Challenging power and creating alternatives: Integrationist,anti-systemic and non-hegemonic approaches in Australian social movements

Abstract

Social movements are often discussed as either reformist or revolutionary, or, more often, as containing aspects of each of these approaches. However, whether a movement seeks integration into the existing system or seeks to overthrow that system and replace it, both approaches are hegemonic in nature. That is, they focus on totalising power structures. In this article, we explore another aspect of social movements: non-hegemonic approaches are those which prefigure alternatives at the local level. Non-hegemonic approaches are not oriented to power structures like states. Instead of actively resisting power, they bypass it or in some ways ignore it, as they create new ways of being. This approach may be limited in scope, and is unlikely to challenge the existence of inequalities at broad scales, but they can point to real examples of alternatives to existing power structures.

Keywords

animal advocacy Indigenous non-hegemonic reform radical Utopias

Social movements are often categorised as either integrationist or anti-systemic. In some cases, this is a profoundly important distinction based on different goals, but often it is about the strategy to achieve those goals. Integrationism is seen as more achievable; making small steps towards change is better than nothing. Anti-systemic activism seeks to replace the existing system in which inequality is embedded. The concept of anti-systemic activism initially united two distinct types of movements: social movements and national movements (Wallerstein, 2002). Since the 1970s, however, there have been changes to how movements organise and operate, as well as to movement scholarship. We now study a broad array of movements in addition to labour and nationalist struggles. Anti-systemic activism is still often differentiated from integrationist approaches, or those which work for progressive, incremental change within the current system (Wallerstein, 2003: 653, 658). Both anti-systemic and integrationist concepts still refer to approaches with a state-orientation, though. Integrationist activism seeks incorporation into the state and anti-systemic approaches seek to occupy the state apparatus themselves (Wallerstein, 2002: 30), or at least directly challenge power. A third category has emerged: activism which is non-hegemonic and is not directed at power structures (Day, 2005). This category is based on Gramsci’s (1999: 690) understanding of hegemony as a ‘historical bloc’, a totalising, unified and all-absorbing system of ideologies. That is, Gramsci uses the term ‘hegemony’ to refer to groups seeking political, social and cultural influence over others (Gramsci, 1999: 20). Non-hegemonic activists do not seek totalising change; they create alternatives alongside the existing structure instead of engaging with that structure. For clarity, in this article we will refer to anti-systemic (or integrationist, or non-hegemonic) activism or approaches, rather than movements, because we recognise that multiple approaches are often part of a larger social movement with shared goals.

In this article, we synthesise several theoretical discussions of social movements with two empirical examples in order to gain a more complete picture of these three categories within social movements: integrationist, anti-systemic, and non-hegemonic. We focus on two examples from Australia: Indigenous activism and animal advocacy. These movements are seemingly quite different; Indigenous activism typically makes claims to the state while animal advocates seek lifestyle changes that will lead to systemic change. However, both movements contain elements that are integrationist and anti-systemic, as well as state-centric and non-hegemonic. We argue that activism which is oriented towards power structures, whether seeking inclusion or a radical change, is no longer the only, nor even the most effective, way to bring about long-lasting and meaningful social change. Instead, non-hegemonic activism is increasingly popular as an experiment in creating alternatives to power structures. In doing so, social movements ‘reflect utopian aspirations for transformed conditions for human flourishing, yet they also seek ways to embody those aspirations in real institutions’ (Wright, 2011: 42). These non-hegemonic approaches may still operate incrementally, celebrating small wins that contribute to the larger goal, but they measure success differently; they are incremental but not integrationist. Our examples show the complexities of social movements which rarely, if ever, fit neatly into our scholarly typologies. This article will first discuss theoretical approaches to integrationist, anti-systemic, and non-hegemonic change, and explore the differences between them. We will then discuss examples of Australian social movements, focusing especially on animal advocacy and Indigenous rights because of the diverse ways these movements embody the different approaches to social change. In so doing, we suggest the addition of this third category to the traditional dichotomy between radical and liberal.

Integrationist, anti-systemic and non-hegemonic social change

Integrationist social change seeks small, incremental changes to the existing structure. This is also known as a reformist or liberal approach. According to Wallerstein (2014: 158–9), liberalism arose in response to reactionary conservatism, with liberals arguing that some change was inevitable but would be best undertaken in a slow and limited manner. Liberal ideologies did not embrace change, but saw it as inevitable and sought to temper its effects. The concept of liberal or integrationist social change today refers to change sought through existing power structures (Maddison and Scalmer, 2006). Integrationism does not seek to replace or uproot those structures; instead, this approach accepts existing power structures and seeks inclusion within them. This approach to social change is often criticised by more radical activists because of the slow pace of change and the risk of co-optation. Minor concessions to liberal demands can feel like wins, but this may detract from the goal of broader change that radical activists seek. For this reason, some movements experience schisms over strategy, with more radical factions arguing that integrationist wins will detract from the overall goal, or even questioning the idea that integrationist wins are positive steps at all.

Anti-systemic approaches, on the other hand, are those which are known as radical or revolutionary. They struggle against existing power structures rather than seeking integration within them. Wallerstein (2014: 160) discusses several divisions within this radical ideology: between social movements and national movements, and, more importantly for our argument here, between activism opposed to states or other power structures and activism which seeks to obtain state power in order to achieve social change. Day (2001: 33, following Deleuze and Guattari) likens anti-systemic action to ‘war-machines’, which seek to destroy old structures of power and build something new in their place. While the process of co-optation for radical approaches is different than for reformist ones, the risk is still present. The revolution which does not succeed in uprooting state power ‘must pass into the service of the state or destroy itself’ (Day, 2001: 33, original emphasis). In other words, radical activism eventually either dies out or becomes part of the very structures it once opposed. Another challenge for anti-systemic approaches is the process of bureaucratisation – as social movements grow, they often form bureaucratic structures and their activities become influenced by their need for resources (Jurik, 2008; McCarthy and Zald, 1997, 2001; Soule and King, 2008).

Social movements are made up of a diverse range of individuals and organisations with different objectives and tactics (Soule and King, 2008: 1568). Maeckelberg (2011: 1) describes the alterglobalization movement, which advocates for alternatives to neoliberal globalisation, as composed of ‘multiple threads’, an apt description for all large social movements. As a result, movements can generally not be categorised as entirely anti-systemic or integrationist, but tend to have elements of each. This is partially because, as Wallerstein (2014: 171) points out, movements must address constituents’ urgent needs. This might mean ‘short-term compromises’, which are essential but ‘in no way transform the system’. Radical activists struggle with the decision to make these compromises, hoping that the comfort which results does not lead to complacency. Large social movements contain both integrationist and anti-systemic elements.

Both anti-systemic and integrationist approaches to social change face internal and external pressures which may dilute a movement’s success. Integrationist approaches risk placating constituents and the general public, as power structures make minor concessions and thus reduce opposition to their power. Anti-systemic approaches must weigh up the advantages of stability and longevity against the risks of bureaucratisation and becoming part of the power structures they oppose. These challenges are the result of the orientation towards hegemonic power structures in these approaches: whether seeking inclusion within these structures or demanding they change, social movements recognise their power.

Though there are countless examples throughout history of non-state-oriented social change, the phenomenon has picked up steam recently, and has also attracted increasing attention from scholars. One reason for the increasing popularity of this movement strategy is that, in a globalising, neoliberal world, movements realised that ‘state power was more limited than they had thought’ (Wallerstein, 2002: 32). Moreover, they were disenchanted by earlier anti-systemic activism which did successfully gain state power, but then focused more on retaining that power than enacting the intended social reforms (Schaefer and Weyher, 2013: 3; Wallerstein, 2014: 161). Similar critiques have been made of overly bureaucratised social movements even when they do not gain state power. Non-governmental organisations (NGOs) like Greenpeace, for example, are seen by some as a ‘multinational pseudo-capitalist pseudo-state’ (Day, 2004: 729). In both cases, the perceived failure is that these movements focus too much on hegemony.

Instead, some movements are doing what Wallerstein (2002: 39) suggests: imagining an alternative society and beginning experiments in those alternatives. Day’s (2004, 2005) concept of ‘non-hegemonic movements’ is an apt description for these approaches because they do not seek totalising power. Instead of seeking hegemony, they refuse the idea of universalisation altogether, introducing a politics ‘which take us beyond both reform and revolution’ (Day, 2004: 730, original emphasis). The experimentation with alternatives is referred to as prefiguration: ‘the attempted construction of alternative or utopian social relations in the present, either parallel with, or in the course of, adversarial social movement protest’ (Yates, 2015: 1). Conceptually, prefiguration is slippery and is applied to a wide range of examples (Maeckelberg, 2011; Yates, 2015). Here, we understand prefiguration as a practice of social change, something that social movements do. Rather than entering the debate about how best to define prefiguration, we find the concept of non-hegemonic approaches more useful in distinguishing a social movement’s orientation to power structures.

Non-hegemonic activism, rather than actively protesting against power structures, creates non-totalising alternatives allowing for small-scale experiments in a different kind of society. Important to these ‘newest’ approaches is ‘a commitment to the notion that the means of radical social change must be consistent with its ends’ (Day, 2004: 723). This is similar to what anarchist activists and theorists call ‘direct action’, which creates spaces of ‘autonomy’ while at the same time critiquing and challenging the power of the state (Graeber, 2002: 68). Direct action is often driven by anarchist values. Those engaged in it are often confronted with symbols of authority including the police, the government and the law (Drew, 2014: 84, 88, 94). These discussions of direct action, though, still imply a strong focus on protest and agency exercised as resistance to power (Ortner, 2006). Day (2004: 733) refers to this as a ‘politics of demand’: ‘actions oriented to ameliorating the practices of states, corporations and everyday life, through either influencing or using state power’. A serious risk of this approach is that movement participants experience burn-out through constantly trying to manifest their resistance (Arrighi et al., 1986: 185). In contrast, some non-hegemonic activism focuses more on agency as the enactment of projects (Ortner, 2006), a ‘politics of the act’ (Day, 2004), the building and creating of alternatives; direct resistance is not the point, even though these alternatives might challenge power structures merely by existing. Non-hegemonic activists practising a politics of the act ‘set out to block, resist and render redundant both corporate and state power in local, national and transnational contexts’ (Day, 2005: 45).

Approaches which focus more on the creation of alternatives than on changes to the existing system are arguably freer. However, they may fail, or be short-lived. They are ‘necessarily partial in their scope, and necessarily, to some extent, inside the field of constituted power’ (Coté et al., 2007: 329, original emphasis). One potential problem with this approach is the implicit lack of outreach (Deslandes and King, 2006). Because the goal of this activism is not to achieve hegemony, these approaches do not always intend to convince others of their tactics and can become closed to outsiders. There is potential that they will alienate potential members because they are not actively trying to change the system, but it is more likely that outsiders will simply be unaware of their existence.

Day (2005) does not see this limited scope as a drawback, but rather one of the defining features of these approaches. While not directly challenging power structures, non-hegemonic approaches may serve as practical examples of anti-capitalist utopias. Because they do not actively engage with power structures, these projects do not draw the attention of those power structures. Day (2004: 735, following Hardt and Negri) discusses the risk of co-optation for movements that attempt to disrupt structures of capitalism. When the system is presented with a new challenge, it adjusts and finds new ways of accommodating and incorporating that resistance. It recognises the challenge and responds to it, thus bringing that resistance from outside the system to the inside. This discussion of anti-capitalist resistance can be extended to discussions of other power structures. Non-hegemonic approaches are less likely to be co-opted when they pair tactics of ‘disengagement and reconstruction’ (Day, 2004: 739). They are willing to coexist with the structures they oppose, but by disengaging and providing meaningful alternatives, strive to eventually render such structures redundant (Graeber, 2004: 7). Graeber summarises this strategy of ‘engaged withdrawal’:

The theory of exodus proposes that the most effective way of opposing capitalism and the liberal state is not through direct confrontation but by means of what Paolo Virno has called ‘engaged withdrawal,’ mass defection by those wishing to create new forms of community. One need only glance at the historical record to confirm that most successful forms of popular resistance have taken precisely this form. They have not involved challenging power head on (this usually leads to being slaughtered, or if not, turning into some—often even uglier—variant of the very thing one first challenged) but from one or another strategy of slipping away from its grasp, from flight, desertion, the founding of new communities. (Graeber, 2004: 61)

In what remains of this article, we will look at examples of Australian social movements, highlighting how these three elements – integrationist, anti-systemic, and non-hegemonic – intersect and diverge.

Indigenous rights movement

One of the major contemporary political campaigns with regard to Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples is the Constitutional recognition campaign. For several years this was led by Recognise, an NGO which is funded by the government and has bipartisan support but is not without opposition. In 2017 the focus shifted away from Recognise, which we discuss below. The key rationale for Constitutional recognition of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples is that they are not currently acknowledged in the Australian Constitution at all. Prior to 1967, Indigenous peoples were mentioned in the Constitution twice. Both used the term ‘aboriginal’, incorrectly encompassing both Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in a singular term. Section 51, which clarifies the division of powers between the federal and state governments, gave the federal government ‘power to make laws for the peace, order, and good government of the Commonwealth with respect to the people of any race, other than the aboriginal race [sic] in any State, for whom it is deemed necessary to make special laws’. Section 127 excluded Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people from population counts in determining electoral boundaries and funding: ‘In reckoning the numbers of the people of the Commonwealth, or of a State or other part of the Commonwealth, aboriginal natives [sic] shall not be counted.’ In the 1967 Referendum, over 90 per cent of Australians voted to remove ‘other than the aboriginal race’ from Section 51, and to entirely remove Section 127 from the Australian Constitution. This was seen as a ‘watershed moment’ (Watson, 2015: 28), a chance to begin correcting past injustices towards Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples (Wright, 2014). Following those changes, the Australian Constitution no longer has any mention whatsoever of Indigenous peoples, and activists see another opportunity for a watershed moment with their campaign.

Supporters of Constitutional recognition use a number of points to support their campaign. Most abhor the exclusion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, the omission and erasure of more than 40,000 years of culture prior to colonisation (Castan, 2015; Morris, 2013; Williams, 2015). The Australian Medical Association (2015) and Australian Psychological Society (2013) suggest that recognition leads to respect and value, and will positively affect Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander health outcomes, including social and emotional wellbeing. For some, it is about changing the national identity, suggesting that ‘all Australians could walk taller’ if Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples are recognised (Brennan, 2015: 18; Gooda, 2014). Likewise, some proponents of Constitutional recognition highlight the benefit it would have for Australia’s reputation in the international arena (Wright, 2014).

Despite support from both major political parties, though, Constitutional recognition does have opponents. In this article we are interested in the opponents, primarily Aboriginal and/or Torres Strait Islander peoples themselves, who oppose recognition because they do not want inclusion in the Constitution. The arguments put forward by these opponents illustrate the tensions between integrationism and anti-systemic activism, and are increasingly incorporating debates between state-oriented activism and non-hegemonic approaches. Aboriginal activist and writer Celeste Liddle is an outspoken opponent of Constitutional recognition, and her position reflects the anti-systemic approach to the topic. She does not want to be ‘assimilated into a document that was written by a coloniser regime’ (Liddle, 2013). This represents a rejection of integrationism. Inherent in any Constitutional amendment is the belief that states should be given the authority to allow recognition. But from the anti-systemic approach, ‘the state’s assumed position … is itself what is contested’ by Indigenous peoples (Coulthard, 2014: 100).

In Theresa Petray’s fieldwork with Aboriginal activists in North Queensland, many conversations about Constitutional recognition refer to it as a distraction (Petray, 2010). These are the people who are not ‘satisfied with a modest, largely symbolic change’ (Brennan, 2015: 20). This position challenges the idea that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples can even be considered part of ‘Australia’ without first recognising their sovereignty as peoples here before colonisation. These activists argue that sovereignty was never ceded by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. This is the position taken, for example, by the Australian Greens Party; they argue for a treaty or treaties with Indigenous nations alongside Constitutional recognition (Henderson, 2016). An open meeting of Aboriginal peoples in the state of Victoria unanimously rejected Constitutional recognition, instead demanding treaties and an Elders Council (Reconciliation Victoria, 2016). The wording of the motions indicates the underlying reasons for this refusal: ‘We as Sovereign People reject Constitutional Recognition’ (Reconciliation Victoria, 2016). This motion sends a clear message that the offer of recognition is rejected because these Aboriginal people do not want to be integrated within the state structure. This stance is not the same as the nationalist movements which sought statehood for oppressed peoples (Wallerstein, 2014: 160). While there are some Aboriginal nations publicly declaring independence from Australia (Liddle, 2013), the majority of Indigenous nations do not seek statehood (Anaya, 2009: 15). Nonetheless, we argue that these activists represent an anti-systemic approach because they do not seek integration and resist the state structure that is trying to incorporate them. In fact, they are opposed to this symbolic integration because they fear it will detract from what they feel is the more important goal of a treaty.

In 2017, the Referendum Council hosted a series of Regional Dialogues, followed by the First Nations National Constitutional Convention at Uluru in May. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander delegates discussed and debated Constitutional recognition and several other options for change. What clearly emerged from this process was a widespread lack of interest in symbolic recognition of First Nations people in the Australian Constitution (Referendum Council, 2017). The Uluru Statement from the Heart (2017) positions Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples as ‘the first sovereign Nations’ and seeks both a constitutionally recognised First Nations Voice and a Makarrata Commission to undertake a ‘process of agreement-making between governments and First Nations’. This is effectively a middle ground between the two positions discussed above – it rejects symbolic recognition but still pursues ‘a constitutionally entrenched institution which enables Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples to be formally consulted on legislation and policy affecting their communities’ (McKay, 2017). But at the same time, it foregrounds the importance of Makarrata, or treaties.

In contrast to the Constitution, which was written ‘against the backdrop of racism’ (Williams, 2015: 215), a treaty would necessarily be negotiated between the state and Indigenous peoples (Liddle, 2013). However, even the notion of treaties is state-centric. Signing a treaty places authority firmly in the hands of the state. As history shows us, treaties with Native nations around the world have been ignored at the whim of states (Coulthard, 2014). There is a necessary pragmatism that activists adopt when speaking about treaties. We live in a system where states have considerable power, and a treaty is a meaningful way for Native nations to access some of that power. We are not critical of the activists who adopt this approach, and while there are some opponents of the Uluru Statement (Blanco, 2017), it has largely been embraced by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples across Australia (McKay, 2017). But we are also interested in other ways of doing activism which focus more on the politics of the act than the politics of demand (Day, 2004).

As Liddle (2014) acknowledges, ‘Certainly Constitutional recognition doesn’t mean much to people taking action to emancipate themselves from Australian laws.’ Rather than becoming entangled in a debate over Constitutional recognition versus a treaty, some Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples are simply creating spaces where they can exercise self-determination. This non-hegemonic approach is not necessarily opposed to either the integrationist push for Constitutional recognition, or the anti-systemic push for treaties. Instead, they are building self-determination from the ground up (though many of the people engaged in this work may also be active in anti-systemic treaty campaigns or integrationist recognition campaigns). They do so despite the lack of legal recognition of their rights to self-determination (Cornell, 2015: 18). In Indigenous studies, this is referred to as the ‘nation-building approach’ (Cornell, 2015; Jorgensen, 2007), and in the Australian political context it is more obviously non-hegemonic than in places where the right to self-government may be ‘granted’ by the state. This approach to Indigenous rights is not about demanding a change from the system; it does not seek recognition or integration within states. It does not take a universalising stance, recognising the boundaries of an Aboriginal nation and the importance of cultural uniqueness. It would not make sense for an Aboriginal nation to push their self-determination model on anyone else, either other Aboriginal nations or the Australian state. Aboriginal nations do not seek to expand their territory, recruit new members, or dominate others.

While the nation-building approach is non-hegemonic and focuses on the creation of alternatives rather than changing existing structures, it does still work incrementally. In Petray’s nation-building research project with the Gugu Badhun nation, the community has identified a need to make small steps in order to achieve the ultimate goal of self-determination. This remains distinct, though, from integrationist change because the incremental change is still a politics of the act (Day, 2004). Gugu Badhun, and nations like it, seek to assert self-determination over an increasing range of domains. Cornell (2015: 19), writing on the Ngarrindjeri nation in South Australia, describes their process of nation-building as ‘having clawed back a significant measure of decision-making power in several policy domains’. Every successful assertion of self-determination is a win in the non-hegemonic struggle for Indigenous rights. Instead of demanding their sovereignty be recognised by the Australian government, these nations are exercising self-determination without permission.

The Indigenous movement in Australia is vast, and comprises far more issues than those discussed here. But the examples of Constitutional recognition, sovereignty and self-determination highlight the coexistence of integrationist and anti-systemic, and state-centric and non-hegemonic approaches to the same issue. It is important for the cause to have multiple approaches and in this example the anti-systemic approach can use successful non-hegemonic examples to bolster their cause. These prefigurative experiments in self-determination strengthen the case for treaties negotiated with self-determining Aboriginal nations.

The animal advocacy movement

Like the Indigenous rights movement, the animal advocacy movement (AAM) is made up of a diverse range of individuals and organisations with different objectives and tactics (Soule and King, 2008: 1568). As a result, it cannot be simply categorised as entirely integrationist, anti-systemic or non-hegemonic but is comprised of elements of each. Approaches adopted by animal advocates reflect a wide range within this spectrum.

An important issue for the Australian AAM in recent years is the live export of Australian animals for slaughter in other countries. Integrationist approaches within the AAM include campaigns to replace live animal export with chilled flesh from animals slaughtered in Australia (Pendergrast, 2015: 101, 106). This campaign has broad support in Australia, with 69 per cent of Australians believing ‘that the live export trade should be ended’ (WSPA, 2012).¹ Campaigning to end live animal export is a clear example of integrationist advocacy, as it works within the dominant animal welfare perspective, which has widespread support among Australians. Animal welfare is an integrationist approach to understanding and addressing humans’ relationship with non-human animals (Munro, 2012: 170; O’Sullivan, 2006: 3). The animal welfare approach accepts and promotes the idea of non-human animals being used for human ends in most cases, as long as certain safeguards are put in place to offer some protection for these animals (Bourke, 2009: 132–3; Francione, 1996: 1). It also accepts the current property status of non-human animals and speciesism (discrimination based on species) but attempts to place constraints on how this property may be treated and limit the damage caused by speciesism, through animal welfare regulations (Munro, 2012: 170; White, 2009: 97).

Animal welfare can be classified as the ‘default’ position in Western society, or ‘the status quo position’ (White, 2009: 97). It is widely viewed as a ‘moderate and respectable’ position (Francione, 1996: 163) and is accepted by ‘almost everyone’ (Francione, 1996: 1). This includes a large majority of citizens in countries like Australia (Sankoff and White, 2009: 9) and even those who directly use and kill other animals for purposes such as food or experimentation (Francione, 1996: 1; Garner, 2006: 161). In a survey of 2000 Australians, 93 per cent of people either agreed or strongly agreed with the statement that it is: ‘Quite acceptable to eat meat so long as animals are reared and killed humanely’ (Franklin, 2007: 22). This idea of humane slaughter is central to the animal welfare perspective and to the campaign against live export (Pendergrast, 2015: 101, 110, 113). Campaigners against live export work within dominant speciesist attitudes. Animal welfare campaigners accept existing inequalities but seek small, incremental improvements in the treatment of non-human animals.

Rather than accepting these existing inequalities through integrationist activism, direct action activists in the AAM struggle against existing power structures. This includes companies who use non-human animals, as well as existing laws, with direct action activists sometimes breaking laws on behalf of non-human animals. Such activism is the clearest example of anti-systemic activism in the AAM. In 2003, animal advocate Ralph Hahnheuser intervened in the Australian live export industry by placing processed pig flesh into the feed of sheep bound for the Middle East. The consumption of this pig flesh meant that these sheep no longer met Halal requirements and were thus unsuitable for export to predominantly Muslim countries (Khoo, 2009: 58–60). This act shows the intersections between different approaches within the AAM. In this case, the attempt to directly disrupt the system of animal use was predicated on the exploitation of another animal. The direct use of pig flesh by this activist underpins the animal welfare focus of the Ban Live Export campaign, which is not focused on rejecting animal slaughter, but rather challenging where the slaughter is taking place (Pendergrast, 2015: 109–10).

The most famous example of anti-systemic activism in the AAM is the Animal Liberation Front, a direct action network which engages in sabotage in the name of non-human animals (Best and Nocella, 2004; Glasser, 2011). Two of the most common forms of direct action in Australia are against the duck shooting and kangaroo cull. This has involved sabotaging these activities, including some cases of property damage (Animal Liberation Front, 2014; Drew, 2014; McIlroy, 2014).

The animal liberation perspective, unlike animal welfare, demands the abolition, rather than reform, of animal exploitation and slaughter. It also differs from integrationist approaches because it works outside institutions such as the state (Best, 2009: 25). Munro (2012: 174) argues that these activists ‘pose more of a threat to the financial and physical well-being of … [their] targets’ than other approaches to animal advocacy. Animal liberation uses disruption to work towards the overthrow of a system that is built on the exploitation of animals. It is not generally directed at the state as the key powerholder, but still directly confronts structures of power, particularly industries that use non-human animals.

In contrast to anti-systemic approaches, a small proportion of the AAM, who are opposed not just to ‘inhumane’ slaughter overseas, but to all forms of animal exploitation, enact their opposition by creating alternatives. Vegan advocacy is an alternative response to widespread outrage at footage of animals from Australia being slaughtered overseas. Unlike integrationist Ban Live Export campaigners who seek legal reforms in the treatment of animals, Australian animal advocacy organisations such as the Vegan Society of New South Wales and Animal Liberation Victoria call on people concerned about the issue to become vegan (ALV, 2011; Vegan Society NSW, 2011). Campaigners from these groups reject the widely accepted notion of ‘humane slaughter’ that is prominent in the messaging of those calling for live export to be banned. Vegan advocacy is an example of non-hegemonic activism, as it is a matter of withdrawing from the existing system, rather than challenging it ‘head on’ in the case of direct action, or accepting it in the case of animal welfare. The idea of imagining an alternative society and beginning experiments in those alternatives (Wallerstein, 2002: 39) is central to veganism, both as an individual practice, and as an advocacy tactic within the AAM. Veganism is about both imagining a society without the exploitation and slaughter of non-human animals, as well as putting this into practice right now through individual dietary and other choices. Francione (2010: 62) explains that ‘veganism is a profound moral and political commitment to [the] abolition [of animal exploitation] on the individual level and extends not only to matters of food but also to the wearing or using of animal products’. Veganism is a rejection of the idea of non-human animals as merely resources for human use and a recognition of their intrinsic moral value (Francione, 2010: 62). Veganism also makes the more philosophical statement of being an example of the idea that many people can live without using animals as property or products. Such a notion reflects the acknowledgement of the importance of connecting means and ends (Day, 2004: 723).

Veganism highlights, however, the intersections between non-hegemonic activism and other, state-centric approaches. Vegan activists attended rallies against live export with banners and flyers promoting this alternative response, although unlike those promoting the more ‘respectable’ message of ‘humane slaughter’, they were neglected in mainstream media coverage of the issue (Pendergrast, 2015: 114–15). Further, Francione (2010) emphasises the importance of promoting veganism in incrementally moving towards the goal of the abolition of animal exploitation. Francione (2010: 62) argues that the increasing adoption of veganism leads towards the legal personhood of non-human animals (the alternative to being viewed as property) and the abolition of their exploitation. This is both through immediately reducing the demand for animal products and building a long-term movement that can lead to meaningful legal prohibitions on animal use in the future (Francione, 2010: 64–5,71).

Veganism also highlights one of the key limitations of non-hegemonic activism: its limited reach. As we discuss above, veganism is about withdrawing from industries that use non-human animals, rather than directly challenging them. As a result, it may pose less threat to these industries than direct action activism (Munro, 2012: 174). Indeed, in some ways, it poses less threat than even integrationist animal welfare reforms. While veganism means that these industries lose a small portion of their market through a (currently) very small proportion of people withdrawing their support for these industries (Vegetarian/Vegan Society of Queensland, 2010: 3–4), the industries are able to carry on as they otherwise would. In this way, vegan advocates coexist with animal industries, whereas new welfare regulations force these industries to change their practices in some way and direct action activists physically disrupt their operations. However, merely by existing, vegans challenge these industries by rendering them redundant on an individual level, and imaging a society where they are no longer needed or desired. Vegan advocacy, alongside integrationist and anti-systemic activism, makes the AAM stronger as, with this added dimension, the movement as a whole strives not only to reform animal industries and directly confront them, but also offers alternatives in a new and different society.

Conclusion

The traditional dichotomy of integrationist/anti-systemic, liberal/radical, or reformist/revolutionary, is not adequate to understand the ‘politics of demand’, or actively creating change. A third category, non-hegemonic, allows sociologists to better understand social movement activities which are not directed at power-holders. Further, this diversity is useful within social movements; both integrationist and anti-systemic activists can refer to non-hegemonic alternatives as a meaningful example of what change might look like. We build on work from Day and Wallerstein in an attempt to better understand what is possible. In this endeavour, we follow Wright’s (2013: 168) development of ‘a social science of the possible, not just of the actual’. Non-hegemonic activism is as valuable to this social science as it is to social movements themselves.

In this article we have demonstrated how the addition of the non-hegemonic category to social movement typology helps us to better understand the diverse approaches of social movements. We focused on two examples: Indigenous rights, specifically the debate over Constitutional recognition, treaties, and the enactment of self-determination at the local level; and animal advocacy, specifically the Ban Live Export campaign, animal liberation, and enacting change through veganism. A thorough analysis of other movements was beyond the scope of this article. However, the internal debates that occur within the two social movements that were discussed in this article are typical of social movements generally, whether they are state-centric like the Indigenous rights movement, or more lifestyle-based like the AAM. We encourage further research exploring these debates and particularly the presence of non-hegemonic advocacy in other social movements and countries.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

The authors would like to thank Janine Gertz, Scott Fitzgerald Jan Sinclair-Jones, and our anonymous peer reviewers for their feedback, as well as the activists who have helped us shape our argument in this article.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: Some of the research this article builds on research conducted at Curtin University during Nick Pendergrast’s PhD candidature. Some of the research was funded by James Cook University’s Special Studies Program.

Notes

ORCID iD

Theresa Petray

Author biographies

Theresa Petray is a Senior Lecturer in Sociology and Anthropology at James Cook University in Townsville. She researches Aboriginal activism and self-determination.

Nick Pendergrast teaches Sociology at the University of Melbourne. He researches animal advocacy and social movement theory.

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