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government of death in war Arrow vol 5 no 2 contents
About borderlands volume 5 number 2, 2006


Thoughts on the Government of Death in War: the elusive search
for Afghanistan's dead

Suren Pillay
University of the Western Cape



...we sit back, we sigh
our memory has been given another violent lesson
while i wait to hear how you died
whether you were sprawled in the dusty streets sipping death
or you lay in bed vomiting your life
what is it that matters

—Mongane Wally Serote

For what appears to all, this we call Being, and whatever lacks this appearance comes from and passes away like a dream, intimately and exclusively our own, but without reality.


1. This paper is concerned with the government of Death. It is concerned with the discursive regime through which 'death' is given recognition and is denied recognition particularly during a time of War. They are fragmentary thoughts and observations through which I am trying to map the contours of a possible argument. I take, in a mostly impressionist manner, the representation of the events of September 11 in the United States, and the war against Afghanistan, within the United States' mainstream visual and print media and official government statements, as the discursive landscape of my discussion. It is a discussion prompted by my being resident in New York City on September 11, 2001, and the two years thereafter.

2. I want to think through these thoughts in relation to the notion of 'bio-politics', and the 'state of exception', which I am drawing respectively from the philosophical work of Michel Foucault (2000) and Georgio Agamben (1995; 2000; 2005). My argument is framed by the idea that that a modern secular conception of Life, as tied up with the care of the population, the pastoral concerns of governing, of 'dispositions toward convenient ends', are one side of a coin which has Death on its other side. Recalling Theodor Adorno, 'the concept of life in its abstraction, that is resorted to here, is inseparable from what is repressive and ruthless, truly dead and destructive' (1981, p77).

3. I am not as much interested here in the rules, practices, and techniques which may be involved in the actual ways in which death is ministered and administered, but rather with the category of death, of being dead and its reliance on the recognition of a category of being alive, in its bio-political sense, the physiological as well as politico-legalistic sense of life, as having certain features biologically, but also, more presciently, certain juridical effects and ethical claims. Bio-politics, for Foucault, is that rationality of government which is a "politics concerned with the administration of life, particularly as it appears at the level of populations [and is] concerned with matters of life and death..." (Dean, 1999, p99). Foucault also makes the crucial distinction between the modern rationality of power through the governmentalization of the state on one hand, and sovereignty on the other. Sovereignty becomes separated from government. Where government is concerned with processes of life and death - population, sovereignty is concerned with the rights of the legal and political subject via the juridical framework. These two co-exist in relation to 'discipline', the third corner of the triangle, as it were (Foucault, 2000, p217). According to Mitchell Dean,

another way the contrast between sovereignty and government can be made is through questions of life and death. The exercise of sovereignty works fundamentally through the questions of life and death...Sovereignty in this sense is the specific form of a rule over things. It seizes them, whether they are goods, time, bodies, or ultimately life itself. (1999, p107).

The shift here is summed up as the shift from the right over death to the power over life. This power over life has two dimensions to it: a disciplinary dimension which acts on bodies in order to develop their aptitudes and capacities, to make them more useful, while at the same time making them more docile. It is embodied in institutions like the military and education. The second dimension has to do with the regulation of the biological processes of the body through interventions to regularize and reduce the risks to life. The one dimension works on individual bodies while the other works on the population as an aggregate group.

4. From within the sphere of sovereignty, rights obtain differently in different regimes of rights, but they require obligations, certain parameters of accessibility which claim to have no parameters - to be 'universal'. Their attribution to a subject, a bio-political subject makes that subject visible to a regime of government as a serial subject, as member of a 'population', caught in that continuing tension between totalization and individualization as part of a rationality of government. And here I am referring to government not just in the particular institutional sense, of a local, or national-state apparatus - a technology of rule - but to the idea of 'government' as a overarching rationality through which population, national, or 'global' becomes obligated to, and whose welfare is attended to. I am interested here more particularly in that specific form of sovereignty tied up with governmentality that can 'seize' bodies, but also life, or rather can separate the seizure of bodies from the seizure of life. In short, I am concerned here, in a very preliminary way, with the management of the ethical claims of being dead on those who command the right to certificate 'death'.

The Body as Human

5. The human as a physiological corporeal entity that is enmeshed in positive law, itself containing remnants of natural law, is a peculiarly secular conception of being. It this body, which becomes 'human', akin to a categorical imperative, and is endowed with rights mapped by the legal apparatus, which governs the behaviour of states in the post-Westphalian world of 'international relations'. This is the dominant legal framework through which and in which the binary of the international as universal and the national as particular sets itself up.

6. Possessing rights by virtue of being human has a shifting genealogy, from a religious basis (Aquinas), to the secular natural law of Grotius and later Locke, to the positivism of Bentham, and is inscribed in 'international law' (Haverkamp & Vismann, 1997). Recognition of being human thus implies being able to make certain ethical claims, whether alive or dead since the body is endowed with signification of 'human', and under the sign of human a constellation of normative claims swirl about. This is why the universalist 'human right' may be employed to make claims against certain local or national practices. But it is a language available for a wide range of mobilizations and thus ambiguous.

7. The management of the ethical claims death makes is thus a fraught activity where claims and counter-claims are made. Death, in this register, is a state of being that is the negation of being, but requires the prior recognition of being in order to mark its absence. The claims and counter-claims about the recognition of the death of civilians in the war in Afghanistan is thus a 'dispute' made possible by the naturalized universality of the categorical imperative of 'human right'.

8. In order to think through this violence that negates Life in order to negate Death itself, this violence of War that so troubles us, let us recall Walter Benjamin's search for a location from which to a launch his Critique of Violence (1978). Benjamin shifts our attention away from the labor which we make violence perform as the criteria for whether we are to be reviled by it or conversely wave our flags in marvel at its magic at the march past of the victors. He troubles the means-ends conception of violence by situating the critique of violence within the sphere of 'means' only, regardless of the ends to which it might be put. It is not the (negative) ends of violence that disturbs sovereign power, but its threat to the Law: "For in the exercise of violence over life and death, more than any other legal act, law reaffirms itself" (Benjamin, 1978, p286). The distinction between violence authorized by the Law - sanctioned violence and that violence which the Law prohibits - unsanctioned violence, displaces, suggests Benjamin, our attention from the constituent disposition of violence in the assembly of the modern juridical order itself. It is this obscured intimacy, this taboo kinship, that has become the object of the Italian philosopher Georgio Agamben's recent work which has zoned in on this paradox at the heart of modern regimes of legality. Agamben draws attention to the idea to of the 'exception', as elaborated in particular by Carl Schmitt, as the rule of modern politics (Schmitt, 1996). The 'exception' enables the very foundation of the legal, and is therefore in fact the norm. A 'State of Emergency', or the condition of War, presented as the exception, as the 'suspension' of the Law by the 'civilian authority', authorizes actions which are 'outside' of the Law precisely because they are 'inside'. 'In so far as the state of exception is "willed", it inaugurates a new juridico-political paradigm in which the norm becomes indistinguishable from the exception' (Agamben, 1995, p109). It is their very insideness of outsidedness of the operatives of the state that makes the distinction possible. But there outsideness is not the outsideness of the 'enemy', for the enemy is 'beyond' rather than 'outside'. Rather theirs is the display of the foundational ordering violence on which Law is premised but which is rendered invisible by the Law itself: 'it is a question of finding the blood which has dried in the legal codes' (Foucault, 2002, p131). The 'enemy' beyond the law, once named as such by the sovereign, is tagged as available for annihilation through means authorized through a myriad of significatory codes and material practices. This is Agamben's departure with Foucault, who has a linear trajectory of the replacement by bio-politics of sovereignty. Agamben however suggests that 'at once excluding bare life from, and capturing it within the political order, the state of exception actually constituted, in its very separateness, the hidden foundation on which the entire political system rested' (Agamben, 1995, p9). The enemy, as such, thus occupies the zone of 'bare life', the subject that dwells outside of the space of bio-politics and wanders the treacherous valleys of the shadow of sovereignty, whose blade hovers above, immanently waiting to strike with annihilative force. The enemy therefore is beyond bio-political life, and beyond the pale of juridical death. The enemy, once named in the state of exception can neither die (be sacrificed) nor live (be taken care of), but can be destroyed capriciously.

9. 'The very act of naming' notes Stathis Gourgouris, 'and representing the legitimate is a monopoly act, a monopoly authorizing (and thus enforcing) the boundaries or limits of the law. Whatever exists outside these boundaries is always, potentially under elimination. This object of the annihilating violence of the law is simultaneously declared, in the eyes of the law, to be personification of violence....' (Gourgouris, 1997, p133). The enemy is thus available for forms of punishment - and here we can 'regard punishment as a political tactic' (Foucault, 1977, p23). The limits of the law is what the political figure comes up against, and it is the soldier that can be 'authorised' under certain conditions, like 'the War on Terror', to step outside the limit precisely in order to maintain, to secure , the limit. If they are oppositional then they hint at a paradox at the heart of modern state power, which requires them as mutually constitutive logics of its own existence.

10. Bearing these inflections in mind, in the next few paragraphs I want to wield an admittedly broad brush - to use rhetorical gestures designed to convey certain sentiments, invoking fragments and shards, rather than seeking 'reflections' of totalities.

11. Within the immediate few hours afterwards a chasm had already began to open up-between those who seemed to be able to see September 11 as a 'thinkable' event, and those who seemed to be utterly and completely taken by surprise. A surprise that could neither make this event intelligible nor possible. 'Why would anyone want to do this? How could they hate us?' people asked exasperatedly as CNN ran and repeatedly reran images of young kids jubilating on the streets of Gaza. Some hoped it was not an 'authentic' image. And when a report circulated on email about the footage being old archive material many feverishly passed this on. But it was most likely 'authentic' footage, in the sense that there was a correlation between the time, place and event of the recording. The point was not to try and erase the jubilation. The point had to be to place the jubilation in a context. To pan out and show that street corner on which those kids danced. For then you would see the most densely populated piece of earth in the world - a refugee camp of generations, hemmed in by the humiliating might and historical force of the Israeli state - the largest recipient of US foreign aid. The intersection of the past of those kids, with the present of the smoking rubble of the Twin Towers had to be seen as one of many crossroads of hopes and fears, of histories of justices and injustices, sentiments of power and domination, some more, some less contingent and arbitrary than others. This moment could serve as a microcosm for the larger clash of 'cognitions', understanding cognition as a field of intelligibility, an horizon of meaning against which events becomes 'thinkable' (not in a normative, or 'psycho-social' sense). By describing it as a 'clash' I do not mean they are hermetically sealed, impermeable, or permanent in the way that some may refer to a historically transcendent 'clash of civilizations'. One cognition could 'see' a past to this event. And the other could only 'see' its present. And could only see that present through the eyes of looking inward at it self. The 'world' as an imaginary, in important ways, is a domesticated landscape in the United States. For it is 'here' and therefore is not out there. The 'world' comes here, wants to be here. It walks through deserts dehydrated to get here. It hides in airplane storage containers. It queues endlessly for a visa. It gambles for a green card. If this is the capital of the world, the 'best" place in the world, then the outer lying 'provinces', for the most part, appear as not worthy of enquiry, other than as destinations of pleasure and adventure for the citizens of the centre. Or as market opportunities. Or as objects to be normalized. And as if to offset slightly the seesaw of opportunity and pleasure, the world occasionally features as a charity ball and a place of pity.

12. And of course large chunks of the rest of the world are also seen as places of fear. During the Cold War it was a fear that was bred in a particular ideological hothouse and which fanned, according to ominous imagery evoked by the Truman doctrine, and the domino theory, outwards. Now, as then, fear comes from outside. But fear also lurks within. It hibernates in deathly mundaneness. The agents of fear move amongst us. We stare at them, fixing their profiles and contours in our minds. On subways and street corners, in coffee shops and restaurants, in taxicabs and newspaper vendor stands. Fear, it seems, has been able to creep in slowly and undetected. And now we have to 'regret' the ease with which we let it in. And just when it could be thought that it was, as Stanley Diamond once said, 'a world made safe for difference'. Those let in to live the American dream, it turns out, may also bring with them the American nightmare. The body politic is contaminated , literally and figuratively. So we need to seal off those porous borders: Homeland Security, USA Patriot Act, and background checks. These sentiments waft through the air already thick with spores. They imprint themselves on you as you walk down the street. They strip search you in the subway with a nervous glance.

The Recognition of Death

13. And then the bombing and the obsession with military technology. By and large we did not hear much about an actual person who was a civilian who was killed in Afghanistan during the main period of the war, between October and December 2001. A civilian killed by US bombing, for the most part, is not a civilian, not even collateral damage, but rather a disputed number, a questionable claim. Even in life, they now exist in non-recognition, as 'rendition' becomes part of our lexicon, along with Guantanamo Bay, as the legal wrangle unfolds in the attempts to keep the 'enemy' beyond the jurisdiction of the laws of war. Where there has been recognition of civilian deaths, it has been attributed to technical deficiencies of the weaponry- 'stray bombs'. Geov Parrish noted that ' Even more troubling has been our government's responses to these civilian deaths, which have usually begun with a song of praise for precision weaponry - according to one preposterous and credulously reported Pentagon claim, only three out of the 4,000 munitions went astray! - followed by bold claims, often based on erroneous or outdated information, that the target was in fact a military site, or a simple dismissal of civilian casualty totals as inventions of a Taliban propaganda machine...' (Parrish, 2002).

14. The most comprehensive account so far of civilian deaths during the war in Afghanistan since October 7, by Marc Herold (2001), put the figure in December 2001, at just about 3767 people. Herold gleaned his numbers mostly from foreign press sources and eyewitness accounts, and crosschecked daily report figures. The most telling example of the what I am calling the non-recognition of death, came after what Herold describes as the 'seven days of ignominy': October 11, 18, 21, 23; November 10, 18, and December 1, during which the most civilian casualties, eight hundred and fifty, were incurred as US bombing 'hit four small farming villages, a city, a hospital, and a mosque, and the central market place in the Taliban stronghold, Kandahar' (Herold, 2001, p12). The official response to the deaths incurred by these bombings, and the destruction of the village of Kama Ado in particular, according to Marine Corps Major Brad Powell, was: "It just did not happen" (Boston Globe, 2001). A journalist for a British newspaper headlined his article "A Village is Destroyed and America Says it Never Happened" (Parry, 2001). CBS news's David Martin is quoted in another report as commenting that the Taliban's 'Chief weapon seems to be pictures they say are innocent civilians killed or injured by the bombing'. The report goes on to note that there was 'no mention of any estimates, from the Pentagon or elsewhere, of the actual number of people killed. This pattern was repeated several times on the CBS evening news. A November 6 CBS report stated that George Bush had "opened a new public relations front in the war on terrorism...because of claims of heavy civilian casualties...". No mention was made of whether such claims were factual...or merely a PR ploy' (F.A.R, 2001). Even the human rights groups that have attempted to track the effects of the war on civilians, and who have attempted to offer verifiable numbers of civilian deaths, have been cast as dubious. Elliot A. Cohen, a Johns Hopkins University professor, and a commissioned researcher for the US Air Force, notes disparagingly in a New York Times interview that 'frequently, the human rights community will, in the absence of good numbers, put out bad numbers' (Bearak, 2002).

15. In the same piece Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld is quoted as saying with his characteristic matter-of-factness, 'its next to impossible' to track the civilian deaths incurred by US army air strikes in Afghanistan (ibid). By August of 2002 a number of different studies had been done to attempt to calculate civilian deaths during the main period of the war, by newspapers and various NGO's, and with wide ranging disparities, from as little as 150 deaths, to between 500-600, and the revised figure of 3620 by Marc Herold, who is critical of the methodological sampling used by some of the other studies which produce incredibly low numbers (Herold, 2002) The net effect in this computational dispute is to lose sight of the dead themselves, now merely obscure and shadowy figures that deceive our senses as we grope around for the tangible in 'the fog of war'.

16. To have given the dead the status of collateral damage was to give them the recognition of death, even if cleansed of its stench by the stainless language of military euphemism. To recognize death is to recognize life. For the most part that recognition was withheld. They are 'disputed figures'. 'Taliban propaganda claims', and 'reports that could not be verified independently'. They are the actually living dead. We were given some accurate numbers - how many cruise missiles, how many Daisy Cutters, how may planes, how much soldiers, the diameters, the flight distances, the co-ordinates. These numbers make the war real, as real as the simulated adrenalin rush of a combat video-game. And the imagery available for this video-game became the property of the US government as it, through the National Imagery and Mapping Agency, a division of the Defense Department, procured all commercial satellite images (Gordon, 2002).

17. And so the casualties exist only as 'lies'. That the dead don't really exist means that they do not 'count', as those who would have to be taken into account when we concern ourselves with the governmental worry of the care of the population, of the welfare of the population. That they do not count statistically means that the official discourses, produced from the multiple institutional sites which the produce the 'language of the state', need not count for their well-being, or death, since they do not exist as 'citizens' of a global 'civilization', they are removed, literally, from the horizon of visibility, as if to foreclose the possibility of the 'realness' of the imagery which make political claims on sovereign power's ability to seize life.

The Materiality of Death

18. It is a war that has thus far been largely fought on the basis of the 'Powell doctrine' of excessive force, honed during the first Gulf War, which tries to keep the splattered blood of the 'enemy', 'the evil ones', off your uniform (de Waal, 1999, p27). To keep you far enough so as not to see the mangled smithereens of fragmented bodies. Contorted and pained bodies, caked in dried blood, rotting - these attributes are only given to the victims of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. They are blood and flesh. They are individual biographies. They are fathers and mothers, brothers and daughters. The New York Times, in its "Nation Challenged", supplement has movingly given each victim an identity - a face, accompanied by a story about their individual traits, likes and dislikes, hopes and ambitions. They are made 'human'. They are remembered as a loss to 'humanity'. We smell their death and feel their terror. The wrenching apart of their bodies, that tearing apart of the skin that makes us recognize them as one of 'us'. They are us and we feel for them. Relations of human affectivity can be forged in the violence of its destruction, of its negation. It is the undoing of humanness that makes visible the possibility of a mutuality of sentiment. It is the presence, both manifest and imagined, of the incineration of flesh, of its smoldering odor, that the sensuousness of being, not abstracted being, but being in its materiality, life in its multiple breathing formations, reveals itself, forces itself, on us and makes ethical claims on our sensibilities. Yet in Afghanistan all traces of humanness are erased from 'the enemy'. As Judith Butler has angrily noted in a recent work concerned with the expansion of executive power in the United States, as the War on Terror blunders along,

we do not, however, take the sign of destroyed life and decimated peoples as something for which we are responsible, or indeed understand how the decimation works to confirm the United States, as performing atrocities...Our own acts of violence do not receive graphic coverage in the press, and so they remain acts that are justified in the name of self-defense, by a noble cause, namely, the rooting out of terrorism (Butler, 2004).

The sentiments expressed by Walter Isaacson, head of CNN are illustrative. Isaacson is quoted as ordering CNN staff to 'balance images of civilian devastation in Afghan cities with reminders that the Taliban harbors murderous terrorists, saying it 'seems perverse to focus too much on the casualties or hardship in Afghanistan'" (Washington Post, 2001). In a memo to copy staff an editor of the News Herald in Florida sent out the following directive: "DO NOT USE photos on page 1A showing civilian casualties from the U.S war in Afghanistan. DO NOT USE wire stories that lead with civilian casualties form the U.S war on Afghanistan. They should be mentioned further down in the story. If the story needs rewriting to play down the civilian casualties, DO IT" (Harpers Magazine, 2002, p14).

19. It is killing, but apparently bloodless bombing of rocks and mountains, altering landscapes without taking life, only attempting to destroy some abstracted character called "evil" - exemplified by evil's spectral poster boy, Osama Bin Laden, who is simultaneously nowhere and everywhere. After a bombing raid by the US military on the Tora Bora mountains, where Bin Laden was thought to be hiding, the aid group Doctors without Borders reported transporting 72 dead, mostly woman and children. The Pentagon retorted that its planes 'had only hit intended targets' (Bearak, 2002).

20. What is increasingly apparent is that the right to possess the stench of death has become a privilege. All trace of mutilation edited out of the picture. Either evil or just poor and wretched, 'they' are the world as pity, the world as charity, the world as infantile, archaic, misogynist. And 'we' have been absolved of any feeling that they are one of 'us'. The bombs that rained down killed more than 3700 civilians according to the one estimate I have mentioned. And as effective as the mere production of this number may be for those who wish to mobilize counter-factually in order to make different truth-claims about the efficacy of 'the war on terror', it remains a big aggregate blob of a number, devoid of individuality. A number that we can index and archive. Because it is a number with no age, with no face, with no smile, with no tears, with no hopes. It is just a number. In the end, some say, a number which calibrates the price to be paid by those who peddle mortality and morality at the markets of good and evil. As a mere number it resists the kind of mobilization individual biography makes available to the US government's use of humanist sentiment. And at the same time, framed within the rationality of bio-politics, a number is never just a number: it also stands in for a serial citizen: not to count is not to be.

The Translation of Death

21. Following from these different registers of materiality and recognitions, where the materiality of one is the absence of the other, where the recognition of one requires the negation of the other, if follows that death is translated differently, and therefore so too is life. It was Fanon who said, "leave this Europe where they are never done talking of Man, yet murder men everywhere they find them..." (Fanon, 1963, p9). Well, Life, modern abstracted Life, essential Life, Life as positivist legality stands bare and exposed as a hologram - a rhetorical phantasm, dropped from the mouths of state department diplomats like war planes that drop food parcels and bombs. The naming of death as a category of not-being in materiality has a different spatial administration. Particular people die, and particular people live. The sweet universalist language of the abstracted living being as having certain 'rights' is soured by the expose that it applies to particular people who enjoy particular rights. Life, as possessed right is deferred, postponed, like the rights of Man withheld from Toussaint and his fellow slaves, or the 'civilizational' tutelage that Empire promised. And so some express sentiments like 'And they ask why the Rest may be skeptical of 'Human Rights'? Why when they speak self-righteously of freedom and civilization there is a rolling of the eyes, cynical laughter or agitated indignation ?' The denial of death excludes them from the dominant universal reason of state - the language of care of life, of rights, of population as 'humanity', as a governmental concern, not only of the nation-state, but also of the rationality of government of the 'global', or 'the world' as political community. The counter move is thus to insert them into this story, to prove their existence through their material non-existence.

22. To name death, following Agamben, is the privilege of the powerful and sovereign within the state, but departing with him, it is also in a time of empire, a privilege claimed beyond the state, since the boundaries of the inside now soar above the boundaries of geographical sovereignty, and patrol the mediated airspace of the visible, the televised and digitized 'global'. Counter claims cannot be tolerated, and so are routed out, 'smoked out'. It is to compete for sovereignty in order to grant death, since to occupy the throne of death-giver is to inhabit the authorial function of life-giver. It is also to claim the monopoly of authority of translating the physicality of death into either a poignant universal lingua franca available for mobilizing relations of affectivity, or a lowly vernacular to be buried in the rubble and denied its very existential negation. Both moves are undertaken simultaneously. It is a battle both Bin Laden and Bush are engaged in. To draw attention to the acts of translation between the non-living and the dead is to chafe against the limits of the language of salvation claims, is to draw our attention to the exclusions they render invisible through their seductive rhetorical economy of inclusion.

The Memorialization of Death as Technique of War

23. Where the 'dead' are unrecognized 'death' is withheld from the non-living. The non-living occupy an empty space, an unmarked grave denied a right to speak their names, to tell us the stories of their lives, and to mark their presence as absence, as 'dead.' And with this denial so too is the memorialization of death denied. This happens on both sides. But since the US is the side of the most powerful, it is my view that we must attend to the funtion of this denial within the arsenal of techniques available for the manufacture of a hegemony of sentiment within the practice of war. Memorialization goes to those recognized as being dead. They get inserted into the universal lingua franca of legitimate death and their memorialization makes them available for mobilization in the service of death. This we witnessed most starkly through the literal act of the writing of names of those who died at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on bombs dropped in Afghanistan by US soldiers. To withhold the status of death is therefore also to deny the 'enemy' the tactic of counter-memorialization. And the 'enemy' here is obviously lacking in access to the technologies required for effective memorialization - television and print media ubiquity and consensus - to counter this effectively. The 'enemy' is thus denied 'death', and its memorialization. (Although the work of the name of 'martyr' is crucial.) The effacement of memorialization renders the non-living also non-human, and thus open to a lexicon of inhuman sentiments and actions - bombing, killing, smoking out, assassination, routing out. All kinds of deathly actions become possible where death, memory, humanity, and therefore attendant obligations, both legal and ethical, can be discursively denied to the dead. One of the profound implications of this is that inflicting particular kinds of violence on the target of 'terror' has been baptized as a common-sense act, grounded on the sovereign imperative to act outside of the law in order to protect the law in times of 'exception'.


Suren Pillay is a senior lecturer in the Department of Political Studies at the University of the Western Cape, in Cape Town South Africa.


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