Yuna Blajer de la Garza

European Journal of Political Theory, Volume 21, Issue 3, Page 491-513, July 2022. This article is an exercise in theory-building about the stories that justify, feed upon, and reproduce systems of oppression. I argue that emotional narratives contribute to the constitution and reproduction of systems of oppression, and that different emotional narratives constitute different forms of oppression. I examine two of these emotional narratives: a narrative articulated around pity and a narrative that draws on fear. I propose that the former prevails when those in power do not perceive the members of the oppressed group as posing a threat to their power structure, in turn inducing low-intensity charitable state action. Conversely, narratives that deploy fear prevail when the group in power believes that the oppressed group presents a threat to their power structure, in turn eliciting high-intensity repressive state action. While narratives of pity recur to the infantilization of the members of the disadvantaged group, narratives of fear animalize them.

This article explores the case of informal car parkers in Mexico City, to whom drivers regularly entrust the keys to their vehicles. In contrast to literature on social trust that expects institutional trust and interpersonal trust to support one another, the article shows that interpersonal trust improbably arises in the context of corrupt and inefficient institutions. Coercive and market dynamics undergird the interactions among car parkers, police officers, and drivers, making possible the emergence of an informal market and noncontractual agreements. The exchange between car parkers and drivers depends on the performance of class—a performance that becomes legible and formulaic enough to appear safe, precisely because it coalesces classist tropes that are clearly distinct and recognizable. Interpersonal trust becomes possible not only despite class cleavages and institutional shortcomings but, paradoxically, because of them.

In Beyond the Law’s Reach? Shmuel Nili examines the moral responsibilities of affluent democracies toward poorer countries to whose misfortunes they contributed. Because of their entanglement, Nili argues, affluent democracies are (often, but not always) morally barred from pursuing policies more obviously aligned with their moral preferences when another policy would benefit the weakened state more. In this essay, I discuss some of the challenges of trying to repay a moral debt between states. The affluent democracy has incentives to underestimate the extent of its moral debt, while the weakened state benefits from overestimating the harm it suffered. Moreover, since the state is not a unitary actor, different members of a state might disagree on which actions should count as proper forms of atonement. I argue that moral debts cannot ever be fully repaid, but that such impossibility does not undermine the moral requirement to try to pay them; and, further, that the inability to fully settle a moral debt is not a shortcoming to lament, but closer to a blessing in disguise, because acknowledging past misdeeds and embracing the moral implications of deep entanglement may foster greater reciprocity and solidarity in the international realm.

Where are democratic mores cultivated? Amid contemporary worries about democratic backsliding and authoritarian siren calls, this article advances the Tocquevillian point that discussions of seemingly mundane questions in formalized contexts, such as neighborhoods meetings, are excellent sites to foster democratic “habits of the heart.” Grounding the normative argument in ethnographic observations carried out in Paris, I contend that quotidian spaces such as these, often dismissed as procedural or trivial, are meaningful sites of democratic practice that nurture democratic affects and a democratic ethos. While seemingly too localized to be significant for the wider democratic society, the topics considered in these neighborhood meetings pertain to political concerns such as the distribution of public goods, the possibilities of collective action, the limits of private property, and the ability of the law to compel behavior. However, the discussions’ democratic potential is undermined by the difficulty of getting past the doors of the meetings, not because of exclusionary formal rules but because of informal practices often taxing for newcomers.

Citizens often describe their membership in the political community in terms of how much they belong. This article probes belonging as a category of analysis, aiming to contribute to our understanding of contemporary democratic citizenship and its challenges by using our everyday manners of speech as the object(s) of philosophical inquiry. A focus on belonging disentangles how esteem, identity, and the gaze of others shape experiences of membership. For example, it clarifies why, at times, it is important for equality to be seen not as estimable, but as unremarkable, freed from the scrutiny of others. Belonging carves space to apprehend the egalitarian potential of an ordinariness that need not imply homogeneity. The article then discusses the ways in which formal citizenship simultaneously disappoints in its inability to guarantee belonging and empowers those construed as “citizens who do not belong” to reassert their belonging.

This article is an exercise in theory-building about the stories that justify, feed upon, and reproduce systems of oppression. I argue that emotional narratives contribute to the constitution and reproduction of systems of oppression, and that different emotional narratives constitute different forms of oppression. I examine two of these emotional narratives: a narrative articulated around pity and a narrative that draws on fear. I propose that the former prevails when those in power do not perceive the members of the oppressed group as posing a threat to their power structure, in turn inducing low-intensity charitable state action. Conversely, narratives that deploy fear prevail when the group in power believes that the oppressed group presents a threat to their power structure (regardless of how “true” that perception is), in turn eliciting high-intensity repressive state action. While narratives of pity recur to the infantilization of the members of the disadvantaged group, narratives of fear animalize them.