Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Christopher Neubert
Sara Smith
We would like to thank participants and the audience who participated in our “Demo-
graphic Fever Dreams” panel at the 2017 American Association of Geographers Conference
in Boston. We are also grateful for conversations with LaToya Eaves, Mabel Gergen, Azreet
Johnson, Dinesh McCoy, Nathan Swanson, and Pavithra Vasudevan.
[Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 2019, vol. 44, no. 3]
© 2019 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved. 0097-9740/2019/4403-0002$10.00
and in warnings of immanent betrayal, we see an epic reversal: men with ma-
jority privilege justifying violence by flipping the roles of aggressor and po-
tential victim, placing those in need of protection (such as racialized or re-
ligious minorities) in the role of attacker, and thus enabling a violent
response to be rhetorically justified as a form of existential defense (Ahmed
2004; Gergen, Smith, and Vasudevan forthcoming). Gendered tropes of
women’s supposed vulnerability and men’s necessary strength are central to
this message about the threats facing the nation. This discursive reversal is a
critical tool of white supremacy and settler colonialism in the US context and
is embedded in the exclusionary nature of the religious tones reshaping the
nation-state in Turkey and India. Such a discourse formulates fears of disen-
franchisement in terms of a perceived demographic threat: all manner of
others replacing majority male bodies in positions of power or leading to
chaos and societal breakdown.
The resurgent white supremacist and right-wing populist movements that
have spread across the globe are astounding. While agendas range from the
migration-engendered epidemic of “taco trucks on every corner” in the
United States (Chokshi 2016) to worries about the presence of minarets in
Swiss skylines and calls for white Germans to make Germany’s babies (NPR
2017), the political discourses and material practices that catalyze majority
anxieties are similar in their generation of perceived threats to an unmarked
but implicit national integrity based in majority identity—at times racialized,
at times imbued with specific religious characteristics, and at times bringing
these together. These resurgent political formations rely on normative ideas
of gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, and religious difference but also in-
vent imaginative narrative justifications and a means for them to mutate and
multiply. In each context, specific histories shape which bodies become the
main objects of fear and what sets of difference are deemed threatening (Ah-
med 2004). Here, we develop the concept of demographic fever dreams to
theorize the role they play in the realm of the political. The term foregrounds
the role of demography in driving politically pertinent anxieties and points
to elements that often are only partly rooted in facts. Like a feverish dream,
these narratives lack coherence even as they evoke deeply felt emotions. Rather
than dismissing these demographic fever dreams as nonsensical, we argue that
they do crucial political work to animate and inspire right-wing populist po-
litical movements worldwide.
Demographic fantasies are not uniform across contexts. As we consider
the political purpose of these demographic fever dreams, the fears underly-
ing them, and how the vivid imagery ties into fears of masculine decline and
panic, we unravel these oddly specific imaginaries. In each of these instances,
a vivid and fantastic fiction is used by figures with political power to amplify,
1
See Hyndman (2001), Fluri (2011), Dowler (2013), and Clark (2016).
gendered to justify violent masculinity in its defense.2 Its focus on the politi-
cal emergence of a violent masculinity as dominant complements theories of
masculinity, specifically R. W. Connell’s (1987) conceptualization of hege-
monic masculinity as an idealized form that regulates and shapes the range
of masculinities possible within a society (see also Connell and Messerschmidt
2005). Linking embodied nationalism to emergent hegemonic forms of
violent masculinity deepens the analysis provided by ethnographies and oral
histories that center the lived and gendered experience of such violence.3 At
the same time, this research contributes to geographies of masculinities that
emphasize multiple, fluid, and relational production of masculinities that are
influenced by the political, racial, gendered, religious, and class dynamics of
specific localities, as well as global discourses and geopolitical strategies.4 Pe-
ter Hopkins’s (2008) work, for example, shows how the US-led war on ter-
ror has deeply impacted the formation of youthful Muslim masculinities and
their everyday lives in Scotland, while Claire Dwyer, Bindi Shah, and Gurcha-
then Sanghera (2008) analyze the effects of the transformation of South
Asian Muslim men’s image, from “cricket lover” to “terror suspect” in in the
post–September 11 United Kingdom.
Feminist political geography has been especially effective in noting the
ways that a national sense of insecurity is generated by political actors to
shore up agendas, while human security is simultaneously undermined.5
Here, we train our eyes on embodied life as the site where nationalist and geo-
political conflicts are constituted through webs of affective relationships and
mark certain bodies as threatening and fearsome.
Barbara Spackman’s (1996) work on fascist virilities and Klaus Thewe-
leit’s (1987) work on male fantasies point to a relationship between the pol-
itics of strongmen and gendered narratives around the creation of mascu-
linity and the risks of the feminine. Theweleit connects military masculinity
with violence, specifically fear-based hatred of women and femininity in the
fantasies of the Freikorps, a volunteer army that fought internal revolution
in interwar Germany. Many of the Freikorps would go on to Nazi leadership.
In their narratives, Theweleit finds that female figures are the object of vio-
2
See Enloe (1989), Anthias and Yuval-Davis (1992), Das (1995), Collins (1999), Mayer
(2004), and Roberts (2014).
3
See Das (1995), Butalia (2000), Chatterji and Mehta (2007), and Saikia (2011).
4
See Berg and Longhurst (2003), Ehrkamp (2008), Hopkins and Noble (2009), and Gö-
karıksel and Secor (2017).
5
See Mountz (2004), Oza (2007), Fluri (2011), Martin (2011), Christian, Dowler, and
Cuomo (2016), and Gökariksel and Secor (forthcoming); see also special issues on feminist geo-
politics, including Dixon and Marston (2011), Williams and Massaro (2013), and Pain and
Staeheli (2014).
6
See Silvey (2004), Legg (2005), Hopkins and Pain (2007), Bailey (2009), and Robbins
and Smith (2017).
7
See Bialasiewicz (2006), McCann (2009), Cowen and Siciliano (2011), and Smith and
Vasudevan (2017).
and aggression. Erdoğan’s rise on the national scene came with his election
as the first mayor from an Islamist party to preside over metropolitan Istanbul
in 1994. His 1997 persecution for publicly reciting a poem that the secular-
dominated judiciary and military deemed provocative became another in-
stance of Erdoğan’s suffering that linked his body to the oppressed masses
once again. He was sentenced to ten months in prison, served four months,
and was barred for life from public office (Rotham 2016). When he was re-
leased from prison, he participated in the establishment of the AKP as an
Islamically oriented, thoroughly neoliberal capitalist, initially pro-EU party
that came to power in 2002. After the AKP lifted the ban preventing him from
serving in public office, Erdoğan became the prime minister (2003–14) and first
president to be elected by the public (rather than Parliament) in 2014.
In his rise to power, Erdoğan presented the AKP as the party of the op-
pressed and victimized and continues to formulate his powerful position as a
direct representation of the will of the nation, and thereby unquestionable.
Despite the unprecedented power he has amassed over the decade and a half
the AKP has ruled the country, solidified by the transition to a presidential
political system in 2017, Erdoğan continues to remind the masses of their
shared victimhood and an ever-existing threat of returning to a past of op-
pression. This threat is variously located in the mostly liberal and leftist Gezi
protestors of the summer of 2013, the Kurdish and Alevi minority popula-
tion that threatens a Turkish and Sunni majority, and the failed July 2016
coup attempt allegedly organized by the religious Fethullah Gülen’s hizmet
(service) movement, which used to be an AKP ally (Demiralp 2016; Yavuz
and Koç 2016) and is now labeled a terrorist organization and persecuted
(BBC 2016). When Erdoğan stated that no Muslim family should practice
birth control (Hürriyet 2016), he not only expressed the importance of a
young and large population for Turkey’s economy and political power but
also argued that the “events” of the previous three years had clearly shown
the need for “growing our own generations” and taking the matter into
“our” hands to ensure their piety—and their loyalty, referring to the perceived
betrayal of Gülenists and others. Thus, Erdoğan has framed his ambitions to
“raise a pious [Sunni Muslim] generation” within an understanding of betray-
als of those whose loyalties are suspect, and he has politically reinforced the
link between Sunni piety and loyalty (Hürriyet 2012). In fact, the AKP govern-
ment has proposed and implemented a series of measures to reengineer Tur-
key’s population for this purpose by introducing religion classes that focus
on Sunni Islam in primary schools and by expanding religious education
in middle and high schools. Critics also point to the placement of Syrian ref-
ugee camps in or near Alevi villages in eastern Turkey as a strategy to change
the demographic composition of these areas to ensure Sunni hegemony
(Dağlar 2016). By 2017, Turkey’s fertility rate had fallen below replacement
level to 2.1, its lowest since World War I (Sarıoğlu 2017)—a fact that gained
fantastical elements in the government’s persistent narratives that link declin-
ing fertility rates to the threat of population decline and the demise of the na-
tion.
While Erdoğan targets young, vigorous, devout Muslim men as the source
of New Turkey’s power, he relegates women mainly to the role of repro-
ducers (like his wife, who bore their four children). This approach to women
is central not only to Erdoğan’s conservatism but also his authoritarianism
(Yılmaz 2015). In an infamous speech that he gave at the first international
meeting of the women’s organization KADEM (Kadın ve Demokrasi Der-
neği, Women and Democracy Association) focusing on the topic of “Women
and Justice,” Erdoğan denied the equality of men and women, arguing that
gender equality would be against fıtrat (creation; Milliyet 2014). He con-
tinues to depict women—especially headscarf-wearing women who suffered
under the secular regime’s implementation of dress codes that restricted ac-
cess to education, employment, and public service—as victims and empowers
men and masculinist institutions such as the police force to protect women
and stay vigilant in the face of constant threat. During the tumultuous time
of the 2013 Gezi Park protests, which began as a sit-in against plans to de-
molish a central city park and quickly evolved into a wider criticism of the
AKP regime and its neoliberalism, imposition of an Islamic lifestyle, and re-
strictions on civil liberties, Erdoğan kept referring to a story that was proved
to be false months later. According to this story, a young, headscarf-wearing
mother and her baby were attacked by a large group of men while waiting for
a bus in Istanbul. There were several reliable reports of headscarf-wearing
women being harassed at the time, but there were also many headscarf-
wearing women participating in the protests, including a group who orga-
nized a demonstration that criticized harassment of all women. Yet the pro-
government media and politicians, including Erdoğan, repeated the story of
the attack. As the story circulated, twenty men became forty, and other em-
bellishments appeared to make the narrative even more appalling: supposedly
men had bare chests, some carried chains, and they urinated on the baby. By
the time the story was proved false by CCTV footage, it had already done the
political work of rallying crowds to counter the Gezi protests and discredit
the protestors as thugs whose only goal was to bring back “secular tyranny”
(Gökarıksel 2016, 236).
If the story of a woman being assaulted by secularist brutes served the
AKP’s narrative of an ever-present threat, the 2016 coup attempt helped so-
lidify the empowerment of ordinary men who are loyal to Erdoğan as the
defenders of democracy and protectors of the nation. Only a few hours into
as prime minister, “love jihad” discourses have proliferated and been accom-
panied by a ghar wapsi (“homecoming”) campaign seeking Hindu converts,
as well as new rounds of violence stemming from “cow protection” (Pal-
shikar 2015; Gupta 2016; Varma 2017). While Modi has at times sought
to distance himself from the BJP’s Hindu nationalist roots, for many this
centrist posturing has been unconvincing, and under his leadership regional
party leaders and the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS, or National Volun-
teer Organization, a militant part of the family of Hindu national organiza-
tions) have been emboldened (Palshikar 2015; Jaffrelot 2016, 2017). This
has been particularly evident in comments made by regional party members—
for instance, the new chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, Yogi Adityanath, who
threatened, “if one Hindu girl is converted, we will convert 100 Muslims
girls. . . . The way Hindu girls are insulted, I don’t think a civilised society
would accept it. . . . If the government is not doing anything, then the Hin-
dus will have to take matters into their own hands” (in Safi 2017).
The love jihad narrative first emerged in 2009, following a case of two
women allegedly abducted from their local college in Kerala and coerced
into Islam in order to marry Muslim men (Gupta 2009; Das 2010). Subse-
quent court cases in Kerala and Karnataka, widely reported in the national
media, alleged a wider conspiracy, and police even investigated whether or
not there was a love jihad organization (Das 2010). Within days, pamphlets
were passed out at Delhi’s Jawaharlal Nehru University (one of India’s most
prestigious institutions). The text warns:
A Pakistan-based terrorist organization is planning, abetting and fi-
nancing the enticement of college students from different communi-
ties in the State to become cannon fodder for its jihad in India. The
report terms such young women as “Love Bombs.” . . . Trapping naïve
Hindu girls in the web of love in order to convert to Islam is the modus
operandi of the said organization. Already more than 4000 girls have
been converted to Islam by these Jihadi Romeos . . . recruits need to
trap a Hindu girl within the time frame of 2 weeks and brainwash
her to get converted and then get married with her within 6 months.
Special instructions to breed at least 4 kids have also been issued. . . .
College students and working girls should be the prime target (in
Das 2010, 381).
As Charu Gupta (2009), Veena Das (2010), and Mohan Rao (2011) have
argued, love jihad is fundamentally linked to older tropes in South Asia on
the potential for violent responses to (and need to police) Hindu-Muslim re-
lationships, particularly in reference to women’s sexuality. As we see in the
pamphlet above, this language also targets specific segments of the popula-
tion (“college students and working girls”) and is one of a series of technol-
ogies for policing women (Varma 2017), which have included restrictions
on movement, mobile phones, and clothing (Phadke, Khan, and Ranade
2011; Varma 2017). We see the vivid specificity of the bewitched Hindu
woman and the Muslim “Romeo” and the conflation of women’s bodies
with territorial conquest, which is both a predisposition of colonial processes
(McClintock 1995; Simpson 2009) and a lasting element of what Ann Laura
Stoler (2013) refers to as “colonial ruination”: the ongoing destructive ef-
fects of colonization that are perpetuated and transformed after indepen-
dence (see also Das 1995; Butalia 2000). As Das (2010, 378) explains in her
extended ethnography of a Hindu-Muslim couple in Delhi, within this con-
text, for ordinary couples, “something as simple as a Hindu boy having fallen
in love with a Muslim girl becomes a seed scattered in the soil of the every-
day. It carries within it the potential to unleash great violence—but also an
opportunity for intimate aspirations to be realized by all who have to re-create
their relations around the couple.” However, while religious intermarriage
on the ground is a complex set of shifting relationships between individuals,
the state, parents, and community organizations (Mody 2008), in the accu-
sations of love jihad it becomes something else entirely—ordinary life is trans-
formed into a feverish kind of fantasy in which a seemingly impulsive inter-
action—flirting—could turn out to be part of a jihadi conspiracy.
This particular form of demographic fever dream is linked to fears built
over the course of the twentieth century, which reached their specific for-
mulations beginning in the 1980s and 1990s, with what has been described
as “Saffron Demography” (Jeffery and Jeffery 2005; Rao 2010). As Patricia
Jeffery and Roger Jeffery (2002, 1806) argue, the “threat” of a rising Mus-
lim population is used to solidify a Hindu voting base through manipulation
of how population is represented and through omission of the ways that
use of family planning is more clearly linked to socioeconomic status, level
of education, and other marks of inclusion that are difficult for religious mi-
norities to obtain.8 More pertinent to our argument are the ways that this
population thinking is profoundly tied to the colonial encounter (e.g., Ap-
padurai 1996; Dirks 2011) and resonates with gendered narratives of col-
onization in which “white men [save] brown women from brown men”
(Spivak 1988, 305; see also Mohanty 1991). It echoes Erdoğan’s “saving”
of the woman pushing the stroller and Trump’s fantasies of protecting
(white) women from the rapists he (a sexual abuser himself ) imagines cross-
ing the US-Mexico border.
8
See Dharmalingam and Morgan (2004), Bhagat and Praharaj (2005), Rao (2010), and
Ghosh and Singh (2015).
9
See Engineer (2002), Brass (2004), Varshney (2004), Jaffrelot (2008), and Chatterjee
(2009).
self as fighting for Gujarat against an indifferent center. He has also done so
in a way that resonates with other nationalist work to define Hindu mascu-
linity in reference to a pathologized Muslim other (Blom Hansen 1996; Bac-
chetta 2000; Banerjee 2005). Modi has forged a new path by working toward
a carefully cultivated image, rising from humble roots as an Other Backward-
Caste tea seller to become the face of India in a suit with pinstripes spelling
his name, presiding over a wave of traditionally communalist incidents of
violence such as cow-protection killings and the love jihad/ghar vapasi cam-
paigns, while simultaneously promoting a deepening neoliberalism in tan-
dem with cultural symbolism appealing to Hindutva (such as his embrace
of yoga).10 Gupta (2016, 292) convincingly argues that the BJP victory in
2014 was inseparable from a deep shift to the right and was dependent on re-
ligious symbolism and the discourses of love jihad and ghar wapsi, which “op-
erate at a subterranean level,” sometimes translating to common sense, such
that some Hindu majoritarians feel emboldened by national politics even as
others vote for the BJP in spite of rather than in deference to its embrace
of Hindutva, either because of Modi’s promise of an economic miracle or
due to India’s tendency to vote out incumbents (in this case the Congress
Party) rather than reelect them. This narrative resonates with the politics of
white supremacy in the 2016 presidential elections in the United States.
10
See Manor (2015), NPR (2015), Indian Express (2017), Jaffrelot (2017), and Patel
(2017).
11
See Puar and Rai (2002), Puar (2007), Silva (2016), and Fojas (2017).
ured elsewhere as the terrorist, the failed heterosexual, the queer monster,
and the foil to “aggressive heterosexual patriotism.”
When Limbaugh speaks of “rural America,” he is invoking a particular
image of “home” as a space of “excessively romanticized belonging” that
also serves as a proxy for the nation-state, where belonging is “based on iden-
tifying and producing those who did not belong” (Silva 2016, 19). When
considering the space of the rural United States, then, we must contend with
how that space is marked as white and how queer and brown bodies threaten
the boundaries of whiteness when they enter rural space. In another exam-
ple, Iowa Congressman Steve King signaled support for Dutch nationalist
Geert Wilder’s Islamophobic xenophobia by tweeting that “culture and de-
mographics are our destiny. We can’t restore our civilization with somebody
else’s babies” (in Haag 2017). We must understand how this message under-
lines the political significance of demography in animating fever dreams
about threats to the future of the nation. That is, “our civilization” in this
tweet quite clearly means white civilization, and “somebody else’s babies”
means brown babies. King’s tweet is just a local variation on the emergent na-
tionalism in the United States that centers an ironically strong and existen-
tially threatened white heteromasculinity under attack from others who in fact
suffer from marginalization, underrepresentation, sexism, and racism.
Importantly, this same rhetoric, with its coded fears of an ever-encroaching
“brown threat” (Silva 2016), was picked up by Trump in his 2016 presi-
dential campaign. Speaking to a group of farmers, bikers, and veterans at a
“Roast and Ride” hosted by Iowa Republican Senator Joni Ernst in Des
Moines, candidate Trump told a mostly white crowd, “I know what’s hap-
pening to you. . . . We get it. We all get it. We understand what’s going
on.” He never explicitly said what’s “going on,” but the audience received
the message—the cheers in response were deafening. Trump positions
“what’s going on” as a battle, where pure white space is being penetrated
by toxic threats, and he promises “to end this war on the American farmer”
(Henderson 2016). The unspoken assumption is that rural America belongs
to white men like the speakers, who view themselves as good, normalized
subjects with an inherent right to own and cultivate the lands they occupy
(DiAngelo 2011). For Trump, these bodies are engaged in a demographic
war against white farmers. The maintenance of fear and anxiety toward lesbian
farmers, Latinx immigrants, and any other demographic group considered
“outside” is thus essential to maintaining this status of the white man as
good subject: a provider and protector. When Trump speaks of “bad hombres” or
claims that Mexican men are crossing the border to rape US women, the fever
dream is a call for a renewed commitment to masculinity (Pascoe 2017). This,
then, is the work that demographic fever dreams do: identify those who must
Conclusion
What are the points of resonance between white panic over demographic de-
cline; the hoped-for, called-into-being upwelling of a vigorous Sunni youth;
and the fear-mongering of love jihad rhetoric? Putting these three distinct
and empirically rich cases next to one another reveals the important political
work demographic fever dreams do to identify all manner of others as threats
and present strongmen as saviors. Four aspects of demographic fever dreams
are key to their functioning as a fleshy and sticky set of stories that take on a
life of their own.
First, demographic fever dreams’ vivid specificity catches the imagination
and invokes strong emotions through its centering on a particular figure or
scene. Second, these narratives are obsessed with demographic changes that
link the past and the future of the nation to population. Third, despite the
previous observation, these narratives are strangely detached from demo-
graphic data. Finally, these fever dreams reflect a specifically gendered dimen-
sion, and they respond to particular masculinities that are understood as both
threatened and resurgent. Gendered tropes in fever dreams often project the
sense of victimhood and fragility onto a specific or anonymous woman whose
imagined vulnerability is compelling and does not challenge strong masculin-
ity but makes it necessary. The strongman can then emerge as the savior who
can protect women and the nation, restore order, and ensure the population’s
present and future well-being. This gendered representation of masculinity
undergirds all the demographic fever dreams analyzed here and is bolstered
by the embodied performances of Erdoğan, Modi, and Trump, among
others. These figures skillfully translate perceived masculine strength into the
perception of a strong political leadership. Yet their narratives and embodi-
ment also shore up a sense of grievance and loss, enacting a “politics of re-
sentment” (Cramer 2016) and victimhood that often relies on a corollary
femininity in need of protection. The feverish dreamlike aspects of demo-
graphic narratives espoused in Turkey, India, and the United States thus un-
derline a masculinity that is simultaneously strong and weak, under constant
threat and (potentially) victorious.
Demographic fever dreams operate similarly to postapocalyptic narra-
tives that play on “fears of being overwhelmed or overpowered by racialized
others”: in these narratives, “the only thing worse than being killed and eaten
by a zombie is becoming a zombie oneself ” (Fishel and Wilcox 2017, 341–
42). Fear of conversion and recruitment is central to many of these demo-
graphic fantasies. Love jihad threatens to transform Hindus into Muslims,
declining fertility rates and a perceived lack of piety threaten the nation in
Turkey, and queer farmers in the United States threaten agriculture as we
know it. Each of these fears is intensely and intimately embodied and called
into operation through seductive and deceptive means—threatening to in-
fect the heart and body, to render college girls into love bombs, to bring
queer identity to the heart of rural and agriculture heartlands, to harm moth-
ers and daughters through corruption and impurity. Such fictions reflect a
strong desire by dominant groups to contain the threat of contamination rep-
resented by otherized bodies or future-oriented dreams and to build a loyal,
homogenous nation. The demographic fever dream warns its audience to
turn to the strongman in a suit or else risk all manner of chaos and danger,
and it provides specific characters and story lines to allow the fever dreams to
take on a life of their own.
We do not care to smugly dismiss fears about an unlikely takeover by
others or calls for women to have at least three children but, instead, desire
to more carefully consider the content, deployment, and mechanisms of these
vivid demographic imaginaries. In her work on fascism in Italy, Spackman
(1996) emphasizes the ways that pathologizing fascism risks marking it as
irrational and allows us to evade our own participation. Spackman (1996, xi)
suggests that the syntax of fantasy can be mapped onto social and cultural fan-
tasies in ways that “bind together a knowledge and a nonknowledge” so that
“fantasy acts as a structuring illusion.” Similarly, demographic fever dreams
shape the affective experiences and perceptions of (at least part of ) the public
and help craft what makes sense even when it does not. In putting forward
the demographic fever dreams framework, our hope is that we can begin to
unwind this binding and identify its resonances and contradictions to bet-
ter understand how to combat the violent technologies of purification and
policing that they enable. When demographic fever dreams begin to spread,
often a first response is incredulity and feigned or sincere shock on behalf of
those who do not wish to partake in these feverish escapades, or a knowing
eye roll from those who are all too familiar with these story lines. We joke,
we satirize, we highlight the absurdity of a wave of taco trucks or the burkini
as dangerous. But absurdity turns out to be not a sign of the fever dream’s
failure but rather its success. As we saw in Charlottesville, however absurd
the army, their aim is violence. In moving forward, we must instead push into
the discomfort of working to understand the origins of these feverish scenar-
ios, to unravel their logics, and to pinpoint the ways that they are not outside
“normal” but rather an intensification of the everyday violences that we al-
ready inhabit.
Department of Geography
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
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