow away but is detected by the crew, another violent conflict leads to the crew perishing in their attempt to subdue Roy – though importantly, none are killed by his hand.
Roy continues to the Lima Project, finding the bodies of the crew as he arrives, and finally confronts has father, Clifford. He downloads all the images and data that his father has collected – proving no evidence of extra terrestrial was ever gained – and sets the nuclear weapon to destroy the Lima Project station. Meanwhile Clifford deliberately sets himself adrift in space rather than return to Earth which preserves his symbolic identity as a hero of the space program. The Lima Project is destroyed, and Roy returns to Earth completing the mission.
In the same vein as 20th century astronauts from the Mercury and Apollo programs, Roy McBride is characterised from our Western traditions of mythical heroes. Through a type of Greek and Roman exceptionalism, he survives an epic journey to the outer reaches of the solar system. In the biblical vein he is a Savior falling to earth and then ascending to his father in heaven. In saving the world from the apocalypse of antimatter bursts, he then has a second coming, as he returns to earth a hero.
Confronting the Real of human aggression
Roy confronts death and the ‘Real’ of human aggression, on his heroic journey through the deserts of space.
The film explores this on three levels: first it confronts the origins of human evolution in the primate, secondly in the confrontations with the Real of his biological father and his murderous aggressive drives, and then he confronts this same rage and aggressive instincts within himself.
In this way Ad Astra theorises an engagement with the Real of human aggression theorised by Sigmund Freud, Jacques Lacan, and Charles Darwin. Freud constructed mythologies of the primal father using Darwin’s theories of our animal ancestors. Roy confronts the baboon and his father as his biological origins; the Real father (Evans 2010, p.160) and the Real of human primitive aggression. Roy’s father then becomes a reworking of the primal father, and an expression of aggression.
At the same time, on the moon, various nations continue the same capitalist competitions for dominance and exploitation of resources there. The underlying destructive obsessions and drives, that are a theme of the film, are playing out currently in a renewed space race. In this way the film reveals the inhuman core of humanity (Zizek 2007, 46) at a psychological and biological level, that is also tied to geography.
Roy confronts what Žižek claims as an excess of reality, the events are eruptions of violence, and they end in the Real of death. In Ad Astra, the mysterious antimatter burst is destroying the only Real life in the galaxy, that which is on Earth. Its destructive nature follows a similar theme as the Baboon and Clifford’s destructive rage – a manifestation, in fact, of Clifford’s aggressive drive. In Lacanian terms Žižek describes the Real that “erupts in the form of a traumatic return, derailing the balance of our daily lives, but at the same time as a support to that balance” (1991, p.29). This burst of energy is an “answer of the Real” (Žižek 1991, p.21), returning to the only intelligent life in the universe. This is Roy’s call to action. It will support balance and closure in his life but result in a confrontation with the biological or Real father, the aggressive instincts, and the Real of his father’s death.
We could also ask the question why Roy’s father must die twice? At first Clifford McBride is considered as dead due to his absence, leading to the creation of a narrative of some catastrophic accident. Žižek explains a theory from Lacan of a subject placed in a phenomenon as “between two deaths” (1991, p.21). Žižek explains that the figure of Antigone is the sublime example of this ontological state. Antigone, he claims, exists: “between her symbolic death and her actual death… [that] characterizes… her insistence on an unconditional demand on which she is not prepared to give way…” (Žižek 1991, p.21-22). In Ad Astra, Clifford exists between two deaths, he is provided a symbolic death as a hero because the Lima Project vanished years ago, and Roy thinks his father is dead. After Roy finds the Lima Project and the truth that Clifford is a primal father of aggressive drives and instincts who murdered his crew, Clifford commits suicide. He is not willing to give way to what he perceives as a failure of the project.
Clifford McBride is shown in the role of God “as destroyer” (Campbell 1991, p.278). He is destroying the earth; he kills all the crew on the Lima Station: the believers and the unbelievers alike. Like God, he displays indiscriminate power. But in a biblical vein, Roy is “The Son”, he is the Savior, saving us from the traumatic Real in the mastering gaze of “The Father” (McGowan 2003, p.39).
The interplanetary deserts of the Real
The themes explored in Ad Astra are ancient entanglements with heroic myth, science, and philosophy. Catullus considered that Jason’s ship the Argo was a confrontation with technology and its unnatural use of earthly resources (pines swimming). In his 64th poem, the consequences of Jason’s mission to rob the Colchians of the Golden Fleece resulted in human suffering, as did other adventures of heroes.
As we move further into the 21st century the Real of outer space is at an intersection with these imaginaries. Outer space has also become a performance space for CEO’s that are the new players in the narratives of the journey of heroes, and “seeing” cosmological visions as revelations of precious geography. Space travel has become the new playground of the wealthy in a competitive pursuit that is also part recreation. In human futures with nations of the world looking to the moon and Mars, the engagement with the Real will consign human beings to the void of space and planetary “deserts of the real” (Baudrillard 2017, p.1).
In the movie, as well as Company CEO’s, there are the territorial, political, and geographical contests of nations that is now projected on to outer space. In real human futures Space-X, Virgin Galactic, Blue Origin, NASA, UAE and CNSA are performance-based agencies that are looking to commercialise space travel, or to prove exceptionalism by colonising Mars. Space must be traversed, like the desert, the ocean, the dark forest and tall mountains, it must be filled with heroic performance, simply because it is there. But Mars is essentially a desert, requiring a performance of the Real to stay alive.
In a race to Mars, Elon Musk for example is a techno-god and capitalist icon directing and presiding over epic journeys into outer space. And these journeys have been provided with a Reel map that is the filmic imaginary in their connection to Hollywood texts (Lukinbeal 2004, p.247) and mythological stories. As the new Jason and his argonauts, these ‘heroes’ undertaking technological performances that map interplanetary geographies (Haywood 2021, p.109n).
Conclusion: psychoanalytic adventures in space
Space programme ventures provide heroes an opportunity for exceptionalism, in an epic journey into outer space where they will confront the Real of death. A psychoanalytic reading shows that the Moon and Mars are now ‘the deserts of the real’ (Baudrillard 2017, p.1) – planetary voids, with no existing life, that exemplify Freud’s claim that science is a type of mythology (1950, p.283). The new mythology that surrounds Mars is an engagement with creation myth through the actions of terraforming. But just getting there is a challenge. What happens to human reality in the claustrophobia of outer space travel, and then life in a dome on a dead planet?
In psychoanalytic geography, trauma can be located in geographical spaces. Paul Kingsbury considered that “According to psychoanalysis, the clamorous and delicate dramas of the world are inescapably psychical, and people’s psychical torments and jitters are inescapably worldly” (2009, p.489). Meaning these traumas are essentially worldly, tied to geography, taken from earth spaces following human beings into space. As human beings look to the stars, or Ad Astra, it’s time to expand on these foundational theories. In this analysis I have expanded on psychoanalytic geography, adding a new subfield that will study outer space human futures by using Freud’s approach. Greek mythology provided him with foundational understanding or a text for new theories. The introduction of this new subfield will create language for ontology in new futures and new realms.
 Reminiscent of Freud’s First World War battlefields.
Baudrillard, J. (2017). Simulacra and Simulation (S. F. Glaser, Trans.). Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press; Campbell, J. (1991). The Power of Myth (1st ed.). New York: Anchor Books; Catullus, G. V. (1991). Catullus: The Complete Poems (G. Lee, Trans.). Oxford: Oxford University Press; Evans, D. (2010). An Introductory Dictionary of Lacanian Psychoanalysis. London: Routledge; Freud, S. (1950). Why War? (1932). In J. Strachey (Ed.), Collected Papers Vol. V Sigmund Freud (Vol. 5, pp. 273-287). London: Hogarth Press; Gray, J. (Director). (2019). Ad Astra [Film]. 20th Century Fox; Haywood, L. (2021). Baudrillard and the Prophetic: Reimagining the Twin Towers in Avengers: Infinity War. MAST: The Journal for Media Art Study and Theory, 2(1), 94-112; Kingsbury, P. T. (2009). Psychoanalytic Theory/Psychoanalytic Geographies. In R. Kitchin & N. Thrift (Eds.), International Encyclopedia of Human Geography (Vol. 8, pp. 487-494). Amsterdam: Elsevier Science; Kosinski, J. (Director). (2013). Oblivion [Film]. Universal Pictures; Lukinbeal, C. (2004). The Map that Precedes the Territory: An Introduction to Essays in Cinematic Geography. GeoJournal, 59(4), 247-251; McGowan, T. (2003). Looking for the Gaze: Lacanian Film Theory and Its Vicissitudes. Society for Cinema & Media Studies 42(3), 27-47; Zemeckis, R. (2015). The Walk [Film]. Sony Pictures; Žižek, S. (1991). Looking Awry: an Introduction to Jacques Lacan through Popular culture. Cambridge: MIT Press; Žižek, S. (2002). Welcome to the Desert of the Real. New York Verso; Žižek, S. (2007). How to Read Lacan. New York: W. W. Norton & Co.
A post written by Ellan Baker and Susan Wardell, based on an ANTH424 assignment on ‘visual images and the communication of suffering and evil’.
On March 19th 2020, social media and news sites were flooded with images of military trucks, moving the dead out of the overwhelmed small Italian city of Bergamo, for cremation elsewhere [i]. Europe had replaced China as a new epicentre of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Northern Italy is known for having small towns and tightly-knit communities, as well as for the beautiful scenery, cuisine and fashion which attract both domestic and international tourists iv. It was largely through travel and social interaction, that the new strain of coronavirus (named SARS-CoV-2) was spreading. Places like Bergamo, a city of just over 100,000 residents, had little time to prepare iii ii.
Picturing the scale of loss
At the time that images of the crematory trucks were released, Italy was in an exponential climb in the number of cases. The number of deaths had now become a few hundred a day, despite best efforts of intervention and prevention. On March 19th, total fatalities had reached 3,405 and were still increasing vi.
As the pandemic spread, people all over the world took in this type of numerical information, to make sense of what was happening v . Rates of spread, death tolls, graphs and spreadsheets… these were forms of knowledge about the reality of Covid-19, which were also somewhat removed from acknowledgements of the level of human suffering it was creating, with every new case, and with every death of a unique human person that those numbers represented.
In this blog we discuss the ideas that images, as a different way of communicating suffering and loss, can help to rehumanise topics such as this. We argue they provide understanding of the scale of devastation in a different way than numbers do, and can be part of catalysing social change because of this.
Echoes of (an invisible) war
Tightly packed, the military-style trucks are moving in single file down the street. The arrangement of the trucks on the empty street has a ceremonial feel; dark colours, and a string of lights. The road is clearly in an everyday residential area, with a shop, carpark and green field visible alongside. But here it becomes a platform for procession vii.
The escort occurred at night – the image taken at 9:28pm – almost as if they needed to hide the moving of the dead, and shelter the living population vii. Was the suffering so great, that it could not be experienced during the day? Like the living, the day is sheltered from agony; maintaining its symbolic goodness, while night is reserved for pain.
In the photo there are many trucks, and within each truck, there are many bodies vii. The photo both is and isn’t about numbers. The impact of this photo is largely because the trucks are in fact innumerable, their line extends out both sides of the frame of the photograph. It asks us to recognise the scale of loss without making us, or letting us, count and quantify. It evokes the horror of scale, without relying on numbers. It makes an affective connection to the topic, without being explicit.
The image of a fleet of military trucks can’t help but raise the ghosts of war; historical echoes that will have different levels of feeling attached for different viewers, in different places. At very least, the string of large trucks connotes a high number of casualties, and yet there is a disjunct for the viewer, since absent from the still and tidy environment they move through is any evidence of danger or threat. The toll is being counted, truck by truck, but the enemy itself is a ghostly absence; an invisible virus, impossible to see or to conceptualise, except through its effects.
Watching from afar
At this time this photo was taken and posted, New Zealand and many other countries felt far from the ‘front line’. The need to take action here was not yet evident. So we watched the situation unfold through images like this, but even as we did, the virus exponentially spread once again, leaving tremendous amounts of uncertainty in its wake iii
The now-famous images of these trucks did not come, in the first instance, from scientists, journalists, or other authoritative communicators. Rather they appeared in the often informal domain of social media. The context of apartments opposite implies that this photo too is taken from an apartment window, looking down. The photographer is distant from the street, giving an even more heightened sense of risk or taboo in the scene below.
The juxtaposition of the sombre with the everyday (both in terms of the setting, the intimate framing of the photo, and its context on social media) makes looking at it all the more difficult.
Images of tragedy and horror often circulate well on the media – like this one, going viral, reaching around the world. Anthropologists Arthur and Joan Kleinman wrote about the circulation of images in the media in 1996, before the advent of social media, and yet they discussed many trends we could see continuing, and even increasing, today. They note, for example “viewers become overwhelmed” from a distance and come to have “moral fatigue, exhaustion of empathy, and political despair.” ix
Given the continuous flow of numbers and statistics, of images and video, through the news, this could well have been the case. Yet people seemed to want to look. Kleinman & Kleinman also discuss that despite their potential to overwhelm, images of suffering are often appealing because they leave the viewer asking questions ix.
The unending line of crematory trucks going beyond the photo’s borders shows the impact of the viruses devastation. But what questions does it ask? Are they questions that are answerable? Either way, they were questions that New Zealand did have to approach, as citizens, and as a nation, not long after Italy.
The human struggle
“Struggling to cope” vii the photo caption says. This is, on one level, a comment about institutional and systemic capacity to practically process so many dead – since these trucks were deployed for the purpose of relieving an already overloaded crematory system vii. But the phrase can also read as a marker of psychological overwhelm for those living through the experience.
The pain that the virus has caused is immense. Images of the COVID 19 pandemic re-humanise numerical information, by bringing Twitter users closer to the suffering of those who are grieving losses of loved ones. This can be contrasted to the insistent numerical broadcasting, which removes the emotional quality and the human context of information, and by itself, refuses to acknowledge the human lives behind them. As the quote often attributed to Stalin goes: “if only one man dies … that is a tragedy. If millions die, that’s only statistics.” x
Meanwhile, images have a variety of different ways of highlighting the specific, situated, and human meanings of these numbers. For example, the image below is of a blessing taking place by the service providers, to finalise the deceased person’s life, with dignity.
This image, taken by Italian news photographer Piero Cruciatti, offers something different to the sense of scale of death and loss in Salvanechi’s image, in terms of communicating the impact of COVID-19. It reveals one part of the story behind each number, behind each body that the viewer understands to be concealed in those many military trucks. It shows the layers of human care and meaning invested into each of them; how the people closest to the suffering still muster the strength and urgency to undertake the enormous amount of cultural and physical work required to bring each person’s precious life to a close.
It shows, perhaps, the tragedy of the ‘one man’ rather than the thousands, and in doing so, it arguably brings a different kind of understanding of this event, than it does to contemplate the thousands.
Image and response
Paul Frosh, an academic writing about digital media, and specifically how people view and respond to the suffering of distant othersxi. One’s moral “response-ability”, he argues, is linked to the sensory mediums through which one is viewing and responding. People who viewing Salvanechi’s photo on Twitter, for example, had to choose how to respond, with their eyes, hands, and attention. Practically this could mean many things; clicking, commenting, sharing. More broadly, categories such as ‘witnessing’ explain what type of moral response these micro-actions may represent.
Images can broach both a geographical and emotional distance, and act as a testimony and a memorial in and of themselves, to human experience, and human suffering. In Salvanechi’s photo, and the photo by Piero Cruciatti, we are forced to consider the suffering that quickly can become incomprehensible and overwhelming vii– given a chance to hold our gaze, and to be witnesses to this horrible reality. And in doing so, to form a kind of momentary connection with other people’s life world’s that is void in the production of infographics and statistical data in journalism.
In addition, there are practical responses that can flow on from this deeper kind of acknowledgement. Read in full, the caption on Salvanechi’s candid night-time photograph has a clear intended purpose; asking for more serious adherence to policies of social isolation, as a tactic to slow the spread of COVID-19. Kleinman and Kleinman’s article acknowledges that images can become a social and symbolic commodity for igniting action and change ix.
When New Zealand’s time came, we also had to make choices about setting policy, and also following policy. About lockdowns and closures and social distancing, and other dramatic social changes. Who can say whether the things we had already witnessed overseas, through the lens and eyes of journalists and everyday citizens on social media, was part of shaping our response?
Whether directly affected or not, in this strange period of human history we have all become ‘online witnesses’ the the COVID19 pandemic. Many of us have absorbed large amounts of numerical and statistical information every day iii, vi. While this information provides easily absorbable overviews of the virus’ impact, it cannot contain or express the more human aspects of this moment in time. However, sprinkled throughout the media coverage, have been images that have also mapped the scope and scale of the pandemic, but in an entirely different way.
Images can hurt us, can wound us. They can also, at the same time, offer an embodied empathetic experience of the suffering of others.. Sometimes they can contribute to changes not only in how we understand the world, but the choices we make in response to it. The images of crematory trucks in Northern Italy expressed the large scale devastation of the virus, at a moment in which the whole world was watching, and deciding how to react. What we owe to these cannot be measured.
i National Post, 2020. COVID-19 Italy: Military fleet carries coffins of coronavirus victims out of overwhelmed town. [Online]
Available at: https://nationalpost.com/news/world/covid-19-italy-videos-show-military-fleet-transporting-coffins-of-coronavirus-victims-out-of-overwhelmed-town
[Accessed 09 April 2020].
ii Worldometer, 2020. Italy Population (LIVE). [Online]
Available at: https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/italy-population/
[Accessed 20 April 2020].
iii NZHerald, 2020. Covid 19 coronavirus: How virus overwhelmed Italy with almost 5000 deaths in a month. [Online]
Available at: https://www.nzherald.co.nz/world/news/article.cfm?c_id=2&objectid=12318768
[Accessed 20 April 2020].
iv Turismo Bergamo, 2020. Visit Bergamo: An Italian masterpiece. [Online]
Available at: https://www.visitbergamo.net/en/news/item/278/
[Accessed 21 April 2020].
v Knox, C., 2020. NZHerald. [Online]
Available at: https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=12322890
[Accessed 04 May 2020].
vi Worldometers.info, 2020. WORLD / COUNTRIES / ITALY. [Online]
Available at: https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/country/italy/
[Accessed 20 April 2020].
vii Salvaneschi, G., 2020. Twitter.com. [Online]
Available at: https://twitter.com/guidosalva/status/1240555847849312256
[Accessed 09 April 2020].
viii Clark, H., 2020. Missing In Action: the lack of a globally co-ordinated response to Covid-19. [Online]
Available at: https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/health/coronavirus/120969978/missing-in-action-the-lack-of-a-globally-coordinated-response-to-covid19
[Accessed 04 May 2020].
ix Kleinman, A. a. K. J., 1996. The Appeal of experience; the dismay of images: cultural appropriations of suffering in our times. Daedalus, 125(1), pp. 1-23.
x Stalin, J., 1947. A Single Death is a Tragedy; a Million Deaths is a Statistic. [Online]
Available at: https://quoteinvestigator.com/2010/05/21/death-statistic/
[Accessed 21 April 2020].
xi Frosh, P., 2016. The mouse,the screen and the Holocaust witness: Interface aesthetics and moral response. New Media and Society, 20(1), pp. 351-368.
Written by Etienne DeVilliers, for an assignment on ‘administrative evil’ in ANTH424.
‘Evil’ is a powerful and versatile word. Often when we think of evil, what comes to mind are very deliberate, sadistic or strategic actions. Yet sometimes deeply harmful actions are unintentional.
We all know the consequence of a mistimed word or unthinking act, on an intimate, personal scale. But this is also true on a wider social social scale too, in terms of the negative consequences that can result for certain people or groups, simply from the large scale bureaucratic systems we all take part in. This is what the concept of ‘administrative evil aims’ to capture, and contemporary social scholars argue that more attention needs to be paid to this in the modern, technologically and bureaucratically efficient world we live in (Adams & Balfour 2014).
How does ‘administrative evil’ apply to the NZ schooling system?
Administrative evil is a form of evil which has emerged within a world with a rapidly expanding population which has turned to rationalist systems, such as bureaucracies. Administrative evil relies not on passionate hatred and emotional connections, but rather on a more banal form of evil, characterised by disinterest or unawareness – and thus often lacking in an intentional motive. The example of this that I will be using is the disregard towards the gap in academic results between Māori students and their peers within the contemporary New Zealand schooling system (Page 2008).
I will argue that the harmful consequences of this are a result of administrative evil, where European rationalist approaches are favoured over Māori systems of knowing, resulting in this disparity in educational outcomes.
However I must stress I am not saying this is done intentionally by the vast majority of people – policy makers, teachers, and so on – but instead that it is done because unthinkingly, by people who grow up within these systems and never stop to question them. In short, an unintentional evil – detached from the radical personalities of people like Stalin or Hitler, and embedded instead in bureaucratic systems with in-built disadvantages. There are a few key ways in which this unintentional evil is present in NZ schooling systems, that I will look at.
When bias meets bureaucracy
People of different cultural backgrounds approach situations in different ways. One study showing this in an educational setting, compared how Chinese and American children understood stories in different ways, reflecting wider cultural norms (Wang & Leichtman, 2000). Cultural differences are also present within a New Zealand context, in ways of knowing and learning that are distinct between Māori and European systems.
Despite the country’s aspirations towards a ‘bicultural nation’, the very nature of contemporary schooling institutions in New Zealand is derived from European thought. Much of the comes from past and ongoing perceptions of the superiority of European systems and ways of knowing – the legacy of New Zealand’s past as a colonised nation. Indigenous ways of knowing have been disadvantaged and repressed in numerous systematic ways during this period of political dominance – as is seen among indigenous people in many colonised nations around the world.
Not only the methods and contexts of education, but the way of measuring the success of education, is based on a western set of values, prioritising efficiency and rationalism.
Today the question of funding is important to analysing administrative evil in any given system (Adams & Balfour 2014). Balfour & Adams argue that institutions, in their strive for greater efficiency, can be either constructive or deconstructive – and in a world where much of the making and unmaking of things comes down to money, ventures which are prioritized for funding can become constructed and those that are not become deconstructed. In this way things that are neglected in terms of funding can become disadvantaged.
Such a case can be seen in the case of Pūhoro STEM Academy (Parahi, 2019) a learning support structure for Māori students which has been successful by many measures, but has a hard time receiving funding due to a perceived lack of efficiency and validity. This is despite it’s potential to address the sometimes large gap between cohorts of Māori students’ results and other students (Page 2008, Collins 2019). In fact another recent public discussion in New Zealand highlights that decisions regarding the funding of Māori centered educational systems are further disadvantaged by the gap between Māori students and their peers (Gerritsen, 2019) – seemingly penalising them for both the result and the cause of the inequality. What this emphasises is how these low results have become an obstacle to improvement, due to questions of efficiency, creating a cycle of administrative evil as less and less access to funding is given.
Cultural ‘border crossing’
Modern education systems in most settler nations are built around western systems. Indigenous forms of knowledge can be and are sometimes introduced to these – but typically in a supporting role, within the overall structures and frameworks of European schooling. This can be seen in the earlier example of the Pūhoro STEM Academy (Parahi, 2019), which is a support system present within a more mainstream system that is western in both nature and design.
What this means is that Māori students, and particularly those who grow up with Te Ao Māori as the basis for their way of being in the world, have to move from one system of learning to another, or be at a major disadvantage. In short they have to undergo a sort of cultural border crossing (Aikenhead 1996).
This is allowed to occur as the systems we have in place have become taken for granted as the most efficient form of educating the largest amounts of people. This relates to two characteristics of administrative evil, as proposed by Adams & Balfour (2014). The first is that the system has become taken for granted and as such has become seen as ‘natural’ rather than as a flawed institution. The second is a utilitarian logic that essentially condones a “small” evil (in the disadvantaging of Māori) to support a “greater good” (efficiently educating the largest amounts of people possible) (Balfour., et al., 2014).
When you look at the way that modern educational institutions are structured, it becomes clear that certain methods of learning are prioritized within mainstream schooling, due both to a racist history of belief in the superiority of European thought as well as the distinctive characteristic of rationalism in the bureaucratic systems that deliver and evaluate it.
This can be seen in the way Māori education is managed in contemporary New Zealand. The emphasis on outcomes for the majority, the basis of funding decisions on these outcomes, and the placement of indigenous ways of knowing and learning as ‘supplementary’ or ‘supporting’ to the standardised western systems… all of this connects to the idea of ‘taking for granted’ the natural and beneficial nature of these systems.
In practice this means either accepting, or simply not thinking to question, the ‘small’ evils of disadvantaged Māori students, against the ‘greater’ gain of the majority. For all of these reasons, mainstream schooling in New Zealand is a fitting example of administrative evil as it can function, insidiously, in contemporary post-colonial nation.
- Aikenhead, G.S., 1996. Science education: Border crossing into the subculture of science.
- Wang, Q. and Leichtman, M.D., 2000
- Page, R., 2008. Variation in storytelling style amongst New Zealand schoolchildren. Narrative Inquiry, 18(1), pp.152-179
- Balfour, D.L., Adams, G. and Nickels, A., 2014. Unmasking administrative evil. Routledge pg 3-22.
- Gerritsen, J., 2019. RNZ, New Zealand retrieved from: https://www.rnz.co.nz/news/national/396560/poor-results-for-maori-pasifika-lead-to-funding-cuts-for-education-providers
- Collins, S., 2019. New Zealand Herald. New Zealand., retrieved from: https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=12226060
- Parahi, C., 2019. Stuff., New Zealand., retrieved from: https://www.stuff.co.nz/national/education/110470040/phoro-a-popular-academic-programme-for-mori-will-run-out-of-funding-in-april
Written by Amy Hema, for an assignment on ‘administrative evil’ in ANTH424.
The 1970s saw some of the darkest times for New Zealand, following the economic crash of the late 1960s. With the first waves of unemployment since the Great Depression, the country was looking for someone to blame. It was was in this context that ‘overstayers’ were deemed to be burden to New Zealand . These overstayers were typically Pasifika peoples who had been actively recruited for New Zealand’s booming labour market, in the early 60’s. Now their deportation was deemed a priority.
To this end in 1974 the New Zealand police began raiding houses suspected of containing overstayers, in the early hours of the morning . These came to be known as the Dawn Raids. Racially motivated, and traumatising for the Polynesian population that were often the focus, this is a moment in the country’s history that largely goes undiscussed, and yet had significant impact on a people group that were marginalised, villainised and targeted by the New Zealand government and police.
Adams and Balfour have written extensively about the relationship between administration and evil; a relationship that is often overlooked, but powerful in enforcing ‘evil’ in the sense of harm against a particular vulnerable group . The Dawn Raids are a prime example of administrative and bureaucratic authority being used to enact this harm.
Discourses of Dehumanisation
Adams and Balfour argue that our daily lives are built upon are taken for granted assumptions; that we take little time to examine the way we are living and the impact it may have. Subsequently, something as fundamental as language and storytelling can make us susceptible to participating in evil without realising it.
The dawn raids went largely unopposed by the general public due to the language and discourse used to describe those being targeted in the raids, being unthinkingly accepted.
In a 1975 campaign run by the National Party, Polynesians were depicted as aggressive, unwelcome pests who were taking jobs away from deserving Kiwis . The ad told the story of New Zealand as a peaceful nation, one that you would want to raise your children in… until the arrival of immigrants. It claimed that these immigrants became incensed by the lack of jobs, healthcare and education, and turned angry and violent.
In these ads, the blame was being placed squarely on Polynesians; the happy compliant residents depicted were white, whilst the angry individual was brown with a large afro. As such, these ads were used to create a divide between ‘us’ and ‘them’ – those who deserved to be in NZ and those who did not.
The ads created a strong and specific narrative that became a taken for granted ‘Truth’; that Polynesians were taking advantage of New Zealand’s resources and generosity, and that they needed to be removed. Referred to simply as ‘overstayers’, ‘illegals’, and ‘browns’ and presented to the public as over-the-top caricatures, a clear message was sent about who these people were, what they were doing to the country and how they should be dealt with. These catch-all terms enable the individual to refer to a group without acknowledging they are individual humans, who came to New Zealand looking for a better life, instead they are just a collective problem.
In interviews taken at the time of the raids , New Zealanders were clearly holding tight to these narratives. As such, they became participants in evil – accepting and condoning through acceptance that a group of people be harmed by prejudicial policies and laws. Standing back and watching it happen.
Through social discourse one can readily observe the way in which language is used to dehumanise and separate the other to allow for the continuation of administrative evil – by actively reinforcing racial stereotypes, create to separate and privilege, New Zealand citizens became passive participants.
The Social Construction of Compliance
In the case of administrative evil, there are hierarchies. Specifically, there are the policy makers and the enforcers. Since the policy makers are a few steps removed from the site of violence, they are able to distance themselves from the reality of the situation. The enforcers however are on the ground, and are active participants.
Interviews with former police officers evidence the same position; they may have been overzealous in their attempts to identify and charge overstayers, but they believed their cause was just, and they were following orders. Adams and Balfour have discussed these attitudes in what they call ‘the social construction of compliance’ – in which the an individual is pushed to perform violence under the direction of authority – whether or not they agree with the process becomes irrelevant as they are no longer acting as an individual but as a cog in a machine.
Adams and Balfour argue that as a culture that has come to place so much value on individualism, the USA has come to expect that when presented with a difficult choice, an individual will stick to their morals and refuse to comply. Did the normative ‘Pakeha’ 1970’s New Zealand share a similar moral system? We know from the overzealous policing that during the dawn raids, the police force became aggressive in their pursual of overstayers. They stopped individuals on the street and asking for identification, in what was essentially ‘stop and frisk’, since the individuals stopped were done so based on the colour of their skin. They raided homes at the crack of dawn, deliberately when individuals and families were vulnerable.
The actions taken by the police and the legal system were extreme, and individuals were being persecuted for minor crimes (such as petty theft) to the fullest extent of the law, at an unprecedented rate – though this was all technically legal, functioning within the system rather than as an exception to it.
Policy makers and police officers put their own opinions and feelings aside to carry out the policies set in place – even if it meant brining harm by enforcing racist ideologies. Whilst there was some push back on the stop and frisk policies, they were ultimately widely enacted by law enforcement. What one can observe from the police tactics at the time is that group morality had the capacity to overrule individualism – a fact not readily embraced by many who believe in individualism.
What is made evident by examining the history of the Dawn Raids in New Zealand, is that administrative evil relies on both passive and active participation. By sharing narratives of harmful individuals who are taking away jobs from more deserving individuals, and upholding policies that allowed law enforcement to act on racism and stereotypes, a culture was created that allowed evil to continue in a way that was accepted by the mainstream populace.
Adams and Balfour stress that administrative evil flourishes under conditions in which people believe in the cause or adopt the ideologies as taken for granted facts – the success of administrative evil then rests in the failure to identify the evil nature of the act until it’s too late.
 Adams, G. & Balfour, D.L. (2014). Unmasking Administrative Evil: the dynamics of evil and administrative evil. Sage Publications.
 Te Ara (1975) ‘National Party Election Campaign Ad’ https://teara.govt.nz/en/video/2158/national-party-advertisement