From Postcolonial to Post-COVID: Midnight Thoughts While Waiting for the Dawn

Postcolonial STS

As I am writing in November 2021, the COVID-19 pandemic is still raging. According to the World Health Organization, it has killed more than five million people worldwide, surely an undercount. The impact on all aspects of human life is profound and widespread, and the disease is likely here to stay. The pandemic is clearly a momentous event in the still-young 21st century. Whether the ordeal is transformative or bound to be overshadowed by some other events in the near future is uncertain—and much of it probably depends on us. Regardless, the pandemic raises many important questions for us, STS scholars. I do not know if the designation of post-COVID is apt, but the pandemic should prompt us to reflect on some of the main approaches we have adopted to study science, technology and medicine in the modern world, including postcolonial STS, which is the main theme of this special issue.

Although postcolonial studies has many intellectual progenitors (e.g., Frantz Fanon), it became an academic field first largely at universities in the Anglo-American world. In its early formation, postcolonial studies centred on criticising Western imperialism and colonialism through a set of critical theories, a trait that has continued till today. Much of their original focus was on the West, particularly Western intellectual and cultural production related to the colonial world. As such, postcolonial studies were different from the academic field of area studies because the latter emphasised training and knowledge about non-Western languages, cultures, and societies. Soon, however, postcolonial studies found an audience and academic niche in area studies as well as in non-Western countries. The development proved intellectually fruitful. For example, postcolonial studies merged with subaltern studies, particularly in South Asian studies and Latin American studies, and produced trenchant criticisms of both colonialism and nationalism in these regions. By and large, however, postcolonial studies still throw their heaviest punches against what is taken to be Western imperialism, capitalism, and modernity. And because science and technology have long been seen as the benchmark of Western modernity, they have become a subject of postcolonial critique. In the 1990s, STS absorbed the insights and approaches of postcolonial studies, and ‘postcolonial technoscience’ became a prominent topic in STS (Anderson, 2002; Hofmänner, 2020; Seth, 2009).

In recent years, similar to some other disciplines, decolonisation or decolonial studies have entered the discourse of STS (Anderson & Soto Laveaga, 2020; Kumar et al., 2018). The scholarly movement goes further than postcolonial studies in its express purpose of decolonising both science and the history of science. The premise is that modern science is grounded in Western epistemology and ontology, and the dominance, or even hegemony, of this knowledge regime has expanded with Western imperialism. In other words, the form and practice of modern science are often intertwined with colonialism and coloniality in world history. Decolonising science and its history are therefore not simply an intellectual investigation. It is also a necessary form of political action.

Problems and Limitations

All of the arguments discussed above are powerful and relevant. They have helped us unpack the political dynamics and power relations in science, both historically and in the contemporary world. However, there are also problems and limitations to these approaches.

A persistent problem is that despite all their sophistication, these approaches still tend to reinscribe the West/Rest dichotomy. Ultimately, postcolonial and decolonial studies recentre Western imperialism and treat it as the pivot of modern world history. In this narrative, the West remains the primary agency of human history in the past several centuries, though, unlike the modernisation narrative, postcolonial studies do not see it as the beacon of light; rather, the West occupies the centre of the gravitational field that has powerfully distorted the material, political, sociocultural, and intellectual spaces in other parts of the world. Accordingly, other societies and cultures are lumped together despite their vast differences because they have somehow all shared the fate of colonialism or at least coloniality. Their actions, then, are reduced to responses to the West—whether they are defined as resistance, appropriation, or instances of creativity. Even in the study of what is called ‘South to South’ interactions, there is that elephant in the room that postcolonial studies try, often awkwardly, to circumvent in order to make a case for non-Western (or non-North) actions and agency. But of course, the very categories of South and non-Western are already defined in relation to that very large proboscidean.

In other words, the postcolonial narrative explicitly or implicitly accepts the conventional spatio-temporal order of modernity, though it purports to critique it. This spatio-temporality actually overlaps and is parallel to that of such narratives as the rise of the West and the spread of modern science (though, again, seen through a critical perspective). In this framework, what is often marginalised is the complex history of long-term regional developments (many of which can be traced farther back than Western imperialism and not all of which gravitated toward encounters with the West), substantial interactions among regional societies and cultures (that should not be consigned to the presentist notion of ‘South to South’), and the rich power dynamics within and beyond a region.

Because postcolonial and decolonial studies were first developed to explain and critically engage with the modern history of certain regions, the framework may not work as well in other regions. In East Asia, for example, there has been a shifting mosaic of multi-polar and multi-layered power relations. Because postcolonial and decolonial studies position themselves mainly in relation to Western imperialism, they do not provide a well-rounded account of the historical situation in the region that involved traditional power relations, Japanese imperialism, regional geopolitics, internal colonialism and so on. For all its shortcomings, area studies at least insist on taking the regional histories, cultures, languages and societies seriously. The histories of these societies or regions did not begin with encounters with modern Western imperialism. Moreover, the encounter was not necessarily the most critical factor in all aspects of the historical changes that the region has gone through since then. A great deal depends on the particular matters at issue, including what may be included in the categories of science, technology and medicine.

In short, we have to be cautious about the possible oversimplifications of postcolonial and decolonial approaches. One major oversimplification is what we have already seen—the tendency to resurrect the West/Rest binary. Another possible oversimplification is the assumed uniformity or unity of Western science in its episteme, power structure, and ideology. If we have learned anything from the scholarship on the history of science and STS since at least the late 1980s, it would be that modern science is an umbrella category for a range of different activities, fields of inquiry, epistemologies, methodologies, cultures and practices. It is diverse, heterogeneous and complex. For the reasons discussed above, postcolonial STS falls short of the criteria of an effective global STS.

Alternative Approaches?

In recent years, a few alternative approaches have emerged. They have drawn on postcolonial studies but have also tried to strike out new directions. One popular approach is the global history of science, which is actually a catch-all phrase for a cluster of different approaches that range from old-fashioned world history to the global history of knowledge to approaches that emphasise global connections and circulation (Delbourgo, 2019; Fan, 2012; Sivasundarum, 2010). The last group intends to break down the more rigid binaries and replace them with movement, fluidity, and participation. The notion of circulation, for example, highlights how modern science was being produced in the transit of ideas, information, people and material practices between places (though often still with a focus on metropole and colony; Raj, 2006). Similarly, the interest in go-betweens in cultural encounters has also been drawn from and is often compatible with postcolonial studies (Schaffer et al., 2009). Other related approaches, such as networks and assemblages, replace the more rigid hierarchy with something more distributive, contingent and mutable. I have discussed these issues elsewhere and will not pursue them further here (Fan, 2012, 2016).

Another recent attempt to provide a new interpretive framework in STS is the approach proposed by John Law and Wen-Yuan Lin (Law & Lin, 2017; Lin, 2017). The gist of the approach is to provincialise the existing (and Euro-American originated) mode of STS by asserting the methodological symmetry of what the authors call a ‘Chinese-inflected STS’. To do that, they extract certain concepts, such as shi or propensity, from the Chinese intellectual tradition and use them to modify the parameters of STS. Unfortunately, the endeavour is anchored in an ahistorical understanding of Chinese thought (especially Chinese medicine). Much of what is taken to be Chinese medicine today is itself a historical construct inseparable from the politics of modernisation (Lei, 2016). The approach, therefore, inadvertently reinforces certain conventional, almost orientalist, ideas of traditional Chinese thought and, consequently, reproduces the China/West dualism. Indeed, although it is important to consider alternative epistemes in the narrative of modernity, especially if we want to take issue with coloniality in modern science, we should still do our best to avoid oversimplified history and culturalism.

In this regard, a more historically grounded approach is ‘Asia as method’. The concept first originated from Japanese sinologists in the 1960s and the 1970s, and it became popular among a network of inter-Asian scholars in the 1990s to 2000s. Later, it was introduced to Anglophone academia. In the field of STS, the approach has generated discussions among some scholars associated with the journal East Asian Science, Technology and Society (Anderson, 2012; Fan, 2016). Similar to postcolonial studies, Asia as method criticises the traditional narrative of global modernity defined by Western imperialism. And in the hands of some practitioners (e.g., Chen, 2010), it is hardly distinguishable from postcolonial studies other than its particular geographical concern (viz. East Asia in Cold War geopolitics). I am less interested in this brand of Asia as method.

The original thrust of Asia as method is to write an alternative historical narrative of modernity. To achieve that, its modus operandi is to reconstruct the genealogies of certain seemingly modern concepts as understood in China (including science), far back to traditional Chinese intellectual sources (as opposed to treating them simply as novelties introduced from the West). ¹ The approach differs from both Joseph Needham’s Science and Civilization in China and the familiar nationalist narratives of traditional or indigenous achievements in science (e.g., the discourse on Vedic science) in that it is not about spotlighting apparent resemblances between traditional knowledge and modern science in ancient texts; rather, it is to trace the long-term evolution of a knowledge tradition and how this history helps us see modernity in a different light. In this respect, its closest intellectual cousin is the (global) history of knowledge that aims to displace the master narrative of modern science (Daston, 2017; Delbourgo, 2019). Compared with postcolonial studies, Asia as method makes a more radical effort to reorient the spatiotemporal order of modernity and thus decentre the West. However, the approach can be risky. As it has been practised, Asia as method can slide into Sinocentrism (especially vis-à-vis other cultures and intellectual traditions in the region). And with the eagerness of some of its Chinese practitioners to counter what they take to be American imperialism, Cold War geopolitics, and neoliberal capitalism, the approach can be (and has been) tinted with Chinese nationalism.

Thinking Global STS

How may the COVID-19 pandemic jolt us to take a hard look at science and medicine in a global context? What methodological challenges has the pandemic posed for postcolonial STS? There are indeed large geopolitical configurations, and some of them are rooted, in part, in the history of Western imperialism. Take, for example, the spillover and outbreak narratives common in both popular and sometimes even academic writings (Quammen, 2013; Ward, 2008). These narratives tend to recycle certain tropes that can be traced back to European imperialism—e.g., exotic nature, tropicality, and backward peoples and cultures in ‘other parts of the world’. This problem may not be inherent to the specific narrative modes, but, without proper caution, they can easily fall into the pitfall of colonial representations. This penchant is rife in reports on Ebola in Africa and comments on COVID-19 that, explicitly or implicitly, treat it as an invasion of racialised viruses. It is certainly necessary to identify, epidemiologically, the origin of a spillover and an outbreak. Yet, origin stories can be messy. Did a pandemic begin with the moment when a human was infected or when various species of animals were brought in contact with humans on the edge of a forest as they migrated due to habitat loss or when a government decided to assimilate ethnic minorities and build a road to increase access to the area? Indeed, ecological encounters and epidemics must be examined in the interlocking contexts of socioeconomic transformations and subsequent environmental changes. ²

We should exercise the same caution when it comes to projected maps of hotspots of emerging zoonotic diseases. Usually, the marked hotspots concentrate in certain regions, whereas other regions, notably Europe and North America, are almost free of such concerns (Allen et al., 2017). There are several possible reasons (which are not mutually exclusive) that underline this image or pattern. One is the convergence of ecological factors—e.g., climate, flora and fauna, and human population. Another is the assumptions built into the epistemic framework of those who made these maps (if so, then it is a case for decolonising science). But, perhaps most importantly, it is also the outcome of environmental degradation, urbanisation, population movements, and ecological encounters created by the unequal relationships between global capitalism and modernisation. Similarly, unequal relationships are reflected in the science, patent ownership, and availability of vaccines across the world. Rich countries hoard vaccines while poor countries wait in vain. It is evident that this global pattern cannot be disassociated from the history of imperialism. However, none of the familiar categories, such as the West/Rest or Global North/South, adequately capture this spatial pattern, either. And here, postcolonial studies, as traditionally designed, need to be retooled.

Consider China. How do we place it? The country is presumably where the outbreak of COVID-19 first occurred, and it is often identified as a major hotspot for emerging zoonotic epidemics. And yet, there are both scientific and political controversies as to how the disease originated and who should be responsible. China is not part of the West. Is it part of the Global South or North (these categories are too clunky and historically thin to be useful here)? Regardless, China is enormously powerful. Its ruling state has advanced a geopolitical vision and a grand strategy. It has wielded extraordinary influence in the World Health Organization, has vigorously pursued its vaccine diplomacy, and is not hesitant to swing its weight when it deems necessary. Clearly, we need a more well-rounded framework than postcolonial and decolonial studies to account for the global geopolitics of science and disease, past and present. The past is highly relevant. Environmental exploitation and degradation did not start with global capitalism. For many centuries, the Han Chinese settlers pushed into new ecological niches, displaced the local human and non-human populations, and encountered new animal-borne (zoonotic or not) diseases. In the process, they gathered and produced knowledge about these diseases. When the Nobel Prize winner Tu Youyou and her colleagues searched for antimalarial drugs in the 1960s to the 1970s, they turned to ancient Chinese texts for information. Of course, this is not to say that the pressing problem with emerging zoonotic diseases is nothing new. In many ways, it is. Yet, still, it matters that the making of the current situation is path dependent and long in coming.

There is another reason why it would be unsatisfactory to see the global map of science solely through the postcolonial lens. The public contentions that have involved fierce challenges to the scientific establishment despite its eager claim to knowledge, expertise, and epistemic authority are rampant in some Western societies, notably the United States; the fact is that there is not an epistemic unity or hegemony or even, sometimes, assured dominance of modern science in a society that likes to consider itself a powerhouse of modern science, technology, and medicine. The presumed epistemic and ideological hegemony of modern science has turned out to be both powerful and tenuous—and not aligned with a particular set of societies, e.g., the West. Arguably, some East Asian societies, with their long-time aspiration for hygienic modernity, seem to have stayed with the modern scientific regime more closely during this pandemic, and this attitude, often widely shared, cannot be brushed off as state-centred or top-down (Rogaski, 2004). ³ However, again, there is too much diversity to make any generalisations about the uniformity of scientific culture in East Asia (or the West).

Can we, then, say that a global scientific establishment imposes epistemic and authority through institutional powers on a wide diversity of societies in the world? Should we turn the axis of analysis from regions (e.g., East/West or South/North) to social verticality, such as the global elite/subalterns? There is some value to this interpretation. The global technoscientific establishment indeed strives to claim expertise and authority over certain domains of episteme, knowledge, materiality and institutions. Yet, this perspective clearly underestimates the heterogeneity of science as well as the fissures and frictions within the knowledge regime in a multi-polar world. In any case, the model largely reproduces the narrative of global modernity that depends on a top-down process of modernisation. It also assigns too much coherence to a supposed global bloc of modern science.

Postcolonial STS has been one of the most exciting and rewarding developments in the field in the past twenty years. It opened up new vistas for a generation of scholars, and many of us have learned a great deal from the approach. However, it should be clear by now that there are entrenched problems and limitations with this interpretive framework, particularly its spatio-temporal order and its built-in historical narrative of imperialism and modernity. The pandemic forces us to see both the strengths and weaknesses of postcolonial STS. Perhaps it is time to revamp our methodologies as we look forward to the dawn of the post-COVID era. We need a better global STS.