Slow Anthropology is the second book by Hjorleifur Jonsson. His first book, Mien Relations: Mountain People and State Control in Thailand (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2005), is a remarkable book not only because it is a rare monograph about the Iu Mien people but also, and more importantly, because it presents an exceptionally sensitive and sensible ethnography, capturing both the historicity and the everydayness of an upland people in Southeast Asia. Jonsson's ethnographic analysis, especially of how the Mien today maintain their communities through seemingly mundane activities of “serious fun,” like sports festivals, makes a particularly rewarding and memorable reading.
Slow Anthropology is, however, very different from Mien Relations. It is a strikingly polemical work. Jonsson denounces many of the existing studies on upland Southeast Asia. He bemoans how academics have been preoccupied with the same old theme of “marginalization and dispossession” and laments that “we have not come up with many alternatives” (p. 21). The scope of his criticism is not limited to a narrow circle of upland anthropologists. Doyens of Southeast Asian history, from Anthony Reid and Victor Lieberman to Thongchai Winichakul, are also brushed aside by Jonsson, who contends that their well-established studies are marred by the binary of remote highlanders versus central states (p. 19). Indeed, very few survive his sweeping assessment. Thomas Kirsch and Yoko Hayami seem to be the only anthropologists of Southeast Asia who are consistently approved. Jonsson “wish[es] to declare this state of academic affairs an emergency, and to take some steps against it” (p. 19).
Those of us following his work are not surprised to find that in Slow Anthropology Jonsson singles out James C. Scott, whose The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2009) is diagnosed as “indicative of the spirit of our times” (p. 19). He throws a barrage of criticism at Scott's “anarchist history,” which considers the upland region or “Zomia” as a non-state space.
The most insightful aspect of Jonsson's critique is his analysis of Scott's rhetoric. Deploying Hayden White, Jonsson illuminates how Scott's narration is in fact embedded in a typical form of anarchist historiography, which, in White's words, “idealize[s] a remote past of natural human innocence from which men have fallen into the corrupt ‘social’ state in which they currently find themselves” (p. 9). Pointing out that Scott's narrative reflects “the US American admiration for Native Americans” (p. 23), Jonsson identifies the Zomia narrative as essentially an American frontier story imposed on Southeast Asia (p. 12). The literary criticism he presents helps us see not only how scholars produce a particular kind of historical narrative but also why some of their stories circulate more widely than others.
Jonsson charges that Scott's thesis is “aimed exclusively for Western scholars and their readers, and not in any way conceptualized for the benefit of anyone in Southeast Asia” (p. 22) and stresses that “the moralization of Asian nations, ethnic groups, or their leaders, is a very dangerous game for Western scholars to play” (p. 86). This “West,” however, remains an unexamined category in Slow Anthropology. It also remains unclear to me why he considers “negotiation across difference” to be so difficult, if not impossible, when it comes to the relations between “the Western scholars” and Asia.
Jonsson “hope[s] … to reach a more general audience without lecturing at people” (p. xiv), citing practical books like Our Bodies, Ourselves, a million-seller book written by feminist activists, as a source of inspiration (p. xv). But if Jonsson thinks that our academic writing might be read by ordinary people in upland Southeast Asia, then I would consider it an alarming fantasy.
Like Mien Relations, Slow Anthropology is a book that only Jonsson could have written, and there is so much to learn from it. What he reports from his extremely wide-ranging readings—especially the latest findings in linguistics and archaeology—are refreshing and insightful, showing very different paths for rethinking Southeast Asia and its diversity. Again, his sensitive observations make delightful reading, for example, where he discusses how Iu Mien families in the United States struggle with an unfamiliar word and concept: “love” (p. 127). The observations show fruits of his long-term, multi-sited ethnography. Readers of Slow Anthropology, however, might find these moments of insight overshadowed by the strongly worded reproval. Perhaps the polemic is an overkill, obscuring Jonsson's own story and poetry.
We will benefit most from Slow Anthropology by reading it as part of the larger corps of Jonsson's scholarship. His work, spanning over two decades, has been very impressive both in terms of quantity and quality. His distinct qualities—unparalleled knowledge of the upland literature, unpredictable and novel frames of reference, and engaging style of inquiry—are all on display in this book.
