Weapons of the weak

Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance

Introduction:

By exploring the everyday forms of resistance among Malaysian farmers—laziness, feigning incompetence, desertion, feigned obedience, theft, silencing, defamation, arson, and sabotage—the author reveals the sociological roots of the ongoing struggle between farmers and those who exploit their labor, food, taxes, rent, and profits. The author argues that farmers leverage tacit understandings and informal networks to engage in a defensive war of attrition using low-profile resistance techniques, confronting overwhelming inequality with resolute and resilient effort to avoid the collective risks of open rebellion.

Introduction:

An unforgettable work that could become a classic.
—The Times Literary Supplement

Anyone interested in understanding Southeast Asian peasant societies should not miss this book.
——Journal of Asian Studies

A remarkable book…Scott's brilliant work provides a "full picture" of peasant resistance to foreign aggression that ethnographic reports cannot and will not reveal…a brilliant theoretical and empirical account of everyday forms of resistance to hegemony.
—Edward W. Said




Preface

The limitations of any field of study are most evident in the shared definition of the research it undertakes. A significant amount of recent research on peasants—my own and others—has focused on questions of resistance and revolution. To be fair, beyond the usual standard ethnographic accounts of kinship, ritual, farming, and language, much attention has been focused on organized, large-scale protest movements, which, however fleeting, clearly posed a threat to the state. I can imagine a series of mutually reinforcing factors contributing to the prevalence of this shared understanding of the significance of such movements. On the left, the excessive focus on peasant uprisings was clearly fueled by the Vietnam War and the now-waning fascination with national liberation wars within left-wing academia. This fascination was fostered by historical records and archives that were strictly centered on national interests, never mentioning peasants unless their actions posed a threat to the state. On the other hand, peasants appear in statistics only as anonymous "contributors" to conscription, food production, taxation, and so on. Each study within this perspective emphasizes a different aspect. Some studies can only emphasize the role of outsiders—prophetesse, radical intellectuals, political parties—in mobilizing the often indolent and unorganized peasantry. Other studies focus only on those movements most familiar to Western social scientists—those with names, flags, organizational structures, and formal leaderships. Still others contribute only to the precise examination of movements that have the potential to drive large-scale, structural change at the national level.
What this perspective overlooks, I believe, is the simple fact that, throughout most of history, most subordinate classes were rarely able to engage in overt, organized political action; that was too much of a luxury for them. In other words, such movements were, if not self-destructive, then too dangerous. Even when the choice existed, it was unclear whether the same goal could be achieved through different strategies. After all, most subordinate classes had little interest in changing the grand structure and laws of the state; they were more concerned with what Hobsbawm called "minimizing the disadvantages of the system." Formal, organized political activity, even if clandestine and revolutionary, was typically the preserve of the middle class and the intelligentsia; searching for peasant politics in this realm would largely be fruitless. Not incidentally, this is also the first step toward the conclusion that the peasant class is politically ineffective unless it is organized and led by outsiders.
Peasant rebellions, to the extent that they did matter when they did occur, were remarkably rare—let alone peasant revolutions. They were mostly crushed with relative ease, and even on the rare occasions when they did succeed, the results achieved were sadly rarely what the peasants actually wanted. Whatever revolution succeeded—and I don't mean to deny that they did—usually resulted in a larger and more coercive state apparatus that enriched itself by exploiting the peasants even more effectively than its predecessor.
For these reasons, it is more important for me to understand what might be called the "everyday" forms of peasant resistance—the mundane yet relentless struggles between peasants and those who seek to extract labor, food, taxes, rent, and benefits from them. Most of these forms of struggle avoid the risks of overt collective rebellion. Here, I can think of the everyday weapons employed by these relatively vulnerable groups: laziness, feigned ignorance, desertion, feigned obedience, theft, silencing, slander, arson, sabotage, and so on. These Brechtian—or Schweikian—forms of class struggle share common characteristics. They require little coordination or planning, utilize tacit understandings and informal networks, often manifest as individual self-help, and avoid direct, symbolic confrontation with authority. Understanding these ordinary forms of resistance is to understand most of the efforts peasants have made over the years to protect their interests against either conservative or progressive orders. I suspect that it is precisely this type of resistance that has long been the most meaningful and effective. Thus, the feudal historian Bloch observed that the great millennial movement was but a "blip" compared to the "persistent, silent struggle waged by the rural communities" to avoid claims on their productive surplus and to maintain their ownership of the means of production—farmland, forests, pastures, and so on. This perspective certainly applies to the study of slavery in the New World. Analysis of the relationship between slaves and their masters must not simply look for rare, heroic, and doomed acts like those of Nat Turner or John Brown, but must focus on the constant, petty conflicts over work, food, autonomy, and ritual—the everyday forms of resistance. In the Third World, peasants rarely risk direct confrontation with authorities over issues like taxation, farming practices, development policies, or onerous new laws; they are more likely to erode these policies through noncooperation, shirking, and deception. They prefer gradual appropriation of land to outright seizure; they choose desertion over open mutiny; and they prefer petty theft to looting public or private granaries. And when farmers stop using these strategies and resort to quixotic actions, it's usually a sign of large-scale desperation.
This low-profile technique of resistance is perfectly suited to the social structure of the peasantry—the peasant class, dispersed across the countryside and lacking formal organization, is best suited to large-scale, guerrilla-style, defensive warfare. Their individual actions, such as procrastination and flight, are reinforced by an age-old culture of popular resistance. Accumulated by the tens of thousands, they ultimately render the policies conceived by self-righteous officials in the capital completely unfeasible. Everyday forms of resistance require no name. However, like the millions of coral polyps that form a coral reef, the vast array of peasant resistance and non-cooperation creates its own unique political and economic reefs. To a large extent, peasants demonstrate their political participation in this way. Metaphorically, when the ship of state runs aground on these reefs, people often focus on the shipwreck itself, failing to recognize the massive accumulation of these insignificant actions that made the wreck possible. For this reason alone, it is crucial to understand the subversive nature of these silent, anonymous peasant actions.
Towards this end, I spent two years (1978-1980) in a village in Malaysia. I call this village Sedaka, which is not its real name. It is a small, rice-growing village (70 households) in Kedah's main rice-producing region. Double tillage was introduced in 1972. Like many other "Green Revolutions," it made the rich even richer while the poor remained poorer or even became even poorer. The introduction of large combine harvesters in 1976 was perhaps the final blow, eliminating two-thirds of wage-earning opportunities for small landowners and landless laborers. During these two years, I managed to gather a wealth of relevant data. I focused not only on the practice of resistance itself but also on the ideological struggle within the village—the struggle that shaped it. In this book, I attempt to discuss the major themes of resistance and class struggle, as well as the ideological domination that gave these themes their practical and theoretical significance.
In Sedaka, the struggle between rich and poor is not just a struggle over jobs, property rights, food, and money; it is also a struggle over the possession of symbols, a struggle over how the past and present are understood and categorized, a struggle to identify reasons and assess faults, and a combative effort to give partisan meaning to local history. The details of this struggle are not glamorous, often involving backbiting, gossip, personal attacks, nicknames, body language, and silent contempt, much of which is confined to the "backstage" of village life. In public life—that is, in situations of power—calculated deference is common and constant. A striking feature of this aspect of class conflict is the extent to which it requires a shared worldview. For example, without shared standards of what constitutes deviance, shame, and disrespect, gossip and personal attacks are meaningless. In a sense, the intensity of the debate is based on the fact that the shared values ​​people advocate are being violated. What people are arguing about isn't the values ​​themselves, but the facts to which these values ​​apply: who's rich, who's poor, how they become rich, why they're poor, who's stingy, who avoids work, and so on. Besides being seen as a constraining force mobilizing social opinion, these struggles can also be seen as efforts by the poor in this small community to resist their economic and ritual marginalization and uphold a minimum of civic cultural dignity. This perspective implicitly affirms the value of a "meaning-centered" analysis of class relations. In the final chapter of this book, I will explain and explore the broader issues of ideological domination and hegemony.
During my 14 months in Sedaka, I experienced moments of elation, frustration, bewilderment, and tedium—all experiences that any anthropologist can relate to. Since I wasn't a formal anthropologist, all of these experiences were completely new to me. Without Bailey's practical field research lectures, I wouldn't have known how to proceed. Even with this wise advice, I was still unprepared for the fundamental fact that an anthropologist works from the moment they wake up to the moment they go to bed. For the first few months, my outdoor activities were mostly for no purpose but to be alone. I discovered the need for a cautious neutrality—that is, to remain silent—which was wise but also a huge psychological burden. As my own "hidden texts" (see Chapter 7) grew, I first realized the truth of Jean Duvergnard's observation: "In most cases, the village makes concessions to the outsider researcher, and the researcher usually resorts to hiding." I also found that my neighbors always forgave my inevitable mistakes, tolerated my curiosity at every turn, and allowed me to work in their presence. They had a remarkable ability to both laugh at me and be friendly with me, a dignity and courage to draw boundaries, and a sociable nature, often engaging in long evening conversations with me on topics of interest even in the off-season. Their kindness showed that they had adapted to me better than I had to them. The time I spent with them has meant more to my life and work than words can express.
Despite my efforts to prune the original manuscript, it remains quite long. This is primarily because the telling of many specific stories is crucial for revealing the structure and practice of class relations. Since every story has at least two sides, it's necessary to consider the "Rashomon effect" of social conflict. Another reason for striving to tell these stories is to elevate the study of class relations at a fundamental level. I believe these more macroscopic reflections require detailed, flesh-and-blood examples to reveal their essence. Therefore, an example is not only the most successful way to crystallize a generalization, but also offers the advantage of being richer and more complex than a generalized principle.
Where Malay translation proved difficult, or where the Malay expressions themselves were interesting, I included them in the text or in footnotes. Except for formal speeches to outsiders, I never used a tape recorder. My work relied on fragmentary notes taken during the conversation or written down immediately afterwards. Since only a few more memorable fragments of many sentences could be recalled, the Malay I recorded had a somewhat telegraphic quality. When I first arrived, I couldn't understand the dialects of rural Kedah; many villagers spoke to me in the simpler Malay they used in the market.
I believe this book had another unique motivation. More than any other rural research, it is a product of the people I researched. When I began my research, my plan was to develop my analysis, write it up, and prepare a brief oral presentation of my findings. Then, I would return to the villagers to gather their reactions, comments, and criticisms. These reactions would be collected in the final chapter—a section called "Villager Responses," or, if you prefer, "book reviews" from those who should be aware of the book's content. In fact, during my final two months in Sedaka, I spent much of my time gathering these comments from most of the villagers. The various comments—which often reflected the reviewers' class positions—were filled with insightful critiques, corrections, and suggestions addressing issues I had overlooked. All of this, while transforming my original analysis, also raised a question: Should I leave my earlier, blunt analysis to the readers and present the villagers' insights only at the end? This was my initial thought, but as I began writing, I realized it was impossible to write as if I didn't know what I now knew, so I gradually incorporated these insights into my own analysis. The result is an understanding of the extent to which the villagers of Sedaka are both the cause of the analysis and the raw material for the research, thus making those complex conversations more like monologues.
Finally, I must emphasize that this is a very self-conscious study of local class relations. This means that peasant-state relations, where resistance abounds, are conspicuously absent, except insofar as they impact local class relations. It also means that ethnic conflicts, religious movements, or protests, which are crucial in any political crisis, are largely unaddressed. Nor does this book attempt to analyze the economic origins of the nuanced class relations examined here, which can easily be traced back to boardrooms in New York and Tokyo. It also means that formal party politics at the provincial or national level is ignored. From one perspective, all of these omissions are unfortunate. But from another, the effort is to demonstrate the importance, richness, and complexity of local class relations, and the potential discoveries that can be made from an analytical perspective that is not centered on the state, formal organizations, public protest, or ethnicity.

The following overly lengthy acknowledgments are meant to acknowledge the vast amount I had to learn in order to conduct my research, as well as the patience and generosity of those who mentored me. To the Sedaka families—whose names are withheld for obvious reasons—I owe a great debt, a debt heavy because more than one person felt their kindness was abused by what I have written. That, of course, is the human dilemma for a professional outsider, and I can only hope that they will find that I have made an honest effort, within my limited knowledge, to do justice to what I have observed and heard.
My host institution was the School of Comparative Social Sciences at Universiti Sains Malaysia (USM) in Penang. I was extremely fortunate to be a guest and scholar. I would like to express my special thanks to Mansor Marican, Chandra Muzaffar, Mohd Shadli Abdullah, Cheah Boon Kheng, Khoo Kay Jin, Colin Abraham, Vice-President and Dean Kamal Salih, and Assistant Dean Amir Hussin Baharuddin of the School for their advice and kindness. Nafisah bte. Mohamed, as a special tutor in Kedah dialects, helped me prepare for my fieldwork. The Policy Research Centre at USM has conducted excellent research on the Muda Project in Kedah and the agricultural policies associated with it. Lim Teck Ghee and David Gibbons of the Centre not only helped me develop my research plan but also became invaluable friends and critics, whose contributions can be found throughout the book—even when I decided to go my own way. I also want to thank Sukur Kasim, Harun Din, Ikmal Said, George Elliston, and, of course, the center's director, KJ Ratnam. The officials at the Mudar Regional Agricultural Development Authority headquarters in Teluk Chengai, near Alor Setar, were always so generous with their time, their statistics, and, most importantly, their vast experience. Finding such knowledgeable, rigorous, and forthright officials in any development project is a rare feat. Affifuddin Haji Omar and S. Jegatheesan, as well as Datuk Tamin Yeop, then General Manager of the Mudar Regional Agricultural Development Authority, were also very helpful.
The members of the "invisible college" whose research and writings on rural Malaysian society intersect with mine have contributed greatly to my understanding and analysis. Given their vast number, I have undoubtedly omitted some. Some would prefer not to be mentioned, but I must mention a few: Syed Husin Ali, Wan Zawawi Ibrahim, Shaharil Talib, Jomo Sundaram, Wan Hashim, Rosemary Barnard, Aihwa Ong, Shamsul Amri Baharuddin, Diana Wong, Donald Nonini, William Roff, Judith and Shuichi Nagata, Lim Mah Hui, Marie*9-André Couillard, Rodelfe de Koninck, Lorraine Corner, and Akira Takahashi. Mansor Haji Othman and S. Ahmad Hussein, two faculty members from the University of Science Malaysia who came to Yale to do their senior theses, provided me with important advice and criticism. Finally, I am particularly grateful to Kenzo Horii of the Institute of Development Economics in Tokyo, who generously conducted a study of land ownership in Sedaka in 1968 and made the results available so that I could determine what the changes over the past decade meant.
The final manuscript has been significantly improved by the meticulous criticism and corrections of my colleagues. I reluctantly renounced arguments they deemed absurd or irrelevant—or both—while adding historical and analytical material they deemed necessary. Even when I rejected their views, I always tried to mitigate direct attacks by strengthening or modifying my own position. However, that's all. If they remain completely committed to their views, I will continue to revise and work to correct the confusion they unintentionally created. I can't wait to repay their kindness. Thanks to Ben Anderson, Michael Adas, Clive Kessler, Sam Popkin (yes, that guy), Mansor Haji Othman, Lim Teck Ghee, David Gibbons, Georg Elwert, Edward Friedman, Frances Fox Piven, Jan Gross, Jonathan Rieder, Diana Wong, Ben Kerkvliet, Bill Kelly, Vivienne Shue, Gerald Jaynes, and Bob Harms. There are also some people who remain nameless, who agreed or even requested to read the manuscript, perhaps having read some of the chapters and reconsidered them. They know who they are. Sorry!
Funding from many institutions has enabled me and this research to continue since 1978. I am particularly grateful to the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, the National Science Foundation (Grant No. SOC 7802756), and Yale University for their support of my research in Malaysia. More recently, an Exxon Fellowship from the MIT Program in Science, Technology, and Society enabled the final draft and most of the revisions to this book. Carl Kaysen tolerated my intense focus on the manuscript and, along with Martin Kreiger, Kenneth Kenniston, Charles Weiner, Peter Buck, Loren Graham, Carla Kirmani, Leo Marx, and Emma Rothschild, helped me maintain intellectual growth. A seminar on "History and Peasant Consciousness in Southeast Asia," sponsored by the National Museum of Ethnology in Osaka, Japan, and arranged by Shigeharu Tanabe and Andrew Turton, helped to clarify my ideas. Another, more contentious working conference, held at the Institute for Social Research in The Hague, organized with the help of the Social Science Research Council, played an important role in the analysis of resistance in Chapter 7. Although I am not sure whether the participants in either conference fully agreed with the arguments I put forward, they should at least be aware of the invaluable contributions of their contributions and criticisms to this book.
Thanks are also due to the following publications for the publication of early portions of this work: International Political Science Review (October 1973); History and Peasant Consciousness in Southeast Asia (Andrew Turton and Shigeharo Tanabe, eds., Yamazaki Ethnology Studies, No. 13; Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 1984); Political Anthropology (1982); Malaysian Studies 1:1 (June 1983, in Malay).
Many typists, typesetters, and editors have devoted their time and energy to the production of this book, and I would like to thank Beverly Apothaker, Kay Mansfield, and Ruth Muessig for their excellent work.
The book is so intertwined with my family life that it dispenses with any of the usual clichés that are usually offered here. I can say here that, try as I might, I was never able to convince Louise or the children even remotely that they were contributing to my writing of it.
Postscript: "Weapons of the Weak": A Grassroots Perspective on Peasant Politics

James Scott, a professor of political science and anthropology at Yale University, describes Southeast Asian peasants as smallholders occupying a low social status. Despite being the majority of the population in agricultural societies, they remain voiceless and nameless in grand historical narratives, a group rarely recorded in written form. Even when they occasionally appear in historical records, it's not as participants, but rather as contributors to conscription, taxation, labor, land output, and grain harvests, thus appearing only as statistically unnamed figures. However, the peasants' historical invisibility doesn't mean they're unnoticed. Rulers of every dynasty certainly paid attention to them, but the reason for this attention is that, for a long time, peasants were the objects of exploitation, providing essential resources—agricultural products, taxes, fees, and cheap labor—that are indispensable to any society. Furthermore, the peasants' living conditions and the resulting collective actions often affected the stability or instability of society as a whole, even leading to the change of dynasties. This is the principle familiar to rulers of every society: "Water can carry a boat, but it can also overturn it."
The concern for farmers and the call for solutions to agricultural and rural problems stem, to a certain extent, from a sense of crisis: a deteriorating living condition for farmers would affect the stability of society as a whole, or rather, from a top-down response to a warning of danger. People cite historical examples of large-scale peasant uprisings or refugee incidents to urge policymakers and the public to have a strong sense of crisis. Clearly, this concern for farmers, born out of a "crisis" response, has not yet departed from the perspective of the ruling elite, or the vested interests of the urban elite. In this perspective, farmers exist as objects of governance, precautions, and pity.
Viewing the subject from a peasant's perspective and considering it from a peasant's perspective, the classic research on peasant society cannot be ignored. Following his book The Moral Economy of the Peasant: Rebellion and Survival in Southeast Asia, James Scott's two books, Weapons of the Weak and The Arts of Domination and Resistance: The Hidden Text, offer insights into peasant resistance and peasant politics. Introducing his insightful research is crucial for addressing issues concerning rural society and peasants, and indeed, the broader social structure.
Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance Scott first reflects on and criticizes the fact that many studies of peasant revolutions are interested only in movements that bring about large-scale structural change at the national level. Such studies primarily focus on organized, formal, and public protest movements, because they clearly pose a threat to the state, even if only briefly. However, genuine peasant rebellions are quite rare, often easily defeated, and even when they do succeed, the outcomes they achieve are rarely what the peasants truly desire. Scott distinguishes between so-called "real" resistance and symbolic, occasional, or even incidental acts of resistance, and argues against dismissing informal resistance as insignificant and fruitless. Understandably, historically, formal, organized political movements, even those that are clandestine and revolutionary, have typically been the domain of the middle class and the intelligentsia; searching for peasant politics in this realm is largely futile. Peasants are therefore considered a politically ineffective class unless organized and led by outsiders.
Drawing on his own fieldwork in rural Malaysia, Scott argues that this perspective misses the simple fact that open, organized political action is too much of a luxury for most subordinate classes, and too dangerous, if not self-destructive. He argues that it is more important to understand the "everyday forms" of peasant resistance—the mundane yet ongoing struggles between peasants and those who demand excessive amounts of labor, food, taxes, rent, and benefits from them. These everyday forms of resistance often include laziness, feigning ignorance, desertion, feigned obedience, theft, silencing, slander, arson, and work stoppages. These forms of class struggle, known as "weapons of the weak," share common characteristics: they require little prior coordination or planning, draw on tacit understandings and informal networks, often manifest as individual self-help, and avoid direct, symbolic confrontation with authority.
Understanding these mundane forms of resistance helps us better understand the long-standing efforts of peasants to protect their interests and challenge the ruling order. In the Third World, peasants rarely risk directly confronting authority over issues such as taxation, crop distribution, development policies, or burdensome new laws; they are more likely to undermine these governance strategies through noncooperation, shirking, and deception.
These techniques of resistance have long been the most meaningful and effective. This is because they are suited to the social structure and characteristics of the peasantry: a class scattered across the vast countryside, lacking formal organization and discipline, equipped for widespread guerrilla-style defensive struggle. This everyday form of resistance is a social movement without formal organization, formal leaders, proof, deadlines, or names or banners. However, these humble acts of resistance by the peasantry should not be underestimated. The accumulation of numerous, insignificant actions, like the accumulation of millions of coral polyps over time to form a coral reef, can ultimately cause the state's ship to run aground or capsize. For this reason alone, understanding the subversive nature of these silent, anonymous peasant actions is crucial. Scott argues that regardless of how the state responds, we cannot ignore the fact that peasant actions alter or narrow the state's policy options. It is precisely in this non-rebellious manner, outside the political pressure of law, that the peasantry classically demonstrates their sense of political participation. Therefore, any history or theory of peasant politics that seeks to demonstrate the legitimacy of the peasantry as historical actors must grasp the "weapons of the weak" employed by the peasantry.
Following the peasants' everyday form of resistance, "the weapons of the weak," Scott introduced the analytical concept of "hidden transcripts," encompassing peasants' behavioral choices and ideology. Through this concept, Scott further expounded on the ideological characteristics of the subaltern, explaining and understanding their elusive political behavior. This critique of power, expressed behind the rulers' backs, is a crucial part of the everyday folk wisdom of millions of people. Comparing it with "public transcripts" offers a fundamental new approach to understanding domination and resistance.
As the hidden text of infrapolitical ideology, it is not only a discourse, gesture, and symbolic expression; it is also the basis of practice. Scott's fieldwork in a small Southeast Asian village demonstrates the interdependence and mutual maintenance between peasant resistance practices and resistance discourses. Moreover, the close connection between domination and possession means that it is impossible to separate the ideas and symbols of subordination from the process of material exploitation. Similarly, it is impossible to separate the hidden symbolic resistance to the idea of ​​domination from the actual struggle to oppose or alleviate exploitation. Peasant resistance, like the domination of the rulers, is fought on two fronts. The hidden text is not only the behind-the-scenes anger and complaints; it is also the actual tactics implemented to reduce possession (stealing, playing dumb, slacking off, running away, arson, etc.). Crucially, the hidden text not only illuminates or explains behavior; it also helps to construct it.
The unique logic of peasant resistance and grassroots politics—"weapons of the weak" and "hidden texts"—extends the camouflaged logic of grassroots politics to its organizational and substantive aspects. Because overt political activity is prohibitively costly and virtually eliminated, resistance relies primarily on informal networks of kin, neighbors, friends, and communities rather than formal organizations. Informal gatherings of markets, neighbors, families, and communities provide both structure and cover for resistance. Because resistance occurs at the level of small groups and individuals, even on a larger scale, it employs the anonymity of folk culture or various practical disguises, making it well-suited to surveilling surveillance and repression. In this informal resistance, there are no leaders to arrest, no lists of members to investigate, no manifestos to indict, and no public activities to attract attention. It can be said that it is an elementalized form of political life. These elementalized forms also help explain why grassroots politics often go unnoticed. The logic of grassroots politics is to leave virtually no trace wherever it passes. By concealing traces, it not only minimizes the risk to participants but also eliminates much of the evidence that might lead social scientists and historians to believe that real politics is taking place.
The very nature of grassroots politics, combined with the self-interested silence of its opponents, creates a "conspiratorial silence" that all but erases these everyday forms of resistance from historical records. History and social science, written by intellectuals and largely produced for literate officials, are unable to reveal these silent, anonymous forms of class struggle on behalf of the peasantry—what Scott likens to infrared grassroots politics. Unlike the openness of democratic politics and the clear-cut, vocal protests, these discreet forms of resistance employed by subordinate groups lie outside the visible spectrum of political activity.
In this regard, writing about the unwritten history of resistance and assigning it political status, as well as understanding and analyzing the peasants' "weapons of the weak," becomes a highly meaningful endeavor. Scott connects local insights from village studies with larger social experiences of class and the typical context of class struggle. By deeply analyzing everyday forms of symbolic resistance and everyday actions of economic resistance, he achieves an understanding of class consciousness and ideological hegemony. Particularly noteworthy is Scott's exploration of the subtle relationship between everyday forms of resistance and ruling ideology. While he does not deny Marx's classic assertion that "the ideology of the ruling class is the ideology of domination," he emphasizes the extent to which the ruling class can impose its own vision of a just social order not only on the behavior but also on the consciousness of the dominated class. His subaltern perspective enables him to rethink the concept of hegemony and related classical concepts such as "false consciousness" and "mystification." While Gramsci's concept of hegemony articulates the ruling class's demand for control not only of the material but also of the symbolic modes of production, it fails to accurately explain real class relations and class conflict in most contexts. The reason is that the concept of hegemony overlooks the extent to which most subordinate classes are able to discern and demystify dominant ideology based on their daily material experiences. Hegemonic theory also often confuses the inevitable with the legitimate, a mistake subordinate classes rarely make. Within the context of powerful economic appropriation, political domination, and ideological domination, peasants wield their own "weapons of the weak" and "hidden texts" to confront overwhelming inequality with resolute and tenacious effort. What we see in all this is a spirit and practice of avoiding the worst and hoping for the best, precisely constituting the history and enduring tension between domination and resistance.
From "The Moral Economy of the Peasant" to "The Weapons of the Weak" and "The Art of Domination and Resistance," it's easy to see that Scott's exploration of the behavioral choices and spiritual worlds of Southeast Asian peasants continues to advance at the practical level. If we focus solely on formal acts of resistance, or if we explain Southeast Asian peasants' behavior solely through the lens of a "subsistence ethic," we can't understand why they haven't openly rebelled in the face of dire straits. And if they haven't rebelled in such a desperate situation, we wonder what else could have motivated them to rise up in rebellion. The logic of subsistence ethic alone cannot explain peasants' political actions; it must also consider the repressive system, the intensity of violence, and ideological governance. Faced with powerful and tight rule, the disparity in power between the opposing sides prevents a truly antagonistic opposition, a confrontational stalemate. Consequently, the logic of resistance by the weaker party becomes distorted and aberrant. Such resistance could potentially lead to what Hobbes described as a "war of all against all," but it would be unlikely to improve their living conditions or make social institutions more rational. In addition, the disguise of resistance, that is, replacing actual resistance with superficial obedience, may actually strengthen the ruling power. The "weapons of the weak" may also become tools of the strong in the above-mentioned distorted logic of resistance.
Introducing Scott's research on peasant resistance and grassroots politics reveals not only the long-overlooked existence of informal resistance and grassroots ideology, but also the complex and subtle interplay between domination and resistance. This is impossible without a genuine interest in and understanding of peasant society and peasant rights, and without a grassroots perspective that combines top-down and bottom-up approaches.

The translation of this book took a year and a half to complete. Zheng Guanghuai translated the preface and the first half of Chapters 1 through 5, while Zhang Min translated the second half of Chapter 5, Chapters 6 through 8, and the appendix. He Jiangsui proofread and retranslated Chapters 4 and 5. Guo Yuhua and Xun Jianli proofread Chapters 6 through 8 and Chapters 1 through 5, respectively, and then reviewed the entire book. The index was translated by Xun Jianli. This book is required reading in the "Rural Sociology" course at the Department of Sociology at Tsinghua University. The two main translators, motivated by their research interests, read it repeatedly. However, as this was their first time translating an academic work, their experience and translation skills were still limited. The entire translation and proofreading process was a difficult learning process. While I wouldn't say it was painstaking, I did put in a lot of effort. Despite this, errors and omissions are inevitable. Furthermore, Professor Scott's work is vast, brilliant, and profound, seamlessly integrating meticulous anthropological field evidence with grand theories of domination and resistance. Its exposition is meticulous and comprehensive, so our reading and understanding may naturally fall short. We hope readers will point out any shortcomings.
During the translation process, Li Liping, a graduate student in the Department of Political Science at Nankai University, and Shi Yuntong, a doctoral student in the Department of Sociology at Tsinghua University, assisted with translation and proofreading. Special mention must be made of the editor-in-chief of this series, Mr. Liu Dong, who provided tireless assistance and guidance on all aspects of translation and proofreading, from selecting books and contacting authors to various details of translation and proofreading. We express our deep gratitude here.

Guo Yuhua
Beijing, May 2006

2011-04-01

译林出版社

483

9787544717250