Fragile Conviction

Front matter

CHANGING IDEOLOGICAL LANDSCAPES IN URBAN KYRGY ZSTAN

FRAGILE CONVICTION

FRAGILE CONVICTION

Part I: Uncertain Times and Places

1. Shattered Transition: The Reordering of Kyrgyz Society 2. Condition of Uncertainty: Life in an Industrial Wasteland Part II: Dynamics of Conviction

124 148 vill Contents Conclusion: Pulsation and the Dynamics of Conviction

Notes References

Index

185 195 209

ILLUSTRATIONS

Bishkek’s Ala-Too Square in August 2003, with Lenin statue, soon to be removed, and the National

History Museum Bishkek’s Ala-Too Square with the new Manas statue The patched-up Lenin statue in the center of Kokjangak

Abandoned train tracks leading to the former coal mine in Kokjangak The five-story apartment buildings in the center of Kokjangak

UNDP workers and their local counterparts holding a meeting in Kokjangak

The home of Kadyr and his family in the neighborhood Kòlmò

Aikan and some of her friends on a picnic in the hills outside

Kokjangak

Mother and son

19 21 44

47 58

71 78

139 166

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book has been in the making for a long time. Initial ethnographic fieldwork was conducted as part of a research project on religious conversion, carried out while I was based at the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology between 2003 and 2006. But it was only after I took up a position at the London School of Economics and Political Science that the project expanded and slowly morphed into a book about the dynamics of conviction, and for which I conducted additional ethnographic fieldwork in the period between 2008 and 2013.

I am heavily indebted and very grateful to those who accompanied me on parts of the fieldwork. Himia Suerkulova was my United Nations Volunteers (UNV) counterpart back in 1998 and 1999, and assisted me for a month in 2004 while conducting a series of interviews with specialists and officials; Damira Umetbaeva was an excellent research assistant from 2003 to 2004 when she was still an undergraduate, and has since then become a close friend and colleague; Nurgul introduced me to the spiritual world of clairvoyants and healers, a world that otherwise would have remained

Acknowledgments xi largely invisible to me; Emil Nasritdinov collaborated with me in a related research project on former mining towns, and invited me to travel with the Tablighi Jamaat on several of its mission trips. Particular gratitude goes out to Kadyr Osmonov, who, together with his wife, Aziza, was an excellent host and became a close friend. It was with great sadness that I learned of his untimely death in 2011.

I have benefited from the institutional funding of the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, and am grateful to its director, Chris Hann, for pointing out some of the larger theoretical implications of what was then still a modest project. Most of the writing was conducted during a one-year sabbatical at the LSE. Sections of two chapters have appeared in previous publications. Portions of chapter 4 were published in a much shorter publication titled “Awkward Secularity between Atheism and New Religiosity in Post-Soviet Kyrgyzstan,” in the volume Atheist Secularism and Its Discontents: A Comparative Study of Religion and Communism in Eurasia, edited by T. Ngo and N. Quijada (2015). Parts of chapter 6 appeared in “Mediating Miracle Truth: Permanent Struggle and Fragile Conviction in Kyrgyzstan,” in The Anthropology of Global Pentecostalism and Evangelicalism, edited by S. Coleman and R. Hackett (2015).

Early chapter drafts were presented at workshops and departmental seminars: in the UK at Brunel University, SOAS, the University of Kent, University of Oxford, Sussex University, and the University of East London; in Central Asia at the L.N. Gumilyov Eurasian National University and the American University of Central Asia; and in Germany at the Humboldt University, the Max Planck Institute for Cultural Diversity, and the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology. Special thanks to Julie McBrien, Deniz Kandiyoti, Julie Archambault, David Pratten, Emil Nasritdinov, Damira Umetbaeva, Isak Niehaus, David Henig, Narmala Halstead, Marloes Janson, Jon Mitchell, Svetlana Jacquesson, Philipp Schröder, Yuliya Shapoval, and Manja Stephan-Emmrich for asking pertinent questions and for offering the possibility to present ideas that were often still embarrassingly underdeveloped. It was a privilege to present three of the book’s chapters at my home department’s Friday Seminar and to receive the thoughtful and critical feedback of my colleagues, including Matthew Engelke, David Graeber, Fennella Cannell, Michael Scott, Alpa Shah, Deborah James, Katy Gardner, Harry Walker, Hans Steinmuller, Stephan Feuchtwang, Maurice Bloch, Laura Bear, Catherine Allerton, Rita xii Acknowledgments

Astuti, Charles Stafford, Nick Long, and Gisa Weszkalnys. The detailed comments of the two anonymous reviewers were invaluable for making this book a stronger one, as was the editorial guidance of Roger Malcolm Haydon and Jim Lance at Cornell University Press. I am especially thankful to Bruce Grant, for his critical, thoughtful, and detailed comments on the penultimate draft of this book. Finally, my greatest gratitude goes to my partner, Judith Bovensiepen, for her teasing critiques, demands for clarity, and loving support, which not only enabled the completion of this book, but made the writing process so much more enjoyable than it otherwise would have been.

A NOTE oN TRANSLITERATION AND TRANSLATION

In transliterating Russian from the Cyrillic I have used the Library of Congress system. For Kyrgyz I have used the same system with the exception of the following letters: © = 6 and y = ti. When appropriate I have placed the original terms in parentheses, indicating whether they are Kyrgyz or Russian terms. I have not done this in all instances because several key words are used in both languages and because many of the spiritual and political terms are linked less to a “national” language than to a religious or political tradition. All translations are my own, except where noted.

FRAGILE CONVICTION

Introduction

As we marched through the streets, I felt full of energy. It was scary when the riot police attacked us, but we managed to push back. Somehow I felt strong, and then stronger still when other groups joined us. There was a lot of cheering. I was like, Wow, I never knew that so many people were against [President] Akaev. ... At the time I was convinced [uveren] that what we were doing was important. For me it was about democracy and freedom, and about fighting against corruption. I was convinced that if we succeeded, things would be better. . .. When I came home [to the shared flat] that afternoon, I found the other girls sleeping. I was amazed that they were not even aware of what was going on. [Later] they were critical of my involvement because they knew that my parents were against me being involved. But I was just amazed that they didn’t care. . . . At that point I did not have doubts. My first doubt, as you call it, happened the day after the revolution [when shops were being looted]. We formed patrols to protect the shop owners; it was dangerous. Aigerim, who had joined [the youth movement] KelKel! at the same time as me, mentioned to me, “This looting was not supposed to happen.” That is when I started to doubt. Also because the atmosphere [in KelKel] had changed; it became clear that many [of its members] had joined for their own interests. For me it had been about discussing ideas and the future of our country. . . . Maybe I was also trying to fill a void in myself; to be part of a group like this felt good. But for many of the others it was about something else, about supporting a family member or about pushing their own careers. We had these meetings [in the weeks after the Tulip Revolution]. The discussions were no longer about ideas. It was all about dividing up the trips [abroad], about who would speak where. . . . I got fed up with it, and left. Later on I started to read about the problems with democracy [as a concept] and about NGOs and how they were financed from the West. And I was disappointed in [the new president] Bakiev. My KelKel acquaintances from back then would say, “Yes, Bakiev is terrible, but still it is good that the

revolution happened.” Personally I don’t know if it was good or bad.

Mirgul’s account’ of her experiences with the youth movement KelKel and her involvement in the Tulip Revolution of April 2005 provides a brief reflection on a situation that was at first hopefully embraced as a means to the peaceful displacement of a corrupt government, but ultimately resulted in widespread disillusionment when the prevailing opposition leader, Kurmanbek Bakiev, instated a regime that was even more objectionable than that of his predecessor, Askar Akaev.? The intensity of the event, as much as its ephemeral and ultimately disillusioning qualities, is reflective of Kyrgyzstan’s tumultuous post-Soviet political trajectory, a period in which political and religious movements and prophets thrived, usually only for brief moments.

Situated in this turbulent environment, Mirgul’s story directs attention to the mechanisms by which individuals become committed to a cause and gain certainty about the meaning and value of the ideas involved. For several weeks Mirgul had been convinced that the removal of President Akaev from office would result in more freedom and allow for a more democratic form of government, both of which were sacrosanct values to her at the time. Initially uncertain about the prospects for success, she was both surprised and emboldened by the realization that she and her fellow revolutionaries were supported in this struggle by a mass of people. In those moments she felt great clarity: the goals seemed clear and near, and motivation peaked. However, her certainty, commitment, and clarity turned out to be fleeting. When we first spoke about her experiences, three years after the revolution, she saw herself as having been terribly naive—still an undergraduate student—a young woman who had found herself caught up in the moment.

In this book I examine ideational power by focusing on the energy and momentum that are built into “flashes of conviction” like the one described by Mirgul. The focus is on the affective dimension of collective ideas, on the energy that both animates and exceeds societal structures.’ I analyze how ideas gain momentum when shared by a group of like-minded compatriots and the transformative potential these ideas can have when directed toward a clear goal or distinct enemy.

The brightness of the flash of conviction should, however, be examined in view of the flickering that came before and the afterglow left in its wake. That is, because conviction unfolds in real time, it needs to be looked at in relation to the doubts and hesitations that may precede or accompany it, and the satisfactions or disillusionments that may succeed such a flash. Mirgul’s conviction was not diminished by her friends’ criticism or her parents’ disapproval. On the contrary, her sense of righteousness was intensified by their critique, just as the experience of warding off a police attack emboldened her. In fact, Mirgul’s belief in and commitment to the cause eroded only after an insider (a friend and fellow KelKel member) started to express criticism. This set in motion a series of nagging doubts that were fed by the egotistic attitude of other KelKel members and the disappointing conduct of the new government. In this process, the signifiers “freedom” and “democracy” changed meaning, now referring to careerism and disagreeable geopolitical agendas. These shifts and changes demonstrate the importance of paying due attention to the social, epistemic, and affective dimensions of the making and unmaking of temporary conviction.

By using the concept of conviction I aim to draw attention to the fluctuating intensity and quality of attitudes, motivations, and beliefs. So how does this instance of momentary political clarity compare to other forms of conviction? I could equally have started this introduction with some of the other flashes of conviction that feature prominently in this book. For example, the account of a miracle at a Pentecostal church in southern Kyrgyzstan would have illustrated the affective energies released by collective prayer. A description of the application of rhythmic sound and touch by spiritual healers would have made the bodily sensations experienced by patients palpable. A sketch of the “inspired fellowship” (Turner 2012, back cover) among Tablighi Muslims during their proselytizing trips would have provided insight into how fantastical images become experienced as real. An account of the arrival of international aid workers in a destitute mining town would have illuminated the vital connections between hope, conviction, and disillusionment.

These instances of conviction have varying intensities, rhythms, and scopes, the documentation and comparison of which will serve to bring to light the various dimensions of ideational power. But the point is also that the described pattern—the swelling of momentum, the flash of intensity, the release of energy—points at a dynamic that exceeds the particularities of each instance of conviction. Referring to this dynamic as “pulsation,” I theorize how ideational power is produced and released, and with what effects. Pulsation describes the trajectories of collective ideas whose intensity waxes and wanes over time. Moreover, as a sensitizing concept, pulsation indexes different aspects of ideational power: the assertion of ideas (the impulse), their traction within social fields (pressure), and their rhythmical patterns (throbbing). By taking this approach I aim to understand how people become convinced, and how they cease being convinced, of concrete assertions of truth. By analyzing different examples of conviction with a focus on the impulses and resonances generated by these assertions of truth, I will explain the strengths and weaknesses of collective ideas.

These topics are explored in the context of post-Soviet Kyrgyzstan at a time of economic collapse and political turmoil. The unsettling effects of “post-Soviet chaos” (Nazpary 2002) were felt with particular intensity in the mining town of Kokjangak, where most of the fieldwork for this book took place. Located in Jalalabad Province in southern Kyrgyzstan, it had largely been built between 1930 and 1950. Kokjangak had been a paragon

5 in a largely agricultural and unof Soviet modernization, a frontier town derdeveloped region, its inhabitants depicted in official discourse as pioneers in the establishment of a new civilization. This formerly vibrant town had fallen hard after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Half of the population emigrated, many of its buildings were dismantled, and the remaining ten thousand residents tried to make a living through informal mining, limited agricultural activities, and circular migration. Kokjangak had come to resemble what Anna Tsing conceptualizes as chaos—“a frontier spun out of control, its proliferations no longer productive for the authorities” (2005, 43).

In these destitute conditions, new visions and ideas were actively asserted and hopefully embraced. Right after the Soviet collapse, neoshamanic practices boomed, and even two decades later there was still an impressive network of spiritual healers and visionaries in the town. From the mid-1990s onward, a range of development organizations initiated projects in Kokjangak, but despite being enthusiastically welcomed, they often produced more disappointment than satisfaction. In the early 2000s the Pentecostal Church of Jesus Christ set up a congregation that attracted a significant following. Not much later Deobandi-inspired versions of Islam gained ground, especially among the male youth. And in 2005 there was real excitement in the weeks before, during, and after the Tulip Revolution, especially because the opposition leader (and later president) Kurmanbek Bakiev had previously lived and worked in Kokjangak and might thus direct funds toward the town (a hope that never materialized). While new political and religious movements proved attractive in this context of economic hardship and social fragmentation, their failure to fulfill their own promises meant that “conversions” were often temporary. By documenting and describing how people in Kokjangak specifically and Kyrgyzstan more generally encountered and engaged with a range of charismatic and millenarian movements, in this book I offer an ethnographic tribute to the post-Soviet condition of uncertainty in Central Asia.

It could be objected that the theoretical focus on fragile instances of conviction, based on research in an unstable social field, presents an atypical case that has little value apart from being an exotic curiosity. But this would be missing the point. Rather, the “extreme” features of this study throw into high relief processes that have much wider resonance. In a world where power is “no longer routed so centrally through the state” (Ferguson 2004, 394), and which is characterized not only by transnational flows but also by isolation and disconnect, the workings of ideology are changing as well. There is something suggestive about Arjun Appadurai’s argument that we are shifting from a “vertebrate” world of nation-states to a “nonvertebrate” or “cellular” world in which global flows rely on the infinite reproducibility of minimal ideological and functional principles (2006). If anything, this shift has made ideological processes less predictable and more volatile.° As I have argued elsewhere, precisely because nationalisms, populisms, and fundamentalisms have become so conspicuously present over the past two decades, “it is essential not to take their strength for granted, but to examine the dynamics of conviction and doubt through which their efficacy and affective qualities are made and unmade” (Pelkmans 2013, 1). That is, the focus on the making and unmaking of conviction in a context where the state-system has come undone and its ideological framework imploded provides a valuable vantage point from which to gain deeper insight into the workings of ideology in the contemporary world more generally.

In this book, the key question is how systems of ideas become animated, that is, how they come to matter in the lives of people. The concept “ideology” refers to such systems of ideas and forms the larger conceptual backbone of the book, but this is approached through “conviction,” a useful lens for studying how ideologies are animated. “Conviction” is used to draw attention to the affective dimensions of belief, knowledge, and attitude, and suggests variation among subjects and fluctuations over time. “Ideology” foregrounds the issue of power, and thereby opens up possibilities for a political-economic analysis of ideation. Let me outline in more detail how

I employ these two contested concepts in order to lay the foundations for the conceptual framework that I develop in this book.

Ideology: Ideas and Power

The concept of ideology is a slippery one that has frustrated generations of scholars. A central problem is that because ultimately all ideas are bound up with power, the term is often considered too general to have analytical purchase. The problem can be detected even in the work of those who employ a concrete and straightforward definition of the term. Eric Wolf, for example, defines ideology as “unified schemes or configurations [of ideas] developed to underwrite or manifest power” (1999). When Wolf then applies the term to the cases in his book Envisioning Power, it becomes clear that he uses “ideology” at times to refer to “unified schemes” or doctrines that are actively propagated by elites, while at other times he employs it much more loosely to refer to ordered “configurations” of collective customs, practices, and ideas that indirectly “underwrite” the order of society. This is no critique of Wolf's work but rather an observation about the different ways in which ideas and power can be woven together. After all, dominant ideas not only are advanced through explicit doctrine, but they have a material existence in state institutions or rituals, and unwittingly filter our perceptions of reality. However, the result is that “the term ideology threatens to expand to vanishing point” (Eagleton [1991] 2007).’ Intriguingly, while these reflections may suggest that ideology is too pervasive to be analytically useful, a contrasting view suggests that we are living in a post-ideological era.

This “end-of-ideology” position was first voiced over half a century ago, when scholars in the United States (e.g., Bell 1960) declared that “ideological distinctions” had become “devoid of social and psychological significance for most people” and that the existing abstract political ideologies “lack motivational potency and behavioral significance” (Jost 2006, 651). More recently, and more relevantly to the geopolitical context of this book, it was the erosion and then collapse of Soviet socialism that inspired ideas of the end of ideology, even “the end of history” in the sense that with the victory of capitalism there would be no longer any credible alternative ideologies left (Fukuyama 1989). Such end-of-ideology visions dovetailed with the frequently offhand depiction of the post-Soviet era as constituting an “ideological vacuum” (Buckley 1997; Karagiannis 2009, 93). This perceived vacuum was seen as problematic and dangerous precisely because it seemed to indicate the absence of collective values, which also translated into ideas of a “spiritual vacuum” (Vorontsova and Filatov 1994) and a “moral vacuum” (Wanner 2011, 214).° Announcements of the death of ideology have always been rather contradictory, possibly because a vacuum easily becomes a site of turbulence, or, as Clifford Geertz put it, “It is a loss of orientation that most directly gives rise to ideological activity” (1973, 219). Not entirely surprising then is Terry Eagleton’s exclamation that “it is announced that the concept of ideology is now obsolete,” when in fact we are witnessing a “remarkable resurgence of ideological movements,” as he wrote in response to Francis Fukuyama’s claim about the death of ideology ([1991] 2007, xx).?

Writing about ideological activity in Russia during the 1990s, Eliot Borenstein aptly commented that the post-Soviet condition is more appropriately described as one of ideological excess than ideological void, and provided “fertile ground for fantasies of an apocalypse” (1999, 439, 447). But this ideological excess, which refers to the conspicuous presence of nationalist, market, developmental, and religious visions, also suggests the fragility of each single ideology and the lack of a stable and dominant ideological framework. What are we to do with these opposing stances concerning the ideology concept and the contradictory views about the role of ideology in the contemporary world? To clarify the discussion it is useful to momentarily adopt Slavoj Zizek’s distinction between three modes of ideological operation: ideology in-itself, ideology for-itself, and ideology reflected into itself. The first, ideology in-itself, is the most explicit incarnation of ideology, which refers to the active assertion of “a doctrine, a composite of ideas, beliefs, concepts and so on, destined to convince us of its ‘truth’” (Zizek 1994, 10). Second and somewhat more indirect are the “institutions, rituals and practices” that give “body” to ideology, rather similar to what Althusser ({1971] 2008) refers to as “ideological state apparatus” and includes all institutions (such as schools, museums, courts, regulatory bodies, etc.) that play a role in reproducing state ideology, whether directly or indirectly. Finally, ideology as “reflected into itself” refers to the “quasi-‘spontaneous’ presuppositions and attitudes” of self-declared non-ideological practices (Zizek 1994, 15). This ideological mode of operation is more or less what

Bourdieu refers to as doxa, as that which “goes without saying because it comes without saying” (1977, 167—69). The point of bringing up these distinctions is to suggest, not only that those who speak about the absence of ideology and those who speak about its omnipresence might actually be talking about different modes of ideological power, but also that the relative weight of these different modes depends on the nature of society and the position of the relevant collective ideas within it.

In stable and well-integrated political systems the dominant ideas tend to be internalized and naturalized, making ideological work less conspicuous. For example, Žižek argues that in late capitalism the weight of “ideology as such is diminished: individuals do not act as they do primarily on account of their beliefs or ideological convictions—that is to say, the system . . . bypasses ideology in its reproduction and relies on economic coercion, legal and state regulations, and so on.” But although “ideology has moved to the background [it] has by no means disappeared” (1994, 14-15). Rather, precisely because the dominant ideas have become part and parcel of people’s common sense, they can be reproduced almost invisibly through the ideological state apparatus. Thus, what Daniel Bell (1960) and Fukuyama (1989) referred to as the “end-of-ideology” could also be seen as the epitome of ideological efficiency, of the temporary hegemony of a specific set of ideas within a particular sociopolitical configuration. In such a situation “dominant power” does not need to rally a population behind a greater cause or convince people to defend “the truth,” but instead can rely on their pragmatic acquiescence.” The flipside of this is that the more ideology is naturalized—the more it comes to be taken for granted—the less it is able to directly motivate the sentiments and actions of people. Therefore, despite all the problems of Bell’s end-of-ideology thesis, there is value in his implicit suggestion that there are situations in which ideologies no longer act as sets of belief capable of being “infused with passion” (1960).

By contrast, in situations of sociopolitical fragmentation and rapid societal change “ideology” moves to the foreground. This means that existing ideologies become denaturalized, first because in unstable situations the dominance of dominant power cannot be taken for granted, and second because ideology-infused common sense is challenged by changing circumstances. This may easily lead to the explicit defense as well as radicalization of dominant ideas.!! Post-Soviet Central Asian corollaries are easy to point out. A good example of the intensification of dominant ideas would be the Stalin-style cult of personality that developed in Turkmenistan in the 1990s, in which the country’s first president appeared as a latter-day Islamic prophet leading his chosen nation (see Hann and Pelkmans 2009). Different but equally conspicuous is the futuristic redesigning of Kazakhstan’s capital, Astana, sometimes described as the “Dubai of the steppe,” a glorification of ideas of modernity that are firmly rooted in the Soviet project (Buchli 2007; Laszczkowski 2011).

Similar state-directed tendencies toward “extreme expression” have been present in Kyrgyzstan, but none obtained semihegemonic status. Instead, the ideological landscape became more radically fragmented and was therefore frequently depicted as an “ideological vacuum,” which, as we have seen, is simultaneously the terrain of ideology par excellence. That is to say, Kyrgyzstan essentially developed into a laboratory for testing out ideologies. Indeed, it was seen as a frontier and “mission field” by evangelicals, pious Muslims, and (secular) development specialists. Precisely because none of the advanced visions could rely on a stable ideological (state) apparatus, they became at once more conspicuous and volatile. The most disturbing example of this in Kyrgyzstan’s recent history is the 2010 conflict, when ideas of ethnic purity, feeding on political and economic tensions, radicalized with such speed that towns and cities across the south of the country erupted in massive violence, resulting in hundreds of casualties (see chapter 1). In other words, when power fields are unstable, ideology becomes denaturalized, but this fragility of ideology simultaneously triggers its reassertion resulting in an ideological excess. From this perspective, Kyrgyzstan is a particularly interesting case in which to observe the workings of conviction in a

“post-ideological” world and to draw attention to conviction’s fragility.

Conviction: Power of Ideas

The concept of ideology is usually associated with dominant power,” but dominance is not what makes ideas powerful in the sense of potent or effervescent. In fact, there appears to be a partially inverse relationship between the “strength” (or tenacity) of ideology and its “potency” (as the ability to move people to action). This tension needs to be kept in mind when focusing on conviction. The “energized state” that I am trying to capture has been explored by many others, through the perspectives of charisma, collective effervescence, communitas, and affect. In their own specific ways, each of these terms tries to capture the emotive “energy” that is produced in the connections between individuals (such as leaders and followers), within liminal groups (made up of equals), and between humans and their environment. In this book I will make use of the insights generated through these approaches while applying them to the relationship between subjects and collective ideas.

There are several reasons why I propose conviction as the conceptual focus for a study of ideational power instead of using the more common alternatives. The first is that conviction connects the fields of religion and politics better than related terms such as “belief” or “opinion.” Second, more so than opinion, disposition, attitude, and knowledge, the term “conviction” makes the affective dimension of the relationship between subject and ideas palpable. It is for this reason that I avoid the term in the plural, because to speak of people’s religious or political convictions would be a labeling exercise characteristic of “topographic approaches” instead of an approach that is able to capture “processes” (Crapanzano 2004, 8). It is in the singular that the affective dimension comes to the fore, as conveyed when we refer to someone as being “full of conviction,” another one as “lacking conviction,” and a preacher (or politician or car salesman) as “speaking with conviction,” that is, with clarity and purpose. The goal of this book is to understand how this quality of conviction is gained and lost, and to which actions or inactions this may lead.

In exploring the connections between people and collective ideas, Althusser’s theory of interpellation ({1971] 2008) is a useful point of reference. His famous example, or “theoretical scene,” of interpellation is that of a police officer who hails (interpellates) a person in the street by calling out “Hey, you,” on which the person recognizes being addressed and turns around. In the moment of turning, that is, in the submissive response to the voice of ideology, the person is (re)produced as a subject through a process of mutual recognition. Althusser depicts interpellation as an internal process in which individuals “are always-already subjects” (46, italics in the original); that is, he presents ideological interpellation as an unfailing mechanism in the production of subjects. This suggests, quite clearly, that Althusser works with a concept of society in which different tenets of ideology form a coherent whole that is durably integrated with the socioeconomic fabric of that society.’ Unfortunately, this seamless depiction of interpellation is unhelpful for understanding of ideational power in fragmented ideological landscapes, where the ideological state apparatus has collapsed and/or where new ideologies assert themselves. The question, therefore, is how can we make productive use of the idea of interpellation (without necessarily clinging to the term itself) and apply it to fragmented ideological landscapes?