corporate violence

By 2010 a second court case had raised the number of Mayan villages with collective ownership of their land to 24. The Belizean government had been barred from granting exploration or extraction licences to these territories without the 'free, prior, and informed consent' of the villagers. Until the government realized these property rights through providing the official title (which is on hold while the government appeals the ruling), the government is barred from “issuing any concessions for resource exploitation, including concessions, permits or contracts authorizing logging, prospecting or exploration.”

The wave of community referenda across Guatemala has involved over 700,000 people, and has occurred in the wake of widespread opposition to Guatemala's controversial Marlin gold mine. The ILO ordered operations at the mine to be suspended, and while Marlin's contamination of the local environment is hotly contested by its Canadian operator Goldcorp, a Tufts University study found a 400 percent increase of arsenic in the area’s groundwater between 2006 and 2009.

Goldcorp recently signed an agreement for a very different type of extraction operation with the Wemindji Cree of northern Quebec, to mine gold and silver at the Éléonore site in the James Bay region. According to Goldcorp's Brent Bergeron (in a Forbes.com article), this is a participatory model that the company seeks to export to their other operations: “We’ve actually had the Cree come down and visit our mine in Guatemala and go out and speak to the local communities”.

This power is reinforced, Scott says, by “a political history in which they have managed to block major unwanted industrial development projects, at great economic and political cost to their proponents. Hence, the Eleonore project is not a very good test of a ‘new approach’ by industry, at least not one adopted on a voluntary basis. External interests have learned, when working on the territory of the Crees, that it can be less costly to get their consent first.”

Umberto Velasquez volunteers in the same committee as Lopez, and critiques what he sees as the manipulations that the company's social investments create: “They come in with their little projects, the company takes photos which they use internationally to boost their image and suggest they have the support of the community.”

Bamaca remembered how - before the company admitted to being a mining operation, when “people didn't know what contamination was” - the company would hold “parties and celebrations in the community, giving sweets to children and beer to adults, knowing this is the local community way. They came in smooth.”

After peace was restored, former elements of a powerful security apparatus geared to domestic repression through massacres, assassinations and rape continued to operate unofficially, becoming known as the ‘hidden powers’. Mayan Nobel Prize winner Rigoberta Menchu rues a missed opportunity for the country: “We should have taken extraordinary measures - as indicated by the peace accords - in the socio-economic sphere to benefit the population, showing that people would have a better life in peace than in war. The conflict had its causes in inequality, in dictatorship. These root causes were not attacked. The root causes are still valid.” 

On 5 February this year, two months after the Q'eqchi' exchange, the village of Conejo gathered to discuss their response to the oil company’s incursion into their territory. The meeting was held in their village community centre, into which entered Manuel Choco, a former activist in Belize's 'Maya Movement' and now permitting officer of the oil company. Two activists of the local indigenous organisation SATIIM (Sarstoon Temash Institute for Indigenous Management) turned on the voice recorders on their mobile phones.

This was the subject of the meeting into which Martin Choco entered and produced a letter, telling the villagers to sign it and get their jobs back. The letter gave US Capital Energy unlimited access to operate seismic lines on Conejo's territory, condemned the leadership for exceeding their authority in sending their original letter of objection, and made no mention of company compensation for the cutting of the illegal lines. Acting on legal advice, the leadership suspended the meeting while Choco continued to collect signatures. Choco's superior is US Capital Energy's representative in Belize, Alistair King, and two days later he said that the letter was written by the villagers themselves and “nothing to do” with the company. Although it lacked the signatures of a majority of Conejo's adult population, he maintained that it granted his company sufficient authority to return to operate the lines that week.

While Alistair King was announcing the return of the company to Conejo's land, and praising the value of having someone like Choco with the company, “who speaks the language”, Conejo's current chairperson Enriqué Makin was walking between the thatched houses scattered through the rainforest. He held a letter, which read: “We did not give US Capital Energy our free, prior and informed consent to conduct seismic testing on our traditional lands affirmed by the Supreme Court of Justice of Belize on [sic] October 2007.” It was signed by the majority of Conejo’s adult population, prompting a showdown meeting between Belize's Department of Geology and Petroleum, the village elders of Conejo, the chairperson and Alcalde, and Martin Choco. The company was ordered to cease operating on Conejo's land and to remove the tags placed along the seismic lines marking the drilling holes for the burial of explosives.

The value of free, prior and informed consent lies in its ability to ensure that the options facing indigenous communities are decided collectively, allowing a degree of meaningful deliberation in lieu of the official, political self-determination that they are generally lacking.

The end game for Chevron may not be winning the lawsuit in Ecuador, but avoiding paying damages if it does lose.

Long ago, U.S. courts decided in Hildton v. Guyot that judgments in foreign courts would not be enforceable if there was “prejudice in the court, or in the system of laws under which it was sitting, or fraud in procuring the judgment.” With the precedence set by the arbitration decision, Ecuador is now in a tough position to prove that its courts meet the highest standards.

Cotton production can involve large-scale pesticide and water use, and human rights abuses such as the use of child labour. Production of the textile fibre rayon can cause deforestation.

Benjamin never offers a precise formulation of Left melancholy. Rather, he deploys it as a term of opprobrium for those beholden more to certain long-held sentiments and objects than to the possibilities of political transformation in the present. Benjamin is particularly attuned to the melancholic's investment in “things.” In The Origin of German Tragic Drama, he argues that “melancholy betrays the world for the sake of knowledge,” here suggesting that the loyalty of the melancholic converts its truth (“every loyal vow or memory”) about its beloved into a thing, indeed, imbues knowledge itself with a thinglike quality.

Left melancholy, in short, is Benjamin's name for a mournful, conservative, backward-looking attachment to a feeling, analysis, or relationship that has been rendered thing-like and frozen in the heart of the putative Leftist. If Freud is helpful here, then this condition presumably issues from some unaccountable loss, some unavowably crushed ideal, contemporarily signified by the terms “Left,” “socialism,” “Marx,” or “movement.”

The literal disintegration of socialist regimes and of the legitimacy of Marxism may well be the least of it. We are awash in the loss of a unified analysis and unified movement, in the loss of labour and class as inviolable predicates of political analysis and mobilization, in the loss of an inexorable and scientific forward movement of history, and in the loss of a viable alternative to the political economy of capitalism.

But in the hollow core of all these losses, perhaps in the place of our political unconscious, is there also an unavowed loss — the promise that Left analysis and Left commitment would supply its adherents with a clear and certain path towards the good, the right, and the true? Is it not this promise that formed the basis for much of our pleasure in being on the Left, indeed, for our self-love as Leftists and for our fellow feeling towards other Leftists?

But if read through the prism of Left melancholy, the element of displacement in both sets of charges may appear more starkly since we would be forced to ask: what aspects of Left analysis or orthodoxy have wilted on the vine for its adherents, but are safeguarded from this recognition through the scornful attention heaped on identity politics and poststructuralism?

this failure results as well from a particular intellectual straitjacket — an insistence on a materialism that refuses the importance of the subject and the subjective, the question of style, the problematic of language. And it is the combination of these two causes of failure that is deadly: “Our sectarianism,” he argues in the conclusion of The Hard Road to Renewal, “consists not only of a defensiveness towards the agendas fixed by now-anachronistic political-economic formations (those of the 1930s and 1945), but is also due to a certain notion of politics, inhabited not so much as a theory, more as a habit of mind.”

Certainly the course of capital shapes the conditions of possibility in politics, but politics itself “is either conducted ideologically or not at all.”11 Or, in another of Hall's pithy formulas, “politics does not reflect majorities, it constructs them.”12

It is important to be clear here. Hall never claims that ideology determines the course of globalization, but that it harnesses it for one political purpose or another, and when it is successful, the political and economic strategies represented by a particular ideology will also themselves bring into being certain political-economic formations within global capitalist developments.

Walter Benjamin sketches this phenomenon in his attack on Erich Kästner, the popular Left-wing poet in the Weimar Republic who is the subject of his "Left melancholy” essay: “This poet is dissatisfied, indeed heavy-hearted. But this heaviness of heart derives from routine. For to be in a routine means to have sacrificed one's idiosyncracies, to have forfeited the gift of distaste. And that makes one heavy-hearted.”14

What is entailed in throwing off the melancholic and conservative habits of the Left to invigorate it with a radical (from the Latin radix, meaning “root”), critical and visionary spirit again? This would be a spirit that embraces the notion of a deep and indeed unsettling transformation of society rather than recoiling at this prospect, even as we must be wisened to the fact that neither total revolution nor the automatic progress of history would carry us towards whatever reformulated vision we might develop. What political hope can we nurture that does not falsely ground itself in the notion that “history is on our side” or that there is some inevitability of popular attachment to whatever values we might develop as those of a new Left vision?

Loosely put, ISDS gives foreign investors an enclave legal status based on their power to invoke rights, and access to public money through a process that is open only to them. Foreign investor rights are Exhibit A, as The Economist put it, in demonstrating that “international trade agreements are a way to let multinational companies get rich at the expense of ordinary people” (The Economist 2014).

The simplest approach to fixing these foreign investor rights is to leave them out of trade and investment agreements. That option was not taken in proposed agreements such as the Canada-EU CETA, the Trans-Pacific Partnership Agreement or the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership. For the first time since NAFTA, these agreements would apply ISDS to relations among developed countries that have court systems superior to ISDS, thus entrenching ISDS as a global institution. Such is the priority given by major governments to entrenching special rights for foreign investors and shifting judicial sovereignty to ISDS arbitrators.

In ISDS at present, foreign investors have elaborate rights, with corresponding responsibilities for countries. Yet ISDS lacks actionable responsibilities for foreign investors.

emarkably, in ISDS, foreign investors are not required to seek a resolution in a country’s courts before bringing an international claim. They are not even asked to supply evidence that domestic courts cannot ensure effective protection before resorting to ISDS. In effect, it is assumed in ISDS that courts fail systematically to offer justice in all countries subject to ISDS, and that ISDS is independent and fair in the manner of a court which, as noted above, it is not.

At a multilateral investment court, this lack of respect for domestic courts must be remedied by incorporating the duty to exhaust reasonably available local remedies into the court’s constituting document.