Afterword

Lessons and Directions from the Ground Up

Jonathan Clapperton & Liza Piper

Despite the stunning downturn in Alberta’s economy caused by the plummet in oil prices beginning in 2014, anti–oil/tar sands protests remain strong. Decades of resistance on the part of the provincial Progressive Conservative government to implementing adequate environmental monitoring and protection measures, along with a decade of federal rule under former Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper in which hostility to environmentalists and environmental legislation became normalized, has made the current provincial government’s job of selling Alberta oil as environmentally responsible nearly impossible. Alberta and the oil companies operating there are desperately working to build pipelines, aiming simultaneously south, west, and east. Along every step of the way, development hearings and initial construction work have been met by fierce resistance. While many of these protesters are members of the “Green Giants”—Greenpeace, for instance, playing a prominent role as usual—it appears to be small green and Indigenous activists who are the most active, and their successes to date are showing the continued power of such mobilization. The highly contentious and polarizing TransCanada Keystone XL pipeline, which would have run south from Alberta through Montana, South Dakota, and Nebraska, encountered a groundswell of localized resistance throughout each state from a diverse mixture of interests. President Obama put an end to this odyssey when, in November 2015, he rejected TransCanada’s application (although President Donald Trump reversed course and approved the project without any public consultation).1 With hopes for the Keystone XL project temporarily dashed, oil executives and Canadian politicians turned their attention east with the proposed Energy East project, a 4,500-kilometre pipeline from Alberta to New Brunswick. Proponents and industry have met with powerful resistance by locals, who crashed National Energy Board hearings in Montreal, and who put enough pressure on the federal regulatory body so that it suspended all hearings and witnessed three of its panellists recuse themselves following complaints of conflict of interest accusations.2 Enbridge’s Northern Gateway Pipeline Proposal, which would run from Alberta through northern British Columbia to the port of Kitimat for shipping to international markets, received constant negative press as locals and Indigenous groups along the proposed route starkly stated that they would not allow a pipeline to pass. The Unist’ot’en (a clan of the Wet’suwet’en First Nation) set up a camp on their territory, which has been continually occupied for occupied for nearly a decade, in opposition to the Northern Gateway and other pipeline proposals. In July 2016, a Federal Court of Appeal decision halted the project on the grounds that the federal government had not met its duty to consult with First Nations.3 The other west-facing pipeline—the Kinder Morgan Trans Mountain pipeline, ending in Burnaby, British Columbia—was approved by the federal government in November 2016. After facing staunch opposition from the communities in its path, Kinder Morgan threatened to cancel the project in April 2018. The Canadian federal government then purchased the pipeline and promised to get it built with taxpayer dollars, although, on 31 August 2018, the Federal Court of Appeal quashed that approval and sent the federal government back to the review phase to examine the impacts of tanker traffic and provide adequate consultation with First Nations.4 Opposition to this project is, unsurprisingly, ongoing.5

In each instance above, proponents of these projects vastly underestimated the power and the persistence of small green and Indigenous activism; such perseverance, as demonstrated throughout this volume, is nothing new. Although small-scale organizations and environmentalist efforts may not all grow big in size, that does not mean that they have languished or stayed still. As the chapters in this collection highlight, taking a historical perspective on late twentieth-century environmentalism, and drawing on diverse geographical locations across Canada, the United States, and beyond, clearly illuminates the many courses and consequences of small green activism.

One advantage of a historical perspective, particularly where it is articulated through narrative, is that it welcomes contingencies: the context, personalities, and unexpected twists can be as important to our understanding of the past as the theoretical perspectives that can connect divergent stories, and which many historians aim to reinforce. The place of contingency is highlighted in Zelko’s account of the rise of Greenpeace, as it is in Clapperton’s analysis of SPEC, where the turn to radicalization had unanticipated consequences for those organizations. Historical narratives are also often (if not always) inclined to look for even more distant roots. As several of our contributors asked: To what extent was the small-scale activism of the late twentieth century connected to earlier conservation, environmental, or other forms of activism? For Leeming, these roots could be found, for instance, in the role of the Women’s Institutes as long-standing (if somewhat dated) venues for civic engagement and activism. In the pursuit of the histories of small green activism, several of the chapters in this collection nevertheless remind us to ask, whose narrative is this? Narrative is a powerful tool for communicating the character of past environmental activism, and as such it can be used to exclude certain perspectives and interpretations. DeWitt exposes such exclusions in the histories of state and provincial parks, as well as demonstrating the importance of including non-elites in arriving at more comprehensive histories of these sites. Welch’s attention to the importance of sovereignty in the practice of heritage conservation at Fort Apache similarly speaks to the question, whose history is this? Welch, moreover, emphasizes the potency of this particular site “as an antidote to colonialism” through sovereignty-driven preservation because of “its early history as a hub for the imposition and enactment of non-Apache values and its recent history as the legal battleground between the Tribe and the United States.” The conscious articulation of historical narratives connects the history of late twentieth-century small green activism to the antecedents that can then help us to frame the significance of these narratives.

Willow emphasizes the importance of imagining environmentalism “not just as a trajectory of movements and beliefs but also as a rich assemblage of tools and processes.” So what are the “tools and processes” that our collective cross-context analysis has served to highlight? Grossman’s study of Native/non-Native alliances illuminates the central importance of coalitions to many of the different chapters: from the provincial and regional coalitions that flourished in eastern Canada according to Leeming and McLaughlin, to the shared experiences, and thus support, among Indigenous activists Kinew describes in Ontario, to the cooperation at different levels that has been essential to the parks in Costa Rica, Brazil, Canada, and the United States, which Evans examines. Where local activists have been able to build broader networks, unsurprisingly, their efforts have had greater positive effects. This trend reverberates into the present: in September 2016, First Nations from Canada and the northern United States signed a treaty, formalizing an alliance to collectively fight against pipelines from the oil sands. Thus we see how local and Indigenous organizations grow through cooperation, even if they stay the same in size. Moreover, as Evans highlights, conservation itself has enabled greater state-Indigenous cooperation in the context of parks history. He, along with Grossman in particular, thus demonstrates that not only has cooperation enabled more effective environmental activism, but environmental activism has enabled greater cooperation between otherwise opposing groups.

The need for organizations to change with the times points to a second process: that of adaptation. The Conservation Council of New Brunswick’s decision to professionalize enabled it to endure longer than many other small-scale environmental counterparts. SPEC’s inability to maintain its “insider” status, as it grew in scale, can also be interpreted as failure of the organization to adapt to its growth and expansion in the 1970s—it was only by restoring that insider status, which involved staying small, that SPEC was able to endure. Greenpeace, as Zelko shows, compromised its founders’ grassroots democratic principles in favour of a centralized, hierarchical structure to manage its phenomenal growth. Welch presents clearly how coming to terms with Indigenous sovereignty has been an essential adaptation to ensuring Fort Apache’s long-term legacy, while Clapperton’s chapter on Clayoquot Sound revealed the negative consequences for environmental organizations who merely paid lip service to First Nations’ rights.

Lastly, the ways in which different small green organizations were able to integrate and deploy different kinds of knowledge—in particular scientific expertise—influenced their effectiveness. Local knowledge had to be legitimated in order to influence decision making; Piper’s chapter shows how the magazine Alternatives sought to do just that by both turning scholarly research into community activism and legitimizing Indigenous knowledge. How such knowledge gained legitimacy is a process we see playing out across the case studies presented in this collection. In fact, this aspect of small green activism proved to be so persuasive and telling that the collaborators of this collection also simultaneously worked to produce a complementary special issue of the Rachel Carson Center’s Perspectives journal, titled “Environmental Knowledge, Environmental Politics,” which delves into this topic further than we do here.6

These “tools and processes,” then, delineate how some forms of small-scale environmentalism succeeded. Did others fail? Ultimately, the best way to measure success or failure in these chapters is to understand the goals of the groups themselves. If the purpose of 1970s-era environmental activism was to grow (after the fashion of capitalist economies), with more participants, larger budgets, and wider reach, then histories of small green activism must become histories of the “Green Giants,” as articulated by Zelko in this volume. But that was not necessarily the objective of all of these activists. For Bob Hunter of Greenpeace, yes, bigger was better. But DeWitt’s actors more often wanted little more than to minimize conflict, protect special places, and ensure they could continue to make a living—worthy objectives, but not ones that required significant organizational capacity and institutional structures.

One of the core themes presented in the chapter by Leeming reverberates throughout this volume: the way in which attention to small green activism also draws attention back to the material issues at the core of such organizing. Throughout this volume we see economic concerns as powerfully intertwined with environmental activism and its legacies—whether it is McLaughlin, DeWitt, and Clapperton reflecting on the role of resource development objectives in shaping state, industry, and public responsiveness to small green agendas; or Evans showing that the potential for economic benefit from increased tourism has influenced governments in both protecting and promoting spaces important to Indigenous peoples; or, in contrast, Willow and Grossman showing how economic justifications served to keep Indigenous peoples out of other spaces. This emphasis, which shifts the character of late twentieth-century environmentalism away from the influence of “post-materialism,” though without discounting it, not only serves to more effectively connect this period of activism with earlier antecedents but also resonates with the call, integral to Indigenous activism, to recognize how healthy environments sustain economic and cultural sovereignty.7

Further Directions

There remains important work to be done on the history of small green and Indigenous environmental activism that can extend some of what the authors in this collection have presented for consideration. Not least is the need for further sustained, rigorous research into the relationships between Indigenous activists and the “Green Giants,” which would illuminate divergences and continuities in relationship building and successful (or failed) alliances between environmental activists working at different scales.

Gender is integral to the histories of the conservation and environmental movements, as scholars such as Maril Hazlett, Adam Rome, and Jocelyn Thorpe have shown.8 Gender dynamics figure in several of the chapters presented here: in the evolving character of participation in rural environmental activism described by Leeming, and in the prominence of the Women’s Institutes in particular; in the substance of Marilee Little’s complaint that opens McLaughlin’s chapter on the Conserver Society in New Brunswick; and in the exclusions of park “elites” that DeWitt describes. While gender was not a core element of our analysis in Environmental Activism on the Ground, the interrelationships between gender, women’s and men’s activism as it relates to environmentalism, the size of environmentalist organizations, and the strategies they deploy are, as Thorpe makes clear, key issues in the history of environmentalism, especially so in the underdeveloped literature on Indigenous peoples, gender, and environmentalism. These are essential themes in works that reflect on, for instance, the rich, growing body of work on ecofeminism, such as the ways in which maternal ideologies can inform the ability of particular individuals to speak on behalf of wider environmental issues; Lois Gibbs’ effective advocacy in the Love Canal disaster is but one example.9 Therefore, in thinking about histories of small-scale environmentalism in particular, the intersectionality of gender, race, and class dynamics should be foregrounded in future research.

The chapters, including those that focus on relationships between small green activism and the state—Evans, Welch, DeWitt, and McLaughlin—highlight the potential significance of further study into the role of law and legislation in shaping activist efforts and their successes or failures. The responsiveness of states, at different levels and at different times, to public pressure via litigation and legislation is integral to understanding the efficacy of those who have advocated on behalf of environmental issues in the past. Close examination of the kinds of legislation that small green organizing historically influenced, in contrast to the impact of “Green Giants” or state-based environmental measures, could discern patterns, across different contexts, that speak more directly to the issue of when and how “small green” activists have been able to have their voices heard. William Buzbee’s recent Fighting Westway: Environmental Law, Citizen Activism, and the Regulatory War that Transformed New York City describes how a coalition of environmentalists, citizens, and their lawyers successfully opposed a highway project that was supported by presidents, senators, governors, business, and unions. Fighting Westway provides an excellent example of the promise a study of the law and small green activism might provide in reshaping the dominant perception of the legal system as a tool of the elite and those with the means to afford it, who then use the law to halt environmental (and other) activism.10 Indeed, Paul Sabin’s article “Environmental Law and the End of the New Deal Order” effectively conceptualizes “fledgling” public interest environmental law firms as small-scale activist groups along lines similar to how we do so throughout this collection, while Douglas Bevington, in The Rebirth of Environmentalism, sees litigation as a key tactic in small, grassroots biodiversity organizations having a “big” impact despite their meagre resources.11 Indigenous groups, in particular, have been successful in using litigation to gain power over environmental use—from the landmark United States v. Washington, or “Boldt,” decision (1974) in Washington State over tribal fishing, to the recent (2016) Federal Court of Appeal decision in Canada to quash Enbridge’s Northern Gateway pipeline certificates for failing in its constitutional duty to consult Indigenous peoples, as mentioned above.12 Tribes in the United States have arguably greater leeway in this regard, possessing the legal and judicial sovereignty to set their own environmental standards, while First Nations in British Columbia have different political and strategic opportunities because of the lack of treaties in that province.13 Moreover, over the past couple of decades, legal firms specializing in Indigenous and environmental law have sprung up across the continent, notably in the Pacific Northwest. Of course, the legal structure has been—and continues to be—used to exclude public involvement in environmental decision making, including, as Chris Tollefson, Joan Sherman, and Michael Gismondi describe, strategic lawsuits against public participation (or SLAPPs).

Social media is becoming increasingly vital for environmental organizations and activism. While few academic studies exist in this area, especially in North America, those that do exist have demonstrated some promising results for its application to Indigenous and small green organizing. For instance, Michael Dahlberg-Grundberg and Johan Örestig’s analysis of social media use in an anti-mining struggle in Sweden argues that scholars must redirect their attention from large-scale campaigns to scrutinize the ways in which “geographically confined actors use social media to engage in protests.” They further suggest that the combination of on-site resistance with social media strategies, such as through Facebook pages (sometimes referred to as “clicktivism”) “added a translocal dimension to the . . . conflict. Media users were able to extend a locally and physically situated protest by linking it to a global contentious issue such as the mining boom and its consequences for indigenous populations.”14 Other international case studies provide equally important insights into the relationship between local activism and the broader geographical reach of social media.15 In North America, Mark C. J. Stoddart and Laura MacDonald examine whether or not the “internet is a more open space than traditional media or activists to speak on behalf of nature,” and they do so by analyzing the conflict over the proposed Jumbo Glacier ski resort in British Columbia.16 A burgeoning body of work is also emerging that analyzes the extent to which Indigenous activism is both enhanced and limited by the use of digital media.17 At Standing Rock, where Indigenous activists and their allies sought to halt the Dakota Access Pipeline through direct-action protest beginning in 2016, for example, social media was essential in coordinating strategy among activists in the field and creating a vast support network.18 Another aspect of social media and environmental activism research includes the role and impact of “clicktivism.” Many of the chapters in Environmental Activism on the Ground examine topics that do not consider the years when social media was available, or mainstream; if extended in temporal scope, however, they would certainly provide valuable insight into how tactics and strategies change or how they stay the same. Moreover, such studies could also test assertions that while non-profit organizations are frequently early adopters of new technology, environmental organizations lag behind.19

Lastly, further examples from other places will continue to refine our understanding of the diverse and interconnected character of small green organizing around the globe, and how any particular local context connects to broader regional or national trends.20 Case studies are indispensable to deepening our understanding of the history of small green activism precisely because the scale of such activities can preclude larger analyses: the records available for study and individuals willing to be interviewed are, by definition, fewer and smaller in scope, where they exist at all. By pursuing more such localized research, we stand to better understand the interconnectedness of late twentieth-century activism, as well as the enduring importance of place.

Notes

1 Associated Press, “Barack Obama Rejects Keystone XL Pipeline Citing ‘National Interest,” CBC News, 6 November 2015, http://www.cbc.ca/news/business/keystone-xl-pipeline-obama-1.3307440. North Dakota, meanwhile, became the site of another protest event, with thousands of Indigenous people, along with their environmentalist allies, seeking to halt the Dakota Access Pipeline, which Obama halted, only for Trump to reverse this order as well.

2 Sabrina Marandola, “NEB Panel Members Step Down After Flurry of Criticism,” CBC News, 9 September 2016, http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/neb-panel-steps-down-1.3755872; and Canadian Press, “Energy East Pipeline Further in Doubt After Panel Quits,” Toronto Star, 12 September 2016, https://www.thestar.com/business/2016/09/12/energy-east-pipeline-further-in-doubt-after-panel-quits-analyst-says.html.

3 Jason Proctor, “Northern Gateway Pipeline Approval Overturned,” CBC News, 30 June 2016, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/northern-gateway-pipeline-federal-court-of-appeal-1.3659561.

4 Laura Kane, “Court Ruling Quashes Approval of Trans Mountain,” CTV News, 30 August 2018, https://www.ctvnews.ca/business/court-ruling-quashes-approval-of-trans-mountain-1.4073752; Canadian Press, “Feds restart Indigenous pipeline consultations, stoke caution from First Nations,” CTV News, 3 October 2018, https://www.ctvnews.ca/politics/feds-restart-indigenous-pipeline-consultations-stoke-caution-from-first-nations-1.4119363; and Canadian Press, “National Energy Board ordered to redo Trans Mountain review in 22 weeks in bid to get pipeline approved,” Financial Post, 21 September 2018, https://business.financialpost.com/commodities/energy/feds-launching-review-of-oil-tanker-traffic-in-bid-to-renew-pipeline-approval.

5 Krystalle Ramlakhan, “Protesters Haul Fake Pipeline to Parliament Hill as Trans Mountain Deadline Nears,” CBC News, 21 July 2018, https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/ottawa/trans-mountain-pipeline-kinder-morgan-deal-deadline-federal-liberal-government-justin-trudeau-canada-1.4756653.

6 Jonathan Clapperton and Liza Piper, eds., “Environmental Knowledge, Environmental Politics: Case Studies from Canada and Western Europe,” RCC Perspectives 2016/4, http://www.environmentandsociety.org/perspectives/2016/4/environmental-knowledge-environmental-politics-case-studies-canada-and-western.

7 For an example of a turn toward this approach, see Kathleen Pickering Sherman, James Van Lanen, and Richard Sherman, “Practical Environmentalism on the Pine Ridge Reservation: Confronting Structural Constraints to Indigenous Stewardship,” Human Ecology 38, no. 4 (2010): 507–20.

8 Maril Hazlett, “‘Woman vs. Man vs. Bugs’: Gender and Popular Culture in Early Reactions to Silent Spring,” Environmental History 9, no. 4 (2004): 701–29; Adam Rome, “‘Political Hermaphrodites’: Gender and Environmental Reform in Progressive America,” Environmental History 11, no. 3 (2006): 440–63; Jocelyn Thorpe, Temagami’s Tangled Wild: Race, Gender and the Making of Canadian Nature (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2012).

9 For more on maternal feminism and ecofeminism, see Sherilyn MacGregor, Beyond Mothering Earth: Ecological Citizenship and the Politics of Care (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2006); and Stacy Alaimo, “Cyborg and Ecofeminist Interventions: Challenges for an Environmental Feminism,” Feminist Studies 20, no. 1 (1994): 133–52. For further reading on ecofeminism and small green activism, see: Niamh Moore-Cherry’s The Changing Nature of Eco/Feminism: Telling Stories from Clayoquot Sound (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2015); Mark Stoddard and David Tindall, “Feminism and Environmentalism: Perspectives on Gender in the BC Environmental Movement During the 1990s,” BC Studies 165 (Spring 2010): 75–100; Clayton D. Smith, “Environmentalism, Feminism, and Gender,” Sociological Inquiry 71, no. 3 (2001): 314–34; Cecile Jackson, “Women/Nature or Gender/History? A Critique of Ecofeminist ‘Development,’” Journal of Peasant Studies 20, no. 3 (1993): 389–418; Susan A. Mann, “Pioneers of U.S. Ecofeminism and Environmental Justice,” Feminist Formations 23, no. 2 (2011): 1–25; Rod Bantjes and Tanya Trussler, “Feminism and the Grass Roots: Women and Environmentalism in Nova Scotia, 1980–1983,” Canadian Review of Sociology & Anthropology 36, no. 2 (1999): 179–97; Noël Sturgeon, Ecofeminist Natures: Race, Gender, Feminist Theory, and Political Action (New York: Routledge, 2016 [1997]); Greta Gaard, ed., Ecofeminism: Women, Animals, Nature (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1993); and Greta Gaard, “Ecofeminism Revisited: Rejecting Essentialism and Re-Placing Species in a Material Feminist Environmentalism,” Feminist Formations 23, no. 2 (2011): 26–53.

10 William W. Buzbee, Fighting Westway: Environmental Law, Citizen Activism, and the Regulatory War that Transformed New York City (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2014).

11 Paul Sabin, “Environmental Law and the End of the New Deal Order,” Law & History Review 33, no. 4 (2015): 965–1003; and Douglas Bevington, The Rebirth of Environmentalism: Grassroots Activism from the Spotted Owl to the Polar Bear (Washington, DC: Island Press, 2009). For similar works showing how small-scale groups with limited resources used litigation as a means of empowerment, see: Christopher W. Wells, “From Freeway to Parkway: Federal Law, Grassroots Environmental Protest, and the Evolving Design of Interstate-35E in Saint Paul, Minnesota,” Journal of Planning History 11, no. 1 (2012): 8–26; Darren Speece, “From Corporatism to Citizen Oversight: The Legal Fight Over California Redwoods, 1970–1996,” Environmental History 14, no. 4 (2009): 705–36; and Darren F. Speece, Defending Giants: The Redwood Wars and the Transformation of American Environmental Politics (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2016).

12 Gary Mason, “Northern Gateway Ruling a Reminder of Governments’ Duty to Consult,” Globe and Mail, 1 July 2016.

13 For more information on Native American sovereignty and the creation, or use, of environmental laws to protect their natural resources as a central feature of activism, see: Darren Ranco and Dean Suagee, “Tribal sovereignty and the Problem of Difference in Environmental Regulation: Observations on ‘Measured Separatism’ in Indian Country,” Antipode 39, no. 4 (2007): 691–707; and Steven E. Silvern, “Reclaiming the Reservation: The Geopolitics of Wisconsin Anishinaabe Resource Rights,” American Indian Culture & Research Journal 24, no. 3 (2000): 131–53. In British Columbia, First Nations without a treaty have used that status to contest numerous industrial projects on their traditional territories, perhaps oil and gas pipelines most of all.

14 Michael Dahlberg-Grundberg and Johan Örestig, “Extending the Local: Activist Types and Forms of Social Media Use in the Case of an Anti-Mining Struggle,” Social Movement Studies 16, no. 3 (2017): 309–22. “Clicktivism” refers to activism conducted via the Internet, and current debates revolve around its effectiveness. While it has enabled issues to be circulated quickly regardless of borders, critics contend that it is a lazy form of activism (“slacktivism”) and gives people who participate in it a false sense of accomplishment. For further reading see M. Butler, Clicktivism, Slacktivism, or Real Activism: Cultural Codes of American Activism in the Internet Era (Boulder: University of Colorado Press, 2011).

15 See, for examples: Natalie Pang and Pei Wen Law, “Retweeting #WorldEnvironmentDay: A Study of Content Features and Visual Rhetoric in an Environmental Movement,” Computers in Human Behavior 69 (April 2017): 54–61; and Daniel Halpern, Andres Rosenberg, and Eduardo Arraiagada, “Who Are those Green Guys? Understanding Online Activism in Chile from a Communicational Perspective,” Palabra Clave 16, no. 3 (2013): 729–59.

16 See Mark C. J. Stoddart and Laura MacDonald, “Media and the Internet as Sites for Environmental Movement Activism for Jumbo Pass, British Columbia,” Canadian Journal of Sociology 36, no. 4 (2011): 313–36.

17 See, for examples: Tanja Dreher, Kerry McCallum, and Lisa Waller, “Indigenous Voices and Mediatized Policy-making in the Digital Age,” Information, Communication & Society 19, no. 1 (2016): 23–39; Terria Smith and Vincent Medina, “Tribal Support Across the State for Standing Rock,” News from Native California 30, no. 2 (2016/17): 8–11; Marie Alohalani, “Mauna Kea: Ho’omana Hawai’I and Protecting the Sacred,” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature & Culture 10, no. 2 (2016): 150–69; and Jane Bailey and Sara Shayan, “Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women Crisis: Technological Dimensions,” Canadian Journal of Women & the Law 28, no. 2 (2016): 321–41.

18 Hayley Johnson, “#NoDAPL: Social Media, Empowerment, and Civic Participation at Standing Rock,” Library Trends 66, no. 2 (2017): 155–75.

19 Stoddart and MacDonald, “Media and the Internet as Sites for Environmental Movement Activism,” 317.

20 The promise of such case studies are exemplified in Marco Armiero and Lisa Sedrez, eds., A History of Environmentalism: Local Struggles, Global Histories (London: Bloomsbury, 2014).