In his essay on “epistemic disobedience,” Walter Mignolo writes that, “The decolonial path has one thing in common: the colonial wound, the fact that regions and people around the world have been classified as underdeveloped economically and mentally.” 1 A key goal of decolonial work is not only political and economic liberation, but, “affirming the epistemic rights of the racially devalued.” 2 Affirming “epistemic rights” means contesting the way that knowledge practices and research agendas have been shaped by Europe and the US, despite good intentions. To take this statement seriously means that I, as a scholar raised and educated in the global North, should not be the only person outlining a pathway towards decolonizing media studies. Yet what I can contribute, as part of a cluster, are a set of concerns and possibilities that aim to reign in some of the hubris of media studies as I have experienced it.
My biggest concern with the call to decolonize is the possibility that it is done for the sake of media studies as a field—to update it, to give it a more diverse face—rather than to advance the concerns of those actively fighting political, economic and epistemic forms of colonial oppression. The worst thing that decolonizing media studies could do is prioritize the field and its survival over activities that contest racial devaluation. I also hesitate to call “decolonizing media studies” an intellectual agenda. In his work on decolonial praxis, Mignolo repeatedly refers to “the decolonial option,” highlighting the importance of participatory choice rather than compulsory conversion. For Mignolo, decolonization has to remain an option, or else it risks repeating the very epistemic violence that it is supposed to contest. Compelled by this framing, I also feel that the decolonial needs to remain an “option” in media studies, so as not to impose a goal from the outside.
It is an option that scholars in the global North should consider. In the US, this past year has given rise to an unprecedented number of commitments to diversifying editorial boards and the scope of published scholarship (such as the journal Media + Environment, which I am part of), largely in response to the resurgence of outrage around the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Black Lives Matter movement. These are good first steps. However, diversifying who writes and is published in the field of media studies doesn’t solve the problem of the compulsory white male canon, or challenge foundational conceptual vocabulary like information, storage, transmission, and processing. These are an epistemic inheritance from the west, and so long as media studies imposes the conceptual terms of its own discussion in English, it will remain a colonial knowledge framework.
Decolonizing media studies should also involve rethinking the question of audience. Initially this is a publishing question: rather than writing and publishing in English, French or German, work in media studies would be addressed to audiences in a wider variety of languages. Yet the audience question also means that media scholars should think about how their scholarship addresses (or doesn’t) audiences who have been the subjects of colonization. Kim Tallbear’s Native American DNA: Tribal Belonging and the False Promise of Genetic Science (Minnesota Press, 2013) models one way of doing this, analyzing the epistemic implications of DNA technologies for a Native American readership rather than treating them as the subject of her study. What would work in media studies look like if it were not for a technical elite, but aimed at empowering a global readership that shares, in common, the colonial wound?
Yet to effectively decolonize media studies would mean risking the possibility of dissolving media studies as a discipline, open to becoming differently articulated through non- Western world-views, languages, and priorities. What the West has demarcated as media studies (loosely based around the emergence of computational technologies and technically mediated communication) might find itself dispersed into an array of other political goals. For example, what if the study of computational and communication media was not isolated into a discipline, but was deemed to be a subset of work in environmental justice, where anyone studying media was expected to have read the writings of Ken Saro-Wiwa and Édouard Glissant? Disciplinary boundaries are much like literary genre: they instruct where to look for certain themes and types of work according to recognizable methods. But to take them too seriously means failing to see a variety of work that may be housed, at the moment, elsewhere.
Melody Jue Associate Professor, UC Santa Barbara August 12, 2020
1 Walter Mignolo, “Epistemic Disobedience, Independent Thought, and Colonial Freedom,” Theory, Culture & Society 26:7-8 (2009), p. 3.
2 Ibid., p. 4.