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Histories and Theories of Nationalism:
A Semiotic Reproach

M. Michael Schiff
York University

The issue of nationalism is much more difficult to settle, because nationalism is no unitary thing, and so many different kinds of ideologies and political practices have invoked the nationalist claim that it is always very hard to think of nationalism at the level of theoretical abstraction alone, without weaving into this abstraction the experience of particular nationalisms and distinguishing between progressive and retrograde kinds of practices.  Theoretical debates as well as global historical accounts are rendered all the more opaque when the category of ‘nationalism’ is yoked together with the category of ‘culture’ to produce the composite category of ‘cultural nationalism.’  Unlike the political category of the state, the regulatory and coercive category of law, institutional mechanisms such as political parties or class organizations like trade unions, ‘culture’ generally and the literary/aesthetic real in particular are situated at great remove from the economy and are therefore, among all the superstructures, the most easily available for idealization and theoretical slippage.  As these categories have been historically constituted, they have been endowed with an inherent tendency towards national and civilizational singularization.  The ideology of cultural nationalism is based explicitly on this singularizing tendency and lends itself much too easily to parochialism, inverse racism and indigenist obscurantism, not to speak of the professional petty bourgeoisie’s penchant for representing its own cultural practices and aspirations, virtually by embodying them as so many emblems of a unified national culture.  Cultural domination is doubtless a major aspect of imperialist domination as such, and ‘culture’ is always, therefore, a site for major resistance, but cultural contradictions within the imperialized formations tend to be so very numerous––sometimes along class lines but also in cross-class configurations, as in the case of patriarchal cultural forms or the religious modes of social authorization––that the totality of indigenous culture can hardly be posited as a unified, transparent site of anti-imperialist resistance.

Aijaz Ahmad, In Theory:  Nations, Classes, Literatures, New York: Verso, 1994 (1992),  7-8.

Why is there nationalist conflict?  Current ethnological, sociopolitical or identitarian theories, though of interest, conflate passion and community and do not examine the structure of nationalism or its basis in language.  Identification theory as I articulate it will provide a resonance for the remembering and misremembering of social relations, especially social conflict, on the level of national identities, and in contrast to community politics.  The contradictions and contradistinctions inherent in Sigmund Freud’s tarnished concept of identification, and the relation of that concept to the negativity associated with female and male sexualities, as well as myriad other systems of identification, public and private, personal and national, provide a starting point for critical analysis of identity as it derives from psychoanalytic and psychosocial enquiries.  Of particular resonance is an examination of the extent to which these identifications and their contraindications are played out in the revealing of the social order, in order to interrogate their positions in alterity:  identification theory, without ever leaving the higher order of “Freudianism,” produces a socially jarring epistemology of identity in which, regardless of the multiple uses, values and meanings of identification, primary identifications remain, and even when challenged these identifications are to some extent taken up and subsumed by theorists implicated in the psychosocial order.  Consider for example the work of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, whose turn on oedipality is as a kind of inverse colonization, especially for Europeans, “our intimate colonial relation.”1

Freud’s early imperative demanding identification with the other and never the same sex in a binary physical and ontological relationship is the logocentral structure of our times, despite the perversions it ascribes to normative as well as alternative identifications.  Much of psychoanalysis and psychoanalytical theory has a similar intellectual property:  it leaves at the scene of the theory the failure to inscribe the transgression of the progenitor analyst.  Based on a methodology that invents a primary identification for an early psychosocial setting, psychoanalysis invests that identification with the responsibility for all the personal investments that follow.  These human relationships are necessarily perverse, antithetical to the law, and are required to be psychologized and treated in an analysand/analyst relation, the failure or success of which is always deferred (“analysis terminable and interminable”).

I enunciate that which lies between the discourse of the law of the “deployment” of sexuality –– its surface and its inscriptions –– and the personal, private inner discourse of Freud, Saussure and their critical inheritance.  What of the sexualities that have been struck off the map of subjectivity?  Freud wrote in Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego:  “Group psychology is therefore concerned with the individual man as a member of a race, of a nation, of a caste, of a profession, of an institution, or as a component part of a crowd of people who have been organized into a group at some particular time for some definite purpose.”2  Representations of race and sexuality are common tropes.  Their ethnography may be deconstructed as a writing of the Western psyche, in which semiotic repression has been the prerequisite for writing the subject off the map, articulated by
colonialist enterprise, outside of the borders and the intersection of cultures, from Sigmund Freud to Frantz Fanon to Diana Fuss, and, this retrograde aspect of identification theory and the politics of psychoanalysis resonate through the design of my own curriculum of soi-disant “cutting edge” sex and gender theory.  Female sexuality and homosexuality, as sexes and genders, are linked as major extropes of the literature:  both marginalized in the discourse and reproduced as sites of struggle against the norm, femininity and homosexuality are also avenues for resistance against the violence of the dominant, the colonizer, the analyst, the theorist.

When identifications are their most insistent they are also their most suspect, as a survey of the dominant discourses on the subject reveals. What then does the theorist otherize in intervention?  Diana Fuss, in the chapter of Identification Papers entitled “Interior Colonies:  Frantz Fanon and the Politics of Identification,” delineates the different direction taken by Fanon, the difference between identification made metaphor for much of the dominant ideology as opposed to that which those who are colonized view with diffidence and disdain.3  For those who are denied subjectivity as well as otherness, identification is not a requisite component of psychical existence.  Fuss relates that Fanon’s own “resolutely masculine self-identifications, articulated through the abjectification of femininity and homosexuality, take shape over and against colonialism’s castrating representations of male sexuality.”4  She argues that Fanon’s thesis is contained by the discourse of colonial subjectivity, that Fanon “does not think beyond the presuppositions of colonial discourse to examine how colonial domination itself works partially through the social institutionalization of misogyny and homophobia,” and she suggests that Fanon’s “otherwise powerful critique of the scene of colonial representation does not fundamentally question the many sexualized determinations of that scene.”5  Fuss refers in some focus to the work of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, whose Anti-Oedipus demonstrates the “historical emergence of both colonization and oedipalization [which] participate in a double ideological operation where each serves effectively to conceal the political function and purpose of the other.”6

Deleuze and Guattari are of late being studied more widely, but Fuss remains convinced that hers is the correct reflection of psychoanalytic discourse, which has not for the most part challenged the primacy of Oedipus nor explored the possibility that many sexualities are the norm.  For example, Fuss remarks that there has been little examination of the Freudian equation between female homosexuality and motherhood, the return of one to the other in the succession of identification and desire.  “The return as fall, as deliverance, marks female homosexuality as not simply the subject’s return to the mother but the subject’s turn as mother.”7  Fuss argues that this “reading of the homosexual turn” is incorporative, that “the daughter must become the mother in order to have her.”8 The challenge here, according to Fuss, is against “one of the most fundamental of the laws of psychoanalysis, preserved from Freud through (to) Kristeva, which holds that desire and identification are structurally independent of one another, the possibility of one always presupposing the repression of the other.”9  It appears on the surface that it is Fuss’ theory that is undermined, and that perhaps allowance will be made for a subject to desire another sex and therefore have identifications which are multiple or across the boundaries of sex and gender.  But an argument based on the history of psychoanalytic discourse proves Fuss right:  even beyond abject identifications for women inscribed in the writings of Julia Kristeva, alternative sexualities have only a perverse relationship with the text of psychoanalysis.

Michel Foucault, in The History of Sexuality, Volume I:  An Introduction, speaks about the entry of psychoanalysis into social discourse in terms of what is required to be free of repression:  “nothing less than a transgression of laws, a lifting of prohibitions, an irruption of speech, a reinstating of pleasure within reality . . . one denounces Freud’s conformism, the normalizing functions of psychoanalysis.”10  Foucault argues that the great utility of psychoanalysis is its transformation of the location of sexuality and its discourses from “perversion-heredity-degenerescence” to a normalized place, “free . . . from its ties with heredity, and hence from eugenics and various racisms.”11  Before Freud, “the discourse on sex—the discourse of scholars and theoreticians—never ceased to hide the thing it was speaking about.”12  Foucault, unwittingly perhaps, places psychoanalysis in the Enlightenment tradition, as the reservoir for rationality, but also as precursor to the poststructuralists, in “the progressive formation (and also the transformation) of that ‘interplay of truth and sex.’”13  Psychoanalysis resisted the power mechanisms that “aimed at controlling and administering the everyday life of sexuality,” and the “Freudian endeavour (out of reaction no doubt to the great surge of racism that was contemporary with it) [was] to ground sexuality in the law—the law of alliance, tabooed consanguinity, and the Sovereign-Father, in short, to surround desire with all the trappings of the old order of power.”14  Foucault places psychoanalysis in its specific historicity, and reminds us that “Before Freud, one sought to localize sexuality as closely as possible:  in sex, in its reproductive functions, in its immediate anatomical localizations; one fell back upon a biological minimum:  organ, instinct and finality.”15  Foucault sees psychoanalysis as “both a theory of the essential interrelatedness of the law and desire, and a technique for relieving the effects of the taboo where its rigor makes it pathogenic.”16  He reminds us that the incest taboo has primary significance and is the basis for Freud’s theory of identification,

posited as an absolutely universal principle which made it possible to explain both the system of alliance and the regime of sexuality; this taboo, in one form or another, was valid therefore for every society and every individual.  But in practice psychoanalysis gave itself the task of alleviating the effects of repression (for those who were in a position to resort to psychoanalysis) that this prohibition was capable of causing; it allowed individuals to express their incestuous desire in discourse.17
Foucault compares the psychoanalytic quest for incestuous desire with the juridical campaign against incest “in rural areas or in certain urban quarters inaccessible to psychiatry:  an intensive administrative grid was laid out then to put an end to these practices.”18
At a time when incest was being hunted out as a conduct, psychoanalysis was busy revealing it as a desire and alleviating—for those who suffered from the desire—the severity which repressed it . . . the discovery of the Oedipus complex was contemporaneous with the juridical organization of loss of parental authority . . . Freud was uncovering the nature of Dora’s desire and allowing it to be put into words . . .  [that is, expressly semiotic, while] the father was elevated into an object of compulsory love, but . . . if he was  a loved one, he was at the same time a fallen one in the eyes of the law.  Psychoanalysis, as a limited therapeutic practice, thus played a differentiating role with respect to other procedures, within a deployment of sexuality that had come into general use.  Those who had lost the exclusive privilege of experiencing more than others the thing that prohibited it and of possessing the method which made it possible to remove the repression.19
In this way psychoanalysis places its discourse outside of the family (daughter/son//mother/father identifications) and yet of the family:  its meaning always to be deferred in the insane system it produced, and in relation to its object always one step beyond closure.  It assumes the primacy of incest beyond the structures in which it first played out.  In fact, psychoanalysis took disparate sexualities and imbued them with equanimity, the polysemy of perversity, if you will, in which “sexuality gave body and life to the rules of alliance by saturating them with desire.”20 If every sexuality has a discourse that can be represented in analysis in perpetuity, then all weigh in equally in the scale of inversion.

What, however, of the sexualities that have been struck off the map of subjectivity?  Foucault writes about systems of oppression of incest, but what of the neologized illegality of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century—homosexuality— which gained its specific repression as a result of Freud, ironically situating it as a perversion within nations of perverts?21  Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, to get historical, expands in Epistemology of the Closet on a point that “identification and desire are [not] necessarily more closely linked in same-sex than in cross-sex relationships, or in gay than in nongay persons”; nor does Sedgwick believe that gay men have more in common with other gay men.22  But, “these are the assumptions that underlie, and are in turn underwritten by, the definitional invention of ‘homosexuality.’”23   There follows in Sedgwick’s Epistemology a long, key footnote about the neologism:

At the same time, the fact that “homosexuality,” being—unlike its predecessor terms—posited on definitional similarity, was the first modern piece of sexual definition that simply took as nugatory the distinction between relations of identification and relations of desire, meant that it posed a radical question to cross-gender relations and, in turn, to gender definition itself.  For the first time since at least the Renaissance, there existed the potential for a discourse in which a man’s desire for a woman could not guarantee  his difference from her—in which it might even, rather, suggest his likeness to her.  That such a possibility is a clear contradiction of the homo/hetero gender definitions of which it is nonetheless also the clear consequence made a conceptual knot whose undoing may be said to have been the determinative project, continuously frustrated but continuously productive, of psychoanalytic theory from Freud to the present.24
According to Foucault, the rise of psychoanalytic and juridical literature, a sequence of discourses on the subject of “homosexuality, inversion, pederasty and ‘psychic hermaphroditism’” enabled social prohibitions of “‘perversity’” while contemporaneously allowing if not necessitating the reverse, that “homosexuality began to speak in its own behalf, to demand that its legitimacy or ‘naturality’ be acknowledged.”25  The discourse of power that is homosexuality, for example, does not have a binary relationship to the dominant discourse; both discourses operate simultaneously in a field of “force relations.”  This field is somewhat analogous to my movement to that middle earth between surface inscription and inner speech, except for the current self-consciousness that this space has no subjectivity in the absence of the other.  Diana Fuss points out that Michel Foucault sees psychoanalysis as a “hysterical theory of the law—the law of desire—[it] keeps itself open, prevents its own foreclosure in or as the law.”26  Although this intervention has its value, Fuss notes that this reading is too “simple,” for the “psychoanalyst poses the very same question as the hysteric:  What does it mean to be a woman?  to be a man?  The letter of hysterical speech and the letter of symbolic prohibition follow an identical path of transmission, reminding us that in our present cultural symbolic the language of desire is the language of prohibition.”27  Should it be taken as truth as related by Fuss that “Symbolic oedipality is assumed in order to be interfered with, but assumed even so”?28  And that “The muteness or aporia at the heart of the law makes possible its articulation as the law.”29  I say, why presuppose Symbolic or any other kind of oedipality?  The universal other is not to be found in the contemporary identificatory relationship, even in the middle ground, and the heart’s aporia is more likely aphasia, that is, the emptiness of our hearts –– and this is what drives the nation-state –– the emptiness of our hearts is more like something we have simply forgotten, no, not simply forgotten, but purposely misremembered.

How then to fill that caesura, the deferral between law and order?  In the beginning, Diana Fuss addressed the problem of the lack in identification theory, the issue that identification by definition annihilates the other in the analytic process—by definition, since this is its primary process.  Identification cannot be possessed and appropriated for in the analytic attempt to do so it is itself annihilated. How then can it be known?  Perhaps the answer is in its ends as well as its origins:  “the psychoanalytic appetite for epistemological possession enacts the very process of incorporation it seeks to describe, exposing the play of identification in every act of interpretation.  Freud begins from the assumption that the other can at least be approximated, if not fully incorporated.”30   Fuss relates happily what identification is not, from Freud onwards:  it replaces sympathy, imagination and suggestion, and while it is supposed to be a science, it is barely a metaphor, though Fuss’ project, she states, is “not to reintroduce metaphor into a psychoanalysis that calls itself a science but rather to read the traces of a figurative logic already at work within a psychoanalysis that repeatedly and symptomatically forgets its metaphorical history.”31  Unhappily Diana Fuss recuperates identification in contradistinctions, in memory lost and forgotten.  Is this the end of identification, to be a category of misremembering?  Perhaps there is a more successful locus of misremembering wherein social and political theory can recoup the power of identifications for an otherless gender?

A theory of nationalism, not absented from historicity, but complicit in its misrememberings, can transmit a more truthful consciousness in the self-identified nation-state.  Ernest Renan might be best remembered for his statement that “The existence of a nation is (if you will excuse the metaphor) a daily plebiscite, just as individual existence is a perpetual affirmation of life.  Nations are unified based on culture and language –– or more importantly, on political will.”32  But an examination of will enters conflictual territory, and Renan wrote that “Forgetting, I would even say historical error, is essential to the creation of a nation, which is why the advance of historical study often poses a threat to nationality.  Historical enquiry, in effect, brings to light the violent events that are at the source of all political formations, even those whose consequences have been beneficial.  Unity is always achieved in a brutal manner . . .”33  Now it is the essence of a nation that all individuals have a great deal in common and also that they have forgotten a great deal.34 Julia Kristeva, in an essay entitled, “What of Tomorrow’s Nation?” collected in her small book, Nations Without Nationalism, commences by asking, “Recently everyone has been harkening back to origins –– you have noticed it, I suppose?”35 In this late work, Kristeva embraces a pathetic liberal democracy without entirely shedding her poststructuralist skin, seeing the “withdrawal” into family –– clan, even –– as “understandable when one is confronted with the bankruptcy of Marxism” and the havoc that that “doctrine” has “wreaked on national and religious realities.  It portends,” she writes, “however, along with ethnic, national and religious conflicts, a decline of individualities, cultures, and history.”36  “A loss of concern for personal freedom,” is subsumed by “the advantage of subjective, sexual, nationalist, and religious protectionism that will freeze evolutionary potentialities of men and women, reducing them to the identification needs of their originary groups.”37  Jean-Marie LePen of the Nationalist Front in France conjured up this scenario for Kristeva, the wonderland hole that the fall of the Soviet Union fell into, like the former Yugoslavia, the future Québec.

“The Cult of Origins,” Kristeva proposes, “is a hate reaction.”  She offers a more telling and smoother personal self-history pathway, “The recourse to psychoanalysis,” in order to transcend our personal histories.  The Bible declares, “This is why a man must leave father and mother” and Kristeva’s rejoinder asks, “What if Freud alone allowed us to come close to carrying out that biblical exhortation?”  Where is the nation in this eternal return, “beyond the opening of borders” and “political integrations?”38   Kristeva invokes Montesquieu’s ésprit générale, almost a noble spirit that embraces general principles at the expense of particularities –– like race, class, gender, culture –– along with specific origins we are implored to forget.  After a discussion of the United States as a nation that has until the last several decades embraced and incorporated refugees (“notwithstanding quotas based on origin”) and Britain as a nation that barely tolerates foreigners including a great number of individuals in the Commonwealth, Kristeva descends on the relevance of the nation’s maltreatment of foreigners, the strangers within, and the correlative treatment of all of us as “strangers to ourselves,” existing uneasily within our own borders, literally and figuratively, starting from the experience of European culture through the Enlightenment to Freud.  Elsewhere, and speaking as a foreigner but with clear and distinct power over the American academy, Kristeva strips the universal and particular of their own differentiating significations, the misunderstood or I would say misremembered queen mother analyst theorist nationalist.39  But the shifting or semiotic realities of erupting nationalities demand optional subjectivities:  choose the subject-position from which you speak.  Kristeva surprisingly “maintain[s]” “that in the contemporary world, shaken up by the national fundamentalism on the one hand and the intensive demands of immigration on the other hand, the fact of belonging to a set is a matter of choice. Beyond the origins that have assigned to us biological identity papers and a linguistic, religious, social, political, historical place, the freedom of contemporary individuals may be gauged according to their ability to choose their membership, while the democratic capability of a nation and social group is revealed by the right it affords individuals to make that choice”; she continues to astonish, and claims to have chosen “cosmopolitanism” so “against origins and starting from them, chosen a transnational or international position situated at the crossing of boundaries.” 40  Kristeva’s recapitulation of historical interconnectedness of nations and identifications leads to her thesis of the stranger within, from the first foreigners in Greek mythology to the case of the persecution of Jews by Germans, and others, in this century, so that she restates Hannah Arendt’s querulous statement:  what happens to people without nations, without territories?41

A universal, transnational principle of Humanity that is distant from the historical realities of nation and citizenship constitutes, on the one hand, a continuation of the Stoic and Augustinian legacy, of that ancient and Christian cosmopolitanism that finds its place among the most valuable assets of our civilization and that we henceforth must go back to and bring up to date.  But above all and on the other hand, such upholding of universality, of a symbolic dignity for the whole of humankind, appears to me as a rampart against a nationalist, regionalist, and religious fragmentation whose integrative contractions are only too visible today.42
To Julia Kristeva, universality has not been entirely transparent in its hatred and violence “ceaselessly . . . unloaded upon the realities of wards and fratricidal closeness and that the Freudian discovery of the unconscious tells us is surely modifiable but yet constituent portion of the human psyche,” negated, mad or communicated through art.43

Kristeva also condescends to transcribe women’s place in this “mystical” account of nationalism and identification.”44  Only a Freudian would at this point turn to a discussion of matrilinear culture as if we lived in one, or would recognize her reality if it existed. She speaks about “biological fate,” women as the “natural soil,” “motherland,” and mothers as the instillers of nationalism in children. Perhaps she is just being coy when she writes that “Worshipping the national language arouses a feeling of revenge and narcissistic satisfaction in a number of women, who are otherwise sexually, professionally, and politically humiliated and frustrated.”45  So women, responsible always, from the Fall to the Fall of the Soviet Union, are now at fault for their own repression by means of encouraging the national identifications that subsume them.  “Women,” Kristeva writes,
have the luck and responsibility of being boundary-subjects:  body and thought, biology and language, personal identity and dissemination during childhood, origin and judgement, nation and world –– more dramatically so than men are.... But there are historical stakes involved in attempting to mesh our institutions with the demands of the polynational societies that are coming into being today, around us and with us.  The maturity of the second sex will be judged in coming years according to its ability to modify the nation in the face of foreigners, to orient foreigners confronting the nation toward a still unforeseeable conception of a polyvalent community.46 Except for a brief aside to discuss a dystopic world without foreigners, Kristeva lays blame in an almost biblical fashion.  But her remarks about nationalism do strike at the heart of the critique of identity.  She says that there is something in the French National Idea that although “transitional” and “cultural” is equivocal to the “sacred absorbed by . . . identification with the political.”47  In this identification there is something of the misremembering necessary to Renan, though Kristeva’s source is Montesquieu, who she quotes from his Pensées,

If I knew something useful to myself and detrimental to my family, I would eject it from mind.  If I knew something to be useful to my family but not to my homeland, I would try to forget it.  If I knew something useful to my homeland and detrimental to Europe, or else to Europe and detrimental to Mankind, I would consider it a crime.48
Perhaps calling it a nation of difference does not ring true, “that which demand the particular rights be highlighted.”49  The fetishization of the nation is set against the benefit of its subjects who possess the “violence” that is, “desire to be different.”50  On the other hand, if as Kristeva proposes nationalism will be used to control our destiny, we have reason to demystify it.  To avoid being, as Paul Breines once called himself at a meeting in nationalistic hotbed Amherst, Massachusetts, involving “Arab nationalists” and “deracinated” Jews:  “tone-deaf to nationalism.”51  French intellectuals, Kristeva writes, excel instead in “self-degradation” and “self-hatred,” that is, they aim to destroy their own Enlightenment traditions and become themselves, “their privileged objects of destruction.”52  Yet Kristeva’s compelling arguments stem from her reiteration that her idea of a cosmopolitan nationalism respects the Other more than any other kind, including those in which we self-identify because we join a group rather than know its culture. 53

Freud wrote in Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego:  “Group psychology is therefore concerned with the individual man as a member of a race, of a nation, of a caste, of a profession, of an institution, or as a component part of a crowd of people who have been organized into a group at some particular time for some definite purpose.”54  I propose that if the unconscious is structured like a language, then the unconscious collective requires a semiotics, a semiotics of the nation, if you will, that accounts for various identifications.  In this semiotics, disparate sexualities find their expression, and the nation that is their collective voice will have a structure for its varying significations.  The other, however, will remain untenable, as the human condition will not have been altered by the communication of this new semiotics.


    1 Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus:  Capitalism and Schizophrenia (Minnesota: U of Minnesota P, 1983), p. 170.
    2 Sigmund Freud, Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego,  (trans. J. Strachey, New York:  Bantam Books, 1960 [1920], p. 70.
    3 Diana Fuss, Identification Papers (New York:  Routledge, 1995).
    4 Fuss, p. 160.
    5 Ibid.
    6 Fuss, p. 158, refers en passant to Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus:  Capitalism and Schizophrenia, trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem and Helen R. Lane (Minneapolis:  University of Minneapolis Press, 1983), p. 170.  Anti-Oedipus was originally published as L’Anti-Oedipe (Paris:  Les Editions de Minuit, 1972).
    7 Fuss, p. 67.
    8 Ibid.
    9 Ibid.
    10 Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality:  Volume I, An Introduction.  trans. Robert Hurley (New York:  Vintage Books, 1980, [1978]), p. 5.
    11 Foucault, p. 119.
    12 Ibid., p. 53.
    13 Ibid., pp. 56-57.
    14 Ibid., p. 150.
    15 Ibid., p. 151.
    16 Ibid.
    17 Ibid.
    18 Ibid., p. 130.
    19 Ibid., p. 113.
    19 See also Leo Bersani, “Foucault, Freud, Fantasy, and Power,” GLQ; 1995, 2, 1-2, 11-33.  Bersani examines so-called “alternative” forms of sexual desire, particularly homosexual desire, as delineated by Foucault and Freud.   “Psychoanalysis embraces masochism as both a metaphor and a pleasurable form of power inversion. This has particular relevance for gay desire, in that it proposes an alternative to heterosexual visions of erotic power by disrupting the bounded ego and the disciplinary constraints of identity/identification.”
    19 Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Epistemology of the Closet (Berkeley:  University of California Press, 1990), p. 159.
    24 Sedgwick, Epistemology, Ibid.
    25 Ibid., pp. 159-160, n34.
    26 Foucault, p. 101.
    27 Fuss, Identification Paper, p. 133.
    28 Ibid., pp. 133-134.
    29 Ibid., p. 134.
    30 Ibid.
    31 Ibid., p. 4.
    32 Ernest Renan, Qu’est-ce Qu’une une Nation? What is a Nation? Intro. Charles Taylor, trans. Wanda Romer Taylor (Toronto, Ontario:  Tapir Press, 1996), Introduction, p. 3.
    33 Renan, p. 19.
    34 Ibid, p. 21.
    35 Julia Kristeva, “What of Tomorrow’s Nation?” in Nations Without Nationalism (New York, New York:  Columbia University Press, 1993), p. 1.
    36 Ibid., p. 2.
    37 Ibid.
    38 Ibid., p. 5.
    39 Julia Kristeva, Julia Kristeva:  Interviews, ed. Ross Mitchell Guterman, (New York, New York:  Columbia University Press, 1996), p. 269.
    40 Ibid., p. 16.
    41 Ibid., p. 40.
    42 Ibid., p. 41.
    43 Ibid. en passant, p. 28.
    44 Ibid., p. 32.
    45 Ibid., p. 34.
    46 Ibid., p. 35.
    47 Ibid., p. 39.
    48 Ibid., p. 28.
    49 Ibid., p. 41.
    50 Ibid., p. 45.
    51 Jean Cocks, “From Politics to Psychoanalysis:  Critical Intellectuals Answer the National Question,” in Political Theory, Vol. 24, no. 3 (August 1996), p. 45.
    52 Kristeva, Nations Without Nationalism, pp. 46, 50.
    53 Kenneth Cmiel, “The Fate of the Nation and the Withering of the State,” in American Literary History, Vol. 8, No. 1 (Spring 1996), p. 192.
    54 Sigmund Freud, Group Psychoanalysis and the Analysis of the Ego, p. 70.
Ed Cohen, “Who Are ‘We?’:  Gay ‘Identity’ as Political (E)motion (A Theoretical Rumination), in Diana Fuss, ed., Inside/Out: Lesbian Theories Gay Theories (New York:  Routledge, 1991), p. 76.


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