The papers collected here were presented at a seminar entitled "Popular Cultural Materials and Public Spheres: Perspectives from Africa, India and Europe" held in Denmark in September 2004. The seminar formed part of an ongoing ENRECA-funded project on the theme of "Political and Cultural Institutions in Development".¹ The project has three partners: the International Development Studies programme at Roskilde University, Denmark (IDS); the Centre for Studies in Social Sciences, Calcutta, India (CSSS); and the Centre for Basic Research, Kampala, Uganda (CBR). The broad objective of the ENRECA project is to develop South-South collaboration between the African and the Indian institution and their local networks, with IDS, Roskilde functioning as a catalyst, and with the enhancement of capacity in Uganda as the primary goal. Researcher training courses and joint research seminars in India and Uganda have been central activities, and four Ugandan PhD projects have received fellowships from the project, of which three have so far been completed. In Calcutta, a number of young researchers have been attached as postdoctoral fellows and research interns.

An important strand in the project has been the establishment of archives as resources to support the work of researchers and postgraduate students working within the field of "Urban Culture and Democracy". In Calcutta, at the CSSS, an extensive collection on the modern urban history of Calcutta has been established, bringing together materials from the fields of both 'high' and 'popular' culture and giving priority to written texts and images. In Kampala, at the CBR, a smaller archive of popular cultural documents has been set up, which has been focused in particular on recordings of songsand other popular music.

The purpose of the 2004 Roskilde seminar was to discuss the outcomes of these two processes of archive building, and to debate in a broader theoretical perspective the issues involved in the classification of cultural institutions, styles and genres. Definitions of certain cultural forms as 'high' or 'canonical' and of others as 'low' or 'popular' reflect complex processes of differentiation which are linked to the changing functions that cultural articulations have been made to fulfil within specific trajectories of social and political history. In addressing these themes, the papers presented here bring together two concerns: that of the archive and that of popular culture. At times, and particularly in relation to colonial archives, these two areas are thought of as being in opposition to each other: the archive is a "paper empire" (Stoler 2002:90) representing state power and that which is official; the popular encapsulates that which is unofficial and stands outside the state. In this formulation the archive and popular memory stand in opposition to each other. While possibly true for colonial and certain types of state archive, this opposition is overdrawn. Increasingly, the idea of archivability has come to encompass the realm of the popular. While popular memory is elusive, in certain quarters it has come to stand at the centre of museums (the District Six Museum in Cape Town and the Hector Peterson Museum in Johannesburg are two apt examples) and archives. As Barber and Moraes Farias point out in their paper, which discusses the process of establishing an electronic archive of Yoruba popular religious media, the idea of the archive has almost become synonymous with that of a collection of popular everyday artefacts: Often, modern archives are created to capture and preserve precisely those ephemeral, everyday objects and activities which in the past would have been excluded or ignored. Think of the way officialdom selects constellations of 'typical' cultural items to seal into pods for aliens, or future generations, to discover. These representatives of the banal and the everyday are selected to become canonical, to stand for a whole culture and a whole historical epoch. (22)

Barber and Moraes Farias indicate that the process of establishing an archive of the popular involves thinking through the formal and intellectual properties of the material one is archiving and then designing a repository whose methods of classification and access capture some of the intellectual properties and chemistry of the material being archived. The material being preserved and the archive itself are in a reflexive dialogue that can mutually illuminate their respective intellectual qualities.

The papers in this collection illustrate and explore these propositions in more detail. The first section is entitled "Archiving the Popular" and the second "The Popular as Potential Archive". As the focus is on Africa, India and Europe, the papers in the second section draw out some of the comparative dimensions which the collection sparks. The first section comprises four papers that focus on actual archives. The first of these, discussed by Barber and Moraes Farias, is the electronic archive arising out of a project investigating the role of the media in the constitution of new religious publics in western Nigeria. It is run jointly by the University of Birmingham and the School of Oriental and African Studies in England. The second, discussed in the papers by Ssewakiryanga and Isabirya, and Nannyonga-Tamusuza, is the collection of popular Ugandan music established by the CBR in Uganda. Finally, Ashish Rajadhyaksha's paper on "Archive and Experience" presents reflections around the establishment of a Media and Culture Archive at the Centre for the Study of Culture and Society (CSCS) in Bangalore.

Archiving the popular

In their paper, Barber and Moraes Farias provide a history of the project that set out to collect popular religious media in western Nigeria, and the way in which the electronic archive documenting the materials collected is being built up. As they indicate, the intellectual objectives of the project have shaped the design and architecture of the archive. The project sought to document and understand the explosion of and competition between religious media in western Nigeria in the 1990s. Focusing on one Ibadan suburb between 1996 and 1999, researchers collected a broad spectrum of material: pamphlets; audio tapes of sermons and music; video dramas; newspaper clippings; TV and radio programmes; posters; handbills; tracts; and leaflets. Interviews were also conducted. The objective was to understand how new media technology was shaping new kinds of religious publics: previously there had generally been toleration between Christian and Islamic communities, but by the 1990s distinctive and antagonistic religious groupings were beginning to coagulate.

As Barber and Moraes Farias indicate, the purpose of the project, and the electronic archive arising out of it, was not to assemble an exhaustive collection of religious media. Rather the function was to try and understand this material as a field of discourse, and hence to analyse the ways in which it undertook its intellectual work of addressing its constituencies. Because the material covered different religions, genres and languages, the collection could illustrate the interactions of these various strands, and how they interacted as a field. It could also demonstrate the common themes and ideas across religions - "what is most interesting about the texts is not their intrinsic individual properties but the way they behave as part of a field. They are best encountered in the course of traversing this field" (26). In establishing the electronic archive of this material, the project leaders sought to design a system that would allow anyone using it to understand and in some ways experience the modes of intellectual operation in the discursive field as a whole.

The next two papers by Richard Ssewakiryanga and Joel Isabirye, and by Sylvia Nannyonga-Tamusuza discuss the problems of archiving popular music in Uganda. Ssewakiryanga and Isabirye refer specifically to the CBR archive. Nannyonga-Tamusuza touches briefly on this archive while ranging more broadly on the intellectual and practical challenges of archiving popular music. Both papers focus on the centrality of popular music to everyday life in Uganda: Ssewakiryanga and Isabirye demonstrate how it functions as a political field in which singers can comment in coded or indirect form on political oppression. Popular music functions as a site in which ruler and ruled reach uneasy accommodations, with rulers using popular music as a form of political containment. As Ssewakiryanga and Isabirye demonstrate, Amin, like many other African despots, understood the centrality of music to everyday life and sought to use and manipulate it by providing extensive patronage for military jazz bands.

Nannyonga-Tamusuza points out the range of problems involved in archiving popular music. Some of these are practical and relate to the constrained resources and capacity for preservation and collection in many African institutions. Others are intellectual and relate to the ways in which 'the popular' is defined. As Nannyonga-Tamusuza points out, where museums and official institutions do evince an interest in 'popular' music, this is invariably defined as 'traditional'. With this 'traditionalism' firmly in view, curators are unable to see, or indeed often to grasp, the significance of the emergent popular forms that defy binary categorisations of tradition and modernity. Elsewhere, deciding on where to place the boundaries on definitions of popular music will have consequences for what might be collected: "The question is: how do the limitations of constructing music as being 'popular' influence the decisions made on what of Uganda's music should be archived as 'popular'?" (35). As Nannyonga-Tamusuza indicates, problems of definition rapidly compound:

[Is] music created outside Uganda, but by Ugandans ... indeed Ugandan

popular music? How can we qualify what is Ugandan, with the

irresistible influence from the global? Besides, how can we determine

the popular of the music in and outside Uganda? Who determines the

popular of such music? These are contentious issues, which would

challenge any archivists labouring to classify and catalogue the so-

called 'Ugandan popular music'. (36)

The article then goes on to probe these issues in more detail. The question of definition in relation to musical genres is complex since musical forms are so notoriously fluid and fugitive. Nannyonga-Tamusuza quotes Kofi Agawu who notes that the diversity of the forms of popular music has meant "the absence of widely accepted names for its genres", a feature which in turn has "delayed the emergence of reliable taxonomies" (35).

An additional problem, as both papers on Ugandan music indicate, is that of piracy, or "'Piracy and Dubbing Disease' (PDD)", as Nannyonga-Tamusuza terms it. Piracy practices create significant problems for the archivist. Pirated CDs or tapes lack the information critical for classification, such as details of where, by whom and on what date the recording was done.

Yet another problem with regard to making decisions on what to preserve, as Nannyonga-Tamusuza illustrates, relates to how agendas of the 'popular' are determined. Both papers on Ugandan music focus on the influence of radio: with the liberalisation of the airwaves after Museveni came to power in 1986, radio in the form of new FM stations has come to assume a central role. Radio playlists, often influenced by US trends, mould perceptions of popularity. Phone-ins play a role in determining popularity ratings of songs, but inevitably reflect the taste of those with ready access to telephones. There is also the DJ factor. Radio DJs play what they deem to be popular or songs in which they have had a hand, and financial interest, in producing

- it is not uncommon for radio DJs to own music recording studios or to be musicians with their own bands. As Ssewakiryanga and Isabirye indicate, there are other sites which play a central role in profiling popular music. These are the discotheque and the karaoke bar.

Several of these themes are picked up by Ssewakiryanga and Isabirye. They too demonstrate the complexity of genre by tracing the genealogies of two musical styles. The first is kadongo kamu (bowl lyre), a traditional form in which this instrument is combined with the single box guitar. More recently, the form has been mixed with disco music and Jamaican instrumental. The second is Katemba (urban theatre) music, originally a form of music included in court dramas performed for the Luganda court, which then spread into popular forums to become a distinct and massively popular genre called band music. However, as Nannyonga-Tamusuza explains, there are strong crossover features between the kadongo kamu and band music:

... since the late nineties, it has become increasingly difficult to

differentiate kadongo kamu from band music. A new fusion, which I

hesitantly call 'kadongo kamu band music' cropped up. In this genre,

while the instrumentation is characteristically more of the band music

type, the identity of kadongo kamu is captured in the vocal style and the

disguised baakisimba rhythms. (47)

The papers by Nannyonga-Tamusuza and by Ssewakiryanga and Isabirye thus address very directly and open up for comparative discussion issues and concerns that are at the heart of the development of the popular cultural materials archive at the CBR in Kampala. In the context of the Calcutta modern urban history archive at the CSSS, the focus of interest has been broader and - as will be discussed below - has taken into account to a greater extent the differentiation between varieties of 'elite' and 'popular' culture, as well as the history of struggles around urban space which has provided the setting for genres and articulation of culture.

In his paper on "Archive and Experience", Ashish Rajadhyaksha takes off from discussions around the CSSS urban history archive in Calcutta and its "Visual Worlds of Modern Bengal" exhibition in 2002. He describes how new types of archival projects have attempted to step in to compensate for the decline in "major public archiving institutions" and the growing privatisation of archives, which have been experienced in India in recent years. He discusses the relationship between archives and 'collective memory' as an interactive one, with archives providing possibilities for the shaping of future forms of collective memory.

Rajadhyaksha then reflects on the distinction between the notions of 'collection', 'catalogue', and 'archive', and talks about the painfulness of his experience in collecting rich materials (with Paul Willemen) for the Encyclopaedia of Indian Cinema, which they first published in 1994, and seeing them reduced to a 'catalogue' of references. On the basis of this, he goes on to discuss the setting up of new types of archives to serve and make possible new modalities of collaborative and interdisciplinary teaching and research, and uses the electronic Media and Culture Archive at the Centre for the Study of Culture and Society in Bangalore as his example. He describes the building of archives as an interactive and interdisciplinary exercise aimed at developing new "backbones" of electronic databases as well as the necessary "middleware" to utilise these in the environments of "satellite-uplinked classrooms". He concludes that archive-building of this nature is an integral part of research collaboration, and points to the ongoing project of "Indian Ocean" studies between the CSCS in Bangalore and the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg as an instance of this.

The popular as potential archive

The second section of this volume examines different instances of public spheres brought into being by different popular cultural formations. Each paper treats these cultural formations as an archive in the sense outlined by Barber and Moraes Farias, namely as fields of discourse that address and constitute publics in particular ways. The papers all demonstrate the layered, differentiated and contradictory ways in which these fields operate.

As Kaarsholm argues in relation to the formation of public spheres, these can only be properly understood in relation to "the ways in which debates are conducted, how articulations are made and regulated, how regulations can be challenged, and what encouragements and obstacles for dialogue are active - in short, how the field functions as one of public culture" (87).

Kaarsholm explores these propositions against a set of debates regarding the post-apartheid landscape of civic organisations and civil society. In some analyses, there has been a demise of the vibrant array of civil society organisations that so effectively opposed apartheid. Kaarsholm takes a less pessimistic view and argues that there is indeed a lively world of civil society organisations if one knows where to look. He examines the crowded public domain of two informal settlements just north of Durban, which bustle with numerous religious and cultural organisations. His paper first focuses on the religious domain, where different 'brands' of Christianity jostle with each other, and where mainstream denominations and African Initiated Churches elbow each other for spiritual room. In addition, Islam complicates this mix.

These religious organisations sustain a complex field of moral debate, and within this field Kaarsholm focuses on virginity testing, a practice that has arisen recently partly as a response to the HIV/AIDS crisis. The paper zeroes in on interviews with various virginity testers, and these demonstrate the different positions and ideas that characterise the field. Whether discussing healing, family responsibility, gender and culture, human versus cultural rights or analyses of the HIV/AIDS pandemic, there are a variety of positions and analyses in circulation. As Kaarsholm notes, these local debates provide an alternative set of ideas about healing, purity and HIV/ AIDS to those generally encountered in the mainstream media, which tend to be dominated by the views of the state or the Treatment Action Campaign. If one attends closely to local cultural formations, there are ongoing and vibrant debates offering different visions of the nature of the moral crisis facing South Africa; different strategies for moral regeneration; and competing ideas of what constitutes healing and purity.

This question of understanding any cultural formation as an archive surfaces in the papers by Mukherjee and Zerlang, which examine two apparently unrelated phenomena, namely the emergence of realism as an artistic style in colonial Bengal and the ways in which orientalism took on a specific manifestation in nineteenth-century Denmark. Both papers demonstrate that these two formations were made and distributed across a set of linked sites. They both deal with the politics of representation in an imperial moment, and from this perspective they demonstrate how questions of fantasy, myth and realism, and their configuration, constituted a strand in the contested debates around colonial modernities.

Zerlang demonstrates how fantastic and fabulous representations of the 'Orient' were produced and consumed across a bewildering array of sites - novels, operas, popular music, interior decoration, science, travelogue, exhibitions, funfairs, buildings, department stores, paintings, magazines. Together these produced a type of fabulous realism, in which fantastic representations of the 'Orient' were at times consumed as 'realistic' depictions. Likewise, in colonial Bengal, certain techniques of realist painting adopted from British portraiture and landscape painting, disseminated initially from art schools and colleges, were then taken up in popular forms of picture and printmaking. These include court-patronised miniature painters who had to adapt their styles as their erstwhile patrons developed a taste for the new illusionist and naturalistic idioms of realism.

These new visual styles were matched by new mechanised mass-production techniques which infiltrated the art market in Calcutta - and have been extensively documented in the CSSS urban history archive. This market had previously been dominated by different traditions of picture-making, such as the Kalighat painters (who fed the demand for mementoes created by pilgrims, tourists and traders to the Kalighat temple) or the wood and metal engravers of Battala, the major Bengali book printing of Calcutta. As the new realist conventions became more widespread, picture makers had to adapt their woodcuts to compete with colour lithography and oleography. Mukherjee summarises the situation: "By the 1870s, the popular art market in Calcutta was invaded with the new kinds of standardised mass-produced 'realistic' pictures with glossy colour and texture, which ultimately drove the Kalighat and Battala pictures out of the market" (113).

As these various traditions encountered each other, "realism underwent considerable dilutions and subversions in its effort to accommodate existing traditional iconography. Realistic iconographies of gods and goddesses now existed within palatial interiors with decorative backdrops and settings" (118). The implications of this process are still apparent today. Mukherjee explains: "These oleographs performed the important function of further 'refining' popular taste and producing newer orders of religious and social iconography that paved the way for a new kind of popular art, the kind which we can now see in film posters, hoardings and calendars of the twentieth century" (119).

Zerlang provides an equally complex discussion of Danish orientalism. In fine-grained detail, he outlines an archive of Danish orientalism while demonstrating the complex ways in which this cultural formation seduced its audiences. As he demonstrates, one could experience orientalism in every possible site and through an array of media. At home, householders in Copenhagen filled their rooms with divans, ottomans, Moroccan pillows, and heavy brocade curtains in order to make their interiors resemble the lavish tent of a nomad. In department stores, shoppers could acquire 'oriental' goods and see 'oriental' displays. The Tivoli Gardens became an oriental theme park, fashioned to resemble a bazaar. Aladdin became a craze and appeared repeatedly in musicals, plays, stories and images. Everyday life was hence saturated with the 'Orient' and one could experience this phenomenon through many different forms of media and modes of address. As Zerlang demonstrates, some of these included endless repetition of particular tropes so that the bazaar, the harem, the mosque, the dervish dancers became permanently familiar, but eternally strange. Other techniques were borrowed from the world of popular visual culture with the 'Orient' being portrayed as a dramatic tableau, a panorama, or in the form of an exhibition.

Through these multiple modes of address and experience, audiences could experience the 'Orient' as both fantastic and 'real'. As Zerlang indicates, this particular formation has to be read as part of the broader emergence of modernism which affected Denmark as much as it affected Bengal:

... the predeliction for orientalism was a version of modernism: a

cultural answer to the concomitant experiences of 'emancipation' and

'alienation'. Going out into the expanding arena of entertainment

Copenhageners mentally dressed up as Orientals and surrounded

themselves by arabesques and Bengal light. (134)

However, as Zerlang carefully reminds us, this is not simply some vague modernism or some generalised orientalism, but is instead specifically historically situated, in the same way as Mukherjee demonstrates for the emergence of 'realism' in colonial Bengal. As Zerlang shows, the orientalism of Denmark was different from that produced in England, Germany or France. As Zerlang explains, nineteenth-century Denmark was a country that had been stripped of much of its territory: "The English bombarded Copenhagen and took its navy in 1807, Norway was lost in 1814 after Denmark's unlucky alliance with Napoleon, the small Danish colonies in India were given up in 1845, and in 1864, after a war with Prussia, Denmark lost 40% of its territory." This experience of marginalisation "promoted a certain identification with the Orient which was also a marginal world in the modern struggle for life" (126).

The studies by Mukherjee and Zerlang point to the centrality of circulation in forms of popular culture and the formations of audiences and publics. In Michael Warner's terms (2002:62-68), it is the reflexive circulation of texts that brings publics into being and one way of thinking about the imaginative work that these formations enable is to think about the ways in which texts dramatise the limits of their circulation. Isabel Hofmeyr develops this point in her piece "Books in Heaven: Dreams, Texts and Conspicuous Circulation". Her starting point is the phenomenon of miraculous literacy, in which the ability to read and write is conferred through divine revelation. The phenomenon is found throughout the world, but this article examines versions of miraculous literacy that occur in African Christianity. In these dream visions and revelations, it is clear that texts circulate between heaven and earth - texts can, for example, be presented to believers in heaven, and then brought to earth. In one dream, a blackboard with a hymn written on it scrolls down from heaven.

This idea of magical circulation is common to much evangelical Protestant thinking, which imputes extraordinary capacities to religiously inspired texts which, apparently unaided by human agency, can travel across the face of the earth, converting those in their path. Hofmeyr traces such cases of conspicuous circulation and then, turning to Warner, asks what these far-flung circuits of circulation may tell us about the formation of publics. Looking specifically at African Christianity, the article puts forward two answers. The first is that "this particular way of imaging texts retrospectively signs up the ancestors via the medium of print culture. Rather as Mormons draw up family trees so as to sign up their dead ancestors for late entry to heaven, so in this circulation of texts between heaven and earth, the dead can retrospectively be included in modernity" (149). The second answer is that "the circulation of texts between worlds opens up possibilities for imagining the self that speak to realms other than the national, particularly in the situation of dealing with the colonial state ... It is a form of address that is more than subnational or transnational, it is transworldly and transglobal" (149-150).

In her paper on "Writing, Self-realization and Community: Henry Muoria and the Creation of a Nationalist Public Sphere in Kenya", Bodil Folke Frederiksen examines the case of Henry Muoria, a journalist and politician, whose life stretched from 1914 to 1997, and included long periods in Kenya as well as of exile in the UK. He had networks of belonging in both Nairobi, the Kenyan countryside, and the African diaspora in London. Throughout his life, Muoria was preoccupied with the access of Africans to the public sphere, and he himself experienced exclusion and silencing both in Britain while in exile and in Kenya after independence. He had a keen understanding of proverbs and wise sayings as an archive of his people's knowledge and ideas, and incorporated these in journalistic writings in his Gikuyu newspaper Mumenyereri, his books and his autobiography.

Muoria saw himself and his individual strivings as representative of those of his African community, with his life as a journalist, politician and family man being closely linked in the contexts of colonial Kenya, Britain during his exile, and Kenya after independence. In his life and writings, he sought to mediate between understandings of community, nation and public at different levels - from that of the Gikuyu in Kenya to Africa as a whole - and tried out different genres of public culture to match these levels - proverbs, autobiography, journalism, politics. In his 1982 autobiography, Frederiksen writes, Muoria would identify himself closely with his writings, was proud to be known as "the writer" or "the editor", and particularly proud when Jomo Kenyatta - who later dropped him as an ally - would refer to him as "Mumenyereri" (rightful guardian), which was the name of the newspaper he published.

In the last paper in the collection - "An Equal Right to the City: Contests over Cultural Space in Calcutta" - Partha Chatterjee takes off from the famous statement by Henri Lefebvre that 'the urban' - since Greek-Roman antiquity - has served as a model space for 'free citizenship'. With Eurocentric arrogance, Lefebvre declined to consider whether this would also apply to what he called "the oriental city" and to "town and country" relations within "the Asiatic mode of production", and Chatterjee sets out to investigate the generality of Lefebvre's understanding in a situation of intensified global capitalism, in which the world's biggest megacities are now situated outside the West.

To do this, he uses types of materials which have been collected in the CSSS urban history archive, and examines the history of public spheres in Calcutta from an 'early modern' period in the first decades of the nineteenth century, through the 'colonial modern' of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century to the post-colonial and post-Partition period of 'nationalist' modernity. Chatterjee describes how the distinction between public and private could be used as a basis for informal segregation in an urban environment of colonial 'liberalism', and maps out the cultural strategies through which the elites and the poor fought for access and control within the urban space. He examines two fields of entertainment culture to exemplify this - the development of both English- and Bengali-language elite theatre in Calcutta, and the history of football as a popular cultural genre. Within the latter, two landmarks are highlighted. First, the 1911 "Shield final" victory of the barefoot Indian Mohun Bagan team over the British East Yorkshire Regiment team, whose "symbolic power ... was incalculable". Secondly, the post-1947 rise of East Bengal Club "as the chief public institution asserting the identity of the refugees from East Pakistan," which on the football ground - according to Chatterjee - "was the most important event in the post-colonial period", not least because it signalled the 'domestication' of the masses of East Pakistan refugees into the fabric of Calcutta - "one of the most remarkable stories of urban history anywhere in the twentieth century" (185).

Between them, the papers in the present collection take on the task of exploring the various permutations produced by putting the terms of the 'popular' and the 'public' side by side. What does it mean to constitute an archive of popular cultural materials? What might a popular archive be? What are popular conceptions of archives? If conceptualised as a type of archive, what insights might we learn from bodies of popular cultural materials, such as newspapers and pamphlets? As the ENRECA project traverses Europe, Africa and India, these questions are considered across a range of sites and the insights from these areas are thrown into comparative relief. The papers point to different histories and different distinctions between forms of culture - between the 'elite' and the 'popular', and between cultural institutions and articulation at different levels of the local, the national and the global. They also show how the contexts and histories of the cases examined have involved different constructions of public spheres and public cultures, and how this has influenced the ways in which civil societies have emerged and interacted with the state. Finally, the papers demonstrate how forms of state and power have attempted to restrict or regulate public space, and how articulations of culture and the differentiation of cultural genres have developed strategies to expand it, providing new landscapes and settings for citizenship and democratic aspirations.

Note

1. ENRECA is a programme of DANIDA - the Danish government's development assistance organisation - with the aim of enhancing research capacity in developing countries.

References

Stoler, Ann Laura. 2002. "Colonial Archives and the Arts of Governance: On the Content in the Form". In Hamilton, Carolyn, Verne Harris, Jane Taylor, Michele Pickover, Graeme Reid & Razia Saleh (eds). Refiguring the Archive. Cape Town: David Philip: 83-100.

Warner, Michael. 2002. "Publics and Counterpublics". Public Culture 14(1): 49-90.