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Making the Empire WorkLabor and United States Imperialism$

Daniel E. Bender and Jana K. Lipman

Print publication date: 2015

Print ISBN-13: 9781479871254

Published to NYU Press Scholarship Online: March 2016

DOI: 10.18574/nyu/9781479871254.001.0001

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Introduction

Introduction

Through the Looking Glass: U.S. Empire through the Lens of Labor History

Chapter:
(p.1) Introduction
Source:
Making the Empire Work
Author(s):

Daniel E. Bender

Jana K. Lipman

Publisher:
NYU Press
DOI:10.18574/nyu/9781479871254.003.0014

Abstract and Keywords

This introductory chapter discusses the labor systems that made the U.S. empire from the point of view of labor historians. These chroniclers have recorded that the metropolitan immigrant worker, the faraway plantation laborer, and the domestic guest worker of the United States were joined by flows of goods and commodities, but are separated by notions of ineffable distance. Their stories raise questions about the relationships between worker and employer, solidarity and dissent, distance and proximity, and production and consumption. In addition, the chapter states that the emphasis on empire and labor forces an engagement with a global economy that intimately connects the tropics with industrial production.

Keywords:   U.S. empire, labor historians, metropolitan immigrant worker, plantation laborer, domestic guest worker, global economy, industrial production

If one were to hold up a mirror to the U.S. empire, what would one see? Historians have focused on charging armies, busy bureaucrats, emerging local elites, and anti-empire skeptics at home. To be sure, the empire had its key dates and government and military infrastructure. Historians have often cited the War of 1898, the bureaucratic organization of the U.S. Department of Insular Affairs, the imposition of colonial governors in Puerto Rico and the Philippines, and the technological spectacle of U.S. military bases. Yet alongside these potent political markers, one would see the hundreds of thousands of men and women who worked for, created, and at times, challenged the U.S. empire. Looking closer at the inner workings of empire, there were millions mobilized to build roads and bases, extract natural resources, provide care and comfort, and maintain order.

Empire has a labor history, and it is just beginning to be written. From Hawai‘i to Panama, the daily gyrations of empire had direct consequences on working people. Historians have recorded the contrasts between the metropolitan immigrant worker, the faraway plantation laborer, and the domestic guest worker. All were joined by flows of goods and commodities, yet still separated by notions of ineffable distance. Their stories raise questions about the relationships between worker and employer, solidarity and dissent, distance and proximity, and production and consumption.

In this volume, we gaze through the looking glass at the working people and labor systems that made the U.S. empire. For U.S. historians, an emphasis on empire and labor forces an engagement with a global (p.2) economy that intimately connects the tropics with industrial production. For labor historians, it complicates the standard understanding of the motor behind the domestic economy, which generally traces a progression from an agricultural to an industrial to a service economy. An imperial framework demonstrates that the economy relied on all three types of labor. Simultaneously, looking for the workers who harvested the sugar, cleaned the hotel rooms, provided sexual services, and in some cases migrated to the United States allows diplomatic historians to envision new maps of U.S. empire. This laboring perspective challenges how these stories of empire intersected with “grand narratives” and diplomatic affairs at the national and international levels. In short, missile defense, Cold War showdowns, development politics, military combat, touristic performances, and banana economics have something in common—they all have labor histories.

To plot the borders of the U.S. empire on a map solely dotted with flags would be to minimize it; instead we see the U.S. empire as a project of labor mobilization, coercive management, working-class politics, and a multifaceted military workforce. Labor mobilization created a range of new relationships, including and beyond the relation of employer and worker. Individuals often spent the majority of their daily life in work settings, and the contours of imperial work sites often filtered into racial tensions among migrant groups and native populations, intimate relations of sex and service, and the domestic dynamics of the home. Together we challenge historians to consider the labor that formed, worked, and rendered the U.S. empire visible. The U.S. empire grew, less because flags were raised, than because millions made it so.

Defining Empire, Defining Labor

This volume places workers at the center of the story of the U.S. empire. Their origins and locales are expansive and diverse: some were U.S. citizens who served in the U.S. military or traveled abroad in managerial positions. In Guam, the Philippines, Puerto Rico, the Marshall Islands, and Hawai‘i, workers labored in U.S. territories under a wide range of euphemistic legal categories, but ultimately all negotiated their positions as colonial workers in the shadow of the flag. Others were local men and women who labored within U.S. labor systems in plantation agriculture (p.3) and the service industry in Central America, the Caribbean, and even West Africa. Far from passive or voiceless but equally far from radical anti-imperialists, most men and women confronted the U.S. empire in their daily work lives and through relationships with their employers. The making of the U.S. empire mobilized millions of workers in small and massive workplaces—few of which have received significant attention from U.S. labor or diplomatic historians.1

Debating whether or not the United States is an empire, and if so, what kind of empire it is, has been a kind of Sisyphean exercise within U.S. historiography. Since William Appleman Williams’s seminal insistence on the United States as an imperial polity, scholars have analyzed how anti-colonialism and the denial of empire have enabled the U.S. empire to grow under the mantle of benevolence and liberalism. By the turn of the twenty-first century, most historians recognized that American modernity and empire go together. As Alfred McCoy, Francisco Scarano, and Courtney Johnson wrote, “putting empire back into American history has been the single greatest achievement” in the field of “U.S. foreign relations” over the last three decades.2 It is part of our goal in this volume to recognize that not only did nations and empires grow together, but that they were built by working men and women in a vast range of geographies. The study of work places empire at the heart of American modernity.

Since 2001 and the U.S. wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, empire has become a more accepted word and analytic in both academic and popular discourse; however, it often remains a sweeping explanatory device, rather than a subject of close investigation. In the aftermath of September 11, conservative and progressive pundits alike recognized and even embraced the United States as an empire. Empire is now widely used as a metaphor or a blanket explanation to describe more than a century’s worth of U.S. actions. For those on the right, there has been a new acceptance of the term “empire,” and rather than critique imperial excesses, these commentators and public intellectuals have called on the United States to embrace its power in order to be a better imperial power. For those on the left, “empire” has become a form of critique, associating recent U.S. unilateralism and military adventures with a long, tainted history of other—that is, non-U.S.—empires. Think of Gary Trudeau’s representation of George W. Bush in a tattered Roman legionnaire’s hat. (p.4) The message is clear: here we have a president, exceptional to the central flows of U.S. history and a vainglorious buffoon driven to disastrous adventure. The comic pages aside, in popular and even academic discourse, the U.S. empire is often presented as something that begins abruptly in 1898 and drifts out of focus, and then returns in a kind of parody of the past after 2001. In almost all of these renditions, the workers who fight the wars, pick the bananas, wash the laundry, toil in the oil fields, and serve the cocktails are invisible. Equally obscured is the longer history of settler colonialism and the military, agricultural, and even industrial labor it demanded.

In fact, much of the best scholarship written on the U.S. empire does not come from U.S. historians, but rather from Latin Americanists. Because of the power of the United Fruit Company (UFC) and other U.S. corporations, particularly in Central America and the Caribbean, Latin American historians have long been at the forefront of recognizing the interplay of U.S. military, corporate, and colonial expansion. In addition, far more than U.S. historians, Latin Americanists have prioritized labor and working people as key agents and subjects of analysis, as they narrate the “encounters” and “contacts” between U.S. and Latin American men and women. As Gilbert Joseph deftly noted in Close Encounters of Empire, the etymology of “encounter” epitomizes the paradox of being simultaneously “in” and “against” within the same relationship.3

As this volume builds on earlier scholarship, we define empire by its geographic boundaries and by its labor systems. The United States participated in and, in turn, shaped a global imperial system. Historians have often distinguished between “formal” and “informal” empire—but that artificial binary obscures the nature of working-class experience as well as the braided deployment of state, military, and corporate power and sovereignty. In this iteration, “formal” empire designates direct political and military control as, for example, in the cases of Puerto Rico, the Philippines, Cuba, Hawai‘i, and Guam, while “informal” empire is meant to connote private, corporate, and cultural power as it operated in Nicaragua or Liberia.4 However, for workers this distinction between “formal” and “informal” empire did not always reflect the threat of state violence or the potential for worker control. For example, banana workers in Colombia still confronted the full brunt of state violence despite the informal status of the United Fruit Company’s authority, and these (p.5) categories collapsed even further for Korean sex workers who faced invasive physical and bodily regulations in close proximity to U.S. military bases, despite their country’s formal sovereignty.

Therefore, instead of positing an “informal” or “soft” empire, we argue that the United States engaged with imperial systems and economies throughout the world, and that its models were often at the forefront of imperial adaptation to changing global economies and local resistance movements. As such, we are investigating the creation and management of labor systems. Analyzing the mobilization of workers encourages historians to think about an imperial system. The U.S. imperial system included formal colonies, corporate capitalism, military bases, and interactions across empires. These vast systems mobilized workers through colonial networks, created mass migrations, and often disenfranchised and removed local, indigenous populations. Throughout this volume, we focus on the specific working relationships between workers, their employers, and the labor systems they traversed. The routes followed by labor migrants represent a kind of imperial geography, tracing boundaries of an empire of mobility, just as much as an empire of colonies.

Our contributors demonstrate how the U.S. competed with, and sometimes cooperated with, British, Japanese, and German imperial polities. Instead of charting a multicolored map of competing empires, this framework redefines empire through the lives of the men and women who labored within it, across it, and against it. We are not arguing that the U.S. empire was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The U.S. empire was not all-powerful or monolithic. In some regions, U.S. imperial labor practices were deep and systematic, while in other places, U.S. imperial control was more improvisational. In the face of these distinctions, we argue that the U.S. empire harvested the raw materials of the tropics in specific workplaces, mobilized military force in an archipelago of bases, and constructed tropical paradises in precise Caribbean and Pacific settings, all of which contributed to U.S. empire-making.

An emphasis on work and workers also fundamentally reorients the standard historiographies and chronologies of both diplomatic and labor history. More than fifty years ago, in The Tragedy of American Diplomacy, William Appleman Williams argued that the U.S. economic imperative for expansion drove U.S. foreign relations in what he dubbed (p.6) the “Open Door Policy” or “non-colonial imperial expansion.”5 While Williams carried the analysis of the “Open Door” through the early twentieth century, World War I, World War II, and into the Cold War era, most scholars cite his work as the watershed text whereby a leading U.S. scholar called the United States out as an imperial player.6 In particular, his interpretation of the War of 1898 still holds sway, and he went on to influence a generation of scholars, including Walter LaFeber. While Williams’s book predated the escalation of U.S. military force in Vietnam, his economic critique became more popular and generative in the years during and after the U.S. war in Vietnam. Yet despite Williams, and later LaFeber’s, emphasis on economics, their focus remained on Washington, D.C., and when they thought about production, it was through U.S. trade policy and not labor or working-class experiences.

With the fall of the Berlin Wall and the “end of the Cold War,” Amy Kaplan’s groundbreaking 1993 essay in Cultures of United States Imperialism relaunched academic inquiry into the contours and consequences of the U.S. empire.7 She argued that the treatment of the U.S. empire as an aberration or exceptional moment could be explained by the blindness to empire in the study of American culture, and likewise, the ignorance of culture in the study of empire. Kaplan’s essay has been taken to heart by many scholars, especially for understanding how race and gender making were critically shaped by the imperial project. Yet in one of the relatively overlooked arguments in her essay, Kaplan links the expansion of the U.S. empire less to its territorial coherence, than to the way dominion birthed visions of how land could be used and peoples mobilized to work it.

Kaplan’s work, now several decades old, launched numerous academic ventures, rich in their archival findings and all speaking to what has become virtually a truism: the United States had an empire, stretching back beyond 1898, and that empire produced a sea change in American consumer, cultural, and representational practice.8 Yet despite our debt to Kaplan and this prolific literature, we continue to note the absence of work and working people in a cultural history of empire that has above all concerned itself with U.S. middle-class and elite consumption and representational practice. This volume redirects the focus of scholars of U.S. empire onto the men and women who worked in and built the U.S. empire. While recognizing the key place of the study of (p.7) cultural production and consumerism, we call for greater investigation of the laboring practices that produced coffee, bananas, or the lei. For example, along with recognizing the racial and gender norms that military and pleasure tourists found in buying lei in Hawai‘i, Vernadette Vicuña Gonzalez investigates the time, skill, labor, value, and economy that created and defined the lei buying and selling experience.

The absence of workers in the history of U.S. empire also creates its own discourse of denial and romantic imperial imagination. As Kevin Coleman argues, the power of photography and the archive can serve to preserve or erase worker activism. In this vein, we must also consider the subtle and overt violence that removed working people from the gaze of metropolitan audiences and turned the tropics into paradise, disguising industrial landscapes with palm trees.

As Kaplan and others introduced a new imperial American history, labor historians also looked beyond borders. Rather than empire, many labor historians have been working with a transnationalist analytic. The concept of transnationalism has served to internationalize and reframe U.S. history, but it is not synonymous with empire. Coined by Randolph Bourne during World War I, “transnationalism” was his answer to the growing xenophobia and anti-immigrant legislation promoted during the era.9 Using the term more capaciously, Thomas Bender in the 1990s pressed U.S. scholars to think “transnationally.”10 Immigration specialists subsequently seized on transnationalism as a way to understand migrant communities who bridged two nation-states, thus forming diasporic communities in the United States, while maintaining emotional and economic relationships in their home country.11 The “transnational turn” and its emphasis on the movement of non-state actors across borders challenged U.S. historians to conceptualize the United States as something more than a hermetic entity. For diplomatic history, transnationalism decentered its traditional interest in state actors and high politics and reoriented who “counted” in diplomatic history.

There are multiple traditions and definitions of transnationalism, many augmented and well developed by historians of labor movements, the circulation and migration of workers, and, most recently, capitalism. For labor history, transnationalism seems, at once, an obvious and valuable new analytical tool. If Thomas Bender’s frame focused on both state and elite actors, in the hands of labor historians, transnationalism has (p.8) reinvigorated the tried and true bottom-up approach to political history and embraced the movement of workers as central to its analysis. Building on labor history’s long affinity with histories of migration, Leon Fink’s Maya of Morgantown, for example, offers a compelling example of the value and possibilities of transnational history, highlighting the multiple ways workers crossed borders and created transnational communities, and sometimes, labor movements.12

While some of the essays in this volume also document transnational populations, empire provides an alternate analytic, which identifies a distinct, and massive, cohort of workers. It also identifies the forces that accelerated labor migrations and catalyzed new types of work and workplaces. For example, the Filipino “American nationals” who traveled to California in the 1920s and the Jamaican guest workers who toiled in Florida’s citrus industry in the 1950s were both part of transnational communities and participants in migratory networks defined by empire. Yet these were not the only workers of empire. This volume includes Marshallese workers who never left the Pacific islands, El Salvadoran coffee workers who labored and starved in the fields, and Filipino Scouts who protested their wages within the vicinity of Manila, all men and women who would not be visible through a lens of transnationalism and the United States.13 There is common ground, not yet realized, between labor and diplomatic histories. A labor history of U.S. empire links the study of transnational populations to the imperial structures that disciplined labor, structured new conditions of work, and linked cultural formations, notably of race, to the experience of work.

Beyond the transnational turn, historians have advanced the concept of borderlands. These are also distinct spaces populated by peoples caught in the middle of racial and national categories. The expanding interest of labor historians beyond older industrial belts helps recast borderlands as occupied spaces in which blurred racial and national identities can produce intensely industrialized zones. The auto industry that spreads from Michigan into Ontario or the maquiladora economies that link, for example, El Paso and Ciudad Juárez belie longer histories that entwine work, labor wars, and cross-border migration.14 Linda Gordon’s recent recovery of the concept of “internal colonialism” builds upon an older Marxist explanation for unequal rights and development within domestic populations that served to create a reserve army of labor. She (p.9) expands on this notion to examine Mexican Americans whose transnational lives, often within borderlands spaces, were profoundly shaped by U.S. economic domination within Mexico.15

Our authors in their analysis of imperial and colonial labor within and at U.S. national borders accept Gordon’s “invitation to comparison with external colonialism.” In the process, they describe the emergence of an imperial labor system that structured, above all, borders between race and between types of work. This, in turn, could reinforce national borders and centers immigration firmly within an imperial analytic. Mae Ngai, in distinguishing between “internal” and “imported” colonialism, notes that imperial and colonial relations, whether in Mexico or the Philippines (and beyond), marked the experience of nonwhite migrants as they entered the domestic United States. In this way, the politics of immigration restriction were intimately intertwined with imperial relationships and histories, and the two often came to a head in matters of labor control and labor recruitment. Kornel Chang’s recent work on the Pacific Northwest, for example, aptly maps the routes of white working-class activists working and organizing along an imperial circuit that included Great Britain, South Africa, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and the United States, demonstrating how imperial practices in Transvaal or Brisbane generated an anti-Asian, white supremacist solidarity in the Pacific Northwest. He argues that “in the Pacific Northwest the nexus of white supremacy and Asiatic exclusion was born out of U.S. and British imperialism and the large-scale project to demarcate the boundaries of a ‘White Pacific.’”16 In this way, an imperial analytic can explain both the crossing of borders and the creation of new migratory circuits alongside the politics of exclusion.

As we demarcate the spatial formations of empire and insist upon the routes of labor migrations as key to the geographies of empire, so, too, do we intervene chronologically. This volume takes the era and empire that emerged in the aftermath of emancipation in the United States as its subject of inquiry, thereby challenging flawed notions that empire “begins” abruptly and accidently in 1898. It was in the post-emancipation moment when fierce debates over free and unfree labor, the value and restriction of migratory labor, and the territorial acquisition of noncontinental territories took hold. This is not to deny the imperial history of white settlement throughout the West, the complex role of American Indians as they (p.10) fought to maintain their sovereignty, or U.S. aspirations in Central America and Mexico before the Civil War. Richard Drinnon, Anders Stephanson, and Bruce Cummings have all documented the history of white settlement and Indian warfare that set the stage for the U.S. continental conquest that defined early American history.17 In fact, we would encourage more scholarship on American Indian labor history that integrates American Indians’ economic roles, as both agents and resisters of U.S. empire, and the military labor used to control and limit their sovereignty.

Chronologically, we begin this volume, however, following the seismic shift of the emancipation of slave labor and the resulting need for U.S. capital and political interests to reimagine and mobilize workers who vacillated between “free” and “unfree” existences. Binaries of freedom and slavery, in the long age of the U.S. empire, became, to paraphrase Rebecca Scott, “degrees of unfreedom” characterized by migrant labor, military discipline, and everyday violence.18

Notably, not a single essay takes the War of 1898 as its central node of analysis. A post-emancipation chronology releases us from a fixation on the War of 1898, and rather allows us to foreground the modern practice of labor mobilization and empire building. As we expand upon a historiography indebted to Williams and later Kaplan, we insist upon uncovering the slow dance of U.S. empire and emphasize not its definition, but its making. This process was central to the creation of the modern U.S. empire. Julie Greene’s and Andrew Zimmerman’s essays both foreground the importance of African American labor and the control of that work for U.S. and German conceptions of empire in the late nineteenth century. Andrew T. Urban examines free white labor in settler California and the gendered fear of Chinese migrant domestic servants in the post-emancipation era. In turn, other essays concentrate on the volatile period at the end of World War I, which was marked by rising anti-colonial movements and a crackdown on labor radicalism. Augustine Sedgewick’s essay interrogates the liberal regime of free trade, and then the volume moves forward well into the Cold War era, when the dual projects of militarism and the colonial nostalgia of tourism in the Pacific and the Caribbean emerged.

This turns our attention to the definition of “labor.” In contrast to “empire,” which historians have struggled to define, “labor” appears self-evident. The breadth of labor examined by the authors in this volume (p.11) reveals multiple kinds of work needed to “make” an empire. Work was necessary at all levels: the physical labor of plantation agriculture, the military labor of control, and the affective work of personal care or sexual labor. Empire, as well, demanded intellectual labor—the hard ethnographic or anthropological work of classifying and documenting new populations incorporated into the imperium.

Perhaps the most obvious cohort of workers who built the U.S. empire are those who labored in agriculture, producing and harvesting sugar, bananas, coffee, strawberries, and citrus fruits whether in Honduras or California. At the very least, they are generally legible to historians as “workers.” However, because many of these men and women labored outside the United States and beyond the purview of organized labor or national labor relations law, U.S. labor historians have not often investigated the networks between tropical and metropolitan workplaces and communities.

The recognition of an imperial system brings new kinds of work, workers, and workplaces into the context that we use to understand American labor relations. No one would question whether factory workers are workers, but labor historians have only just begun to incorporate military personnel into a broader narrative of working-class history. Some of the scholars most attuned to military history as labor history are feminist and women’s historians. Cynthia Enloe inspired a generation of scholars to consider the gendered elements of U.S. military empire, and how the “work” of the military ranged from the “work of killing” to the mundane tasks of doing the laundry.19 More recently, new works by Kimberley Phillips, Beth Bailey, Catherine Lutz, and Jennifer Middlestadt have begun to consider the culture and economics of U.S. military work; however, given the scope of the military, the officers, enlisted men and women, families, civilian workers, giant defense corporations, increasingly subcontracted private employees, and bars and commercial establishments that rely on off-duty consumption, the possibilities for scholarly engagement remain extensive.20

Placing empire at the heart of labor history challenges our definitions of labor, while expanding our view of labor relations. U.S. labor historians have long documented the struggle to defend and expand workers’ rights through government protections and the centrality of the New Deal in U.S. labor relations. Historians have linked the exclusion of domestic (p.12) servants and agricultural labor from the National Labor Relations Act, Social Security, and unemployment insurance to the liberal preoccupation with factory labor and to the legacy of racism within the New Deal.21 The imperial frame offers a new perspective that highlights the entwining of empire into domestic labor relations and suggests the need for new interpretations of labor law that consider how labor activists and government officials distinguished metropolitan industrial workers from “colonial” agricultural workers, domestic servants, sex workers, and the military.

The imperial labor and national labor relations systems divided workers, domestic and imperial, into separate spheres. Closer examination elucidates how labor mobilization and migratory routes connected these workers. It also draws attention away from industrialized and unionized workers, and toward the migratory workers, the vast majority men and women of color, who circulated through the nodes of U.S. imperial workplaces. Thus, an imperial analytic unsettles many of the foundations of U.S. labor history. It decenters industrial work as the paradigmatic twentieth-century working experience. It elevates the importance of agricultural work within and outside of the continental United States. It also argues for the centrality of military work in working-class history. Finally, it privileges the millions of working people of color who circulated within and through sites of U.S. empire over the white working-class factory worker as the central story of U.S. labor history. In this process, hundreds of thousands, if not millions, more workers who labored on plantations, in the military, and below the decks belong under U.S. labor history’s purview.

The invisibility and legibility of work and workers is more than a historiographic oversight; it is the result of a historical process. As Kevin Coleman and Moon-Ho Jung argue in this volume, state surveillance systems and U.S. corporations had clear objectives in sanitizing their archives. The military, as well, so often used in U.S. history for the disciplining of American workers, had a stake in structuring its archival memory to erase the realities of its labor history. Could military structure, discipline, and martial control survive if military work had been recognized as a category of largely unfree labor?

As we probe the visibility and invisibility of workers within the archive, we ask how “looking for the workers” can reorient our understandings (p.13) of empire. To date, there are few accounts of the men and women who labored in the tourist industries that remapped the geographies of empire in the Caribbean and the Pacific. Perhaps one of the most productive strategies will involve juxtaposition. Vernadette Vicuña Gonzalez’s Securing Paradise: Tourism and Militarism in Hawai‘i and the Philippines juxtaposes military practices of occupation, defeat, and victory with the contemporary tourist economies of the Philippines and Hawai‘i.22 We would encourage scholars to investigate not just the consumption of tourist fantasies, but the labor that produced them. These stories might suggest new studies of the transition in the West Indies from British decolonization to U.S. vacation lands. Or a history of the Hilton hotels in Puerto Rico could illuminate commonalities with the experience of Puerto Rican women who worked in the tourist industry on the island and those who worked as nannies and domestic servants in New York City.

In particular, Ann Laura Stoler’s work on archival practices and elisions has created new openings for scholarship on empire and domestic intimacies. One of Stoler’s most significant contributions has been to return to imperial archives and recognize an abundant preoccupation with the intimate, including wet nurses, nannies, and sexual partners. She demonstrated that bureaucratic agencies cared about who was taking care of the children and who was in the family in order to establish order and control. Stoler’s landmark essay “The Tense and Tender Ties of Empire,” followed by her edited collection, Haunted by Empire, challenged U.S. scholars to take up the tools and methodologies of postcolonial scholars and apply these questions to U.S. history.23 Stoler’s scholarship continues to influence the field, this volume included. However, given the general absence of anything treated as “labor” in her volume on the U.S. empire, Stoler’s earlier works on labor and working people are just as prescient and deserve to be reconsidered.24 In these texts, she reads both across and against the grain to unpack the complicated contours of working men and women’s lives in Dutch Indonesia, whether their workplace was the rubber fields or the home. In this context, we turn to Stoler as we reread the archives, not only to see the intimacies and violence of empire, but also to consider how the archive could reveal the nature of work, or simultaneously, obscure imperial labor from the eyes of metropolitan publics.

(p.14) Labor became most visible when workers resisted. This resistance could be passive or militant, collective or individual, covert or revolutionary. It was in these moments, as well, that the U.S. empire became legible and workers revealed the disguised strands of empire’s power.

Solidarities and Resistance: A Strike against Empire?

Solidarity is perhaps one of the most evoked, but least analyzed concepts in U.S. labor history. Solidarity has always been a central assumption—rarely a topic of analysis. It is not a stretch to claim that labor historians, ourselves included, support labor rights, worker activism, and union organizing drives, and we hope that our scholarly work illuminates the potential for solidarities to thrive across space and constructed difference.25 In turn, much of labor historians’ ongoing research investigates the conditions under which workers’ mobilizations are successful and the moments when their solidarity unravels. Topics that have traditionally informed labor history include union struggles in a single factory or industry, the politics of organizing men and women across workplaces, the power of solidarity within communities, and the complex dynamics of cross-class and cross-racial alliances. However, the concept of solidarity is itself simultaneously a powerful ideal and a slippery category, and one that has not always generated the scholarship that it deserves.26

Together with the authors in this volume, we argue that the intersection of labor and empire allows historians to complicate the analysis of solidarity and to investigate how workers adapted and accommodated to, negotiated with, resisted, and struggled to achieve economic stability and political rights within different forms of imperial rule. It is also through these studies that we see how unstable the categories of solidarity and complicity can be. For many workers, the jobs generated by U.S. imperial projects brought them steady cash and newfound class status, even as, for others, they set up patterns of dependency and decline. And for many, imperial labor created an ambivalence whereby their economic well-being and their nationalist and political impulses were set if not in opposition, then, at the very least, in an uneasy balance. Although our refusal to place solidarity in a binary with complicity might result in fewer accounts of anti-colonial “heroes” and more sympathetic accounts of those whose work maintained the quotidian (p.15) stability of empire, workers’ stories allow scholars to uncover how workers navigated between and within imperial systems and migratory routes.27 This close attention to workers’ actions and intellects could reveal solidarities and imaginations across oceans and continents. As examples from sugar plantations to military barracks suggest workers often engaged in actions that simultaneously buttressed and destabilized imperial networks.

U.S. men in the military, from the post–Civil War struggles with trans-Mississippi Indian populations to present-day Iraq, could embrace the U.S. imperial project; they could also bristle against its dictates. Some have recognized how the military’s own discipline mirrored the colonial discipline imposed on the Philippines or the Panama Canal. When did workers in the U.S. metropole embrace the privileges of empire and in what circumstances did they develop solidarities across oceans and continents? U.S. labor history has begun to recognize the importance of empire, particularly in its creation of a white working-class nationalism.28 Yet what roles did race and class place in mobilizing, or disrupting, solidarities? If working people did stand united against companies or colonial regimes, even under overwhelming conditions of repression, they could also turn on other workers and claim what Julie Greene calls the “wages of empire.”

Greene draws on W.E.B. Du Bois’s classic works and emphasizes the specific military labors of African American and white American men. Unlike other authors in this collection who focus on workers in colonial or liminal spaces, Greene emphasizes the role of U.S. workers in order to connect the military in the continental United States with labor in explicitly colonial spaces. Her essay ties the histories of imperialism and capitalism to both nineteenth-century Indian warfare and overseas expansion. For some men, their purpose lay in the promotion of white supremacy. Yet, Greene notes, working people of color could realize new and profoundly radical solidarities whether it was in Cuba or the Philippines. Or, they too could cling to the privileges of empire, claiming more rights as U.S. citizens than local workers. Solidarity could clearly cut both ways.

While the labor history of solidarity in colonial settings engages with familiar themes of unions, strikes, and organizing, it also highlights the local and international politics workers needed to navigate the violence (p.16) constitutive of U.S. empire. The repressive responses to three strikes, in Hawai‘i, the Philippines, and Colombia, in the years immediately following World War I, demonstrate how the working-class articulation of solidarity revealed the shadowy, if complex, nature of imperial power. Moon-Ho Jung, Christopher Capozzola, and Kevin Coleman all investigate the micro-politics of labor organizing and resistance in the early 1920s. While the U.S. empire often relied on its own invisibility and “informality” to shield it from critique, strikes and labor strife worked to make imperial labor visible. In these local struggles, the U.S. empire was never overthrown, but its pretense of liberalism, free trade, benevolence, and good neighborliness was unmasked. In this moment of labor radicalism immediately after World War I, Jung emphasizes the state surveillance and oppression that met the merest hint of a “colored international” that might have existed in spirit among workers of color. Even the whisper of a transnational solidarity of the proletariat of color could catalyze the state into a frenzy of violence and repression.

Working for the U.S. military or a UFC plantation could provide men and women with a modicum of economic stability, but it could also become a fulcrum for anti-colonial protest. As such, working-class solidarities could stabilize and challenge U.S. imperial power. Capozzola turns our attention to colonial subjects who worked for the U.S. military. He dissects the refusal of 380 Filipino Scouts to report to duty. In this act of organized resistance for better wages and greater respect, the defiant Scouts threw the logic of colonial loyalty into disarray. Capozzola’s questions again recast the politics of solidarity. The Scouts acted collectively, but was their action a strike or a mutiny, an act of colonial defiance or an ultimate act of faith in the republican ideals of the modern state?

Coleman uses visual evidence to analyze the union activism and the responding violence in the United Fruit Company. His analysis of photographs in the UFC archives reveals a campaign of violence and terror against banana workers. It also demonstrates how the nature of the archive, the corporate empire’s way of remembering and representing, systematically removed, or cleansed, both workers and labor violence from the record. In addition, the politics of solidarity are also thrown into relief, as Coleman argues that the very soldiers who were ordered to put down the banana workers’ strike were often seen as suspect, since many had themselves been banana workers in the past.

(p.17) In these chapters that narrate moments of resistance, solidarity, and even intimacy, violence is never far from the surface. These chapters also offer a portrait of the U.S. empire from the Pacific to South America in which solidarities took multiple forms. If we reshape solidarity, not simply as working people standing together, but as affective ties that were often fleeting, contingent, and contradictory, we can begin to consider how workers looked at others, often across vast imperial space, and saw what they had in common. Such recognition also reshapes the contours of how we examine intimacy in empires. Like solidarity, intimacy could cut both ways; it could signal deep knowledge and shared experience, which could lead to romantic and affective relationships, or it could signal the violence and unequal power dynamic in imperial relationships.

From the Barracks to the Resort: Intimacies in Colonial Spaces

If solidarities could potentially create political ties within workplaces and across continents, intimacies often defined the nature of men and women’s worksites. New scholarship on intimacy and empire, influenced above all by Stoler’s work, but now involving increasing numbers of scholars, has focused especially on empire’s obsession with domestic spaces and sexual relations. Stoler herself notes the need for greater investigation into the intimacies of workplaces, including prisons and army barracks.29 Workplaces outside the home and the bedroom, ranging from the union hall to the ship galley to the cocktail bar, could also be intimate spaces. Intimacy also produced its industries, most obviously in sex work, and in tourist work, as well.30

Seungsook Moon, like Greene, examines military labor, but focuses in particular on how the U.S. military was dependent on sexual labor in both East Asia and Western Europe. She maps the contours of the postwar U.S. military empire onto older legacies of empire and sexual labor in Japan and Korea. Women could develop deeply personal relationships with individual U.S. military personnel, complicating their identification with either their home country or the United States. Moon argues that the women and men who perform in clubs, sleep with servicemen for money, and pour the drinks must be seen as workers whose relationship to the U.S. military complicates singular analyses of intimacy and anti-militarism. In turn, Gonzalez provides an intimate portrait of the (p.18) Native Hawaiian labor that generates the cultural and physical production of lei. While her subject is far from the bedroom, she describes the intensely personal relationship of individual women lei makers to their products and how they depended on the close, intimate contact with arriving tourists as they “sold aloha.”

Migration and Mobilizing Labor for the Empire

This volume argues that U.S. immigration history needs to wrestle with histories of U.S. empire, and in the process, help integrate the histories of empire, labor, migration, indigeneity, and foreign relations. As the U.S. empire was part of an interlocking global imperial system, working people navigated between competing empires as they looked for work and as empires sought to recruit cheap and vulnerable laborers.31 How does privileging the labor history of empire transform the narrative of U.S. immigration history? Empire mobilized workers from a distance but could also incorporate native or indigenous groups into the imperial laboring system. Equally, from the American West to the Central American banana fields, indigenous groups were disenfranchised and removed from the land. How have native groups been cast by employers and anthropologists, often working in alliance, as incapable of withstanding the demands of plantation or wage work?

U.S. labor history has developed alongside immigration history to explain the peopling of American industry. We argue that this relationship should now be reconceptualized given the findings of imperial history. Recent accounts have shifted away from a paradigm of migrant aspiration toward an examination of global labor mobilizations. As Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynolds have argued, the migration of Chinese workers to the goldfields of California, Australia, and South Africa was part of a shared racialized system of labor recruitment, immigrant restriction, deportation, and racial segregation.32

The massive mobilizations of labor for the U.S. empire ran parallel to the exclusion of Asian migrants and, in different forms, Southern and Eastern Europeans and Mexicans. Asian exclusion has generally been understood as the racist, nationalist response advanced partly by a local labor movement. However, the long march toward exclusion and restriction occurred alongside the institutionalization of a transient labor force (p.19) and guest worker systems. These transient workers were (and are) almost always workers of color.

Immigration, exclusion, restriction, and guest work together mobilized labor and helped create a multitiered system of labor relations, as the experience of California demonstrates so dramatically. Both Andrew T. Urban and Dorothy Fujita-Rony identify California as a key location for debates over empire, migration, and Asian exclusion. In the tradition of Carey McWilliams, who argued for the centrality of California in U.S. politics, California’s militarized landscape, settler colonial politics, and colonial labor force became bellwethers of U.S. imperial politics.33 Urban examines white male workers’ opposition to Chinese domestic servants in San Francisco and northern California. In dialogue with scholars who study Canada, Australia, and South Africa, Urban challenges U.S. historians to consider settler colonialism as a central thread that complicates U.S. narratives of “immigration.” In this case, white male settlers favored white female domestic servants over Chinese men, not just as a personal preference, but as a matter of political and economic control over domestic workspaces. In the intimacy of domestic work, settlers articulated their campaign in the vocabulary of empire and settlement. In the same region, Fujita-Rony traces the routes that led Filipina/o workers to California in the 1920s and 1930s. Like many historians, she notes that Filipina/os came to the United States both because of the U.S. colonial presence in the Philippines and because the restriction on other Asian populations created a demand for this cohort of “American nationals.”34 Filipina/o workers “made” California a colonial space complete with militarized surveillance and plantation agriculture.35 She examines how working people traveled to the United States, and in this case, how one man returned to the Philippines in a coffin, traversing urban and rural spaces, and dislodging the commonsense distinction that locates agricultural work in the colonies and industrial work in the metropole.

Working men and women often navigated multiple empires in their search for employment. Vicente Rafael, in his examination of the colonial histories of the Philippines, introduces the notion of “double colonization.” A formal colony of Spain, then of the United States, the Philippines—and, as this book demonstrates, its mobile working peoples—were also linked into what Rafael calls “the expansive geography of a world capitalist system.”36 Colonial subjects already, Filipina/os (p.20) encountered new regimes during their migrant experience. Applied broadly, the notion of double colonization captures the lived reality of mobilized imperial workers. Rafael’s notion of double colonization speaks most obviously to the transfer of flags—when the Spanish flag lowered over Manila, the U.S. flag was raised. His formulation, though, is also useful in understanding the working-class experience of empire. Working men and women’s experiences highlight just how interconnected imperial systems could be, and how nimbly they could complement and strengthen each other.

Expanding on the concept of double colonialism in the context of worker mobilization and migration, Cindy Hahamovitch documents the ways the U.S. adapted to and took advantage of older systems of imperial labor mobilization. She concentrates on the twentieth-century guestworker program for Jamaican men who, until 1962, were still subjects of the British Empire and often sought amelioration from British consular officials.37 It was not simply that the United States recruited its workers from other empires, but that the faltering, even extinct, labor systems of those empires provided mobile peoples and, as Hahamovitch notes, models of discipline.

Collectively, these chapters offer a new paradigm for reimagining the migration history in the United States. While not all immigrants to the United States were part of a U.S. imperial framework, long histories of migration provide key chronologies and geographies of the U.S. empire. This includes recognizing the power of settler colonialism in U.S. history even as late as the 1890s and the role of imperial circuits that drove men and women to the United States. These essays specifically focus on the movement of working people to the United States. Alongside these migrations to the United States, the United States also exported its labor systems abroad, creating new working-class cohorts of Ewe, El Salvadoran, and Marshalese workers who might have never left their local communities, and yet found themselves dependent on and disciplined by U.S. labor systems.

Imperial Labor and Control in the Tropics

By the dawn of the 20th century, it was a common domestic logic that the tropics were rich in resources, but ill suited for labor. This was an (p.21) understanding of the tropics expressed by social scientists like Ellsworth Huntington, who, in multiple volumes stretching over decades, gave voice to the idea that the tropics were too hot and too abundant to force its natives to labor and reap the riches from the land. In contrast, according to Huntington, the temperate zone was unforgiving and trained its inhabitants to labor. The northern industrial factory had its opposite in the southern jungle.38 Huntington was not alone in his contrasts of tropical and temperate. Corporations from Firestone in Liberia to the United Fruit Company in Central America echoed his logic as they sought to mobilize workers.

In the long history of the U.S. empire, the tropics emerge in imperial discourse as a space for development, a plantation for raw materials, and a paradise for the privileges and powers of empire. All three of these visions intertwined to create the cultural imaginary of U.S. empire. How do the tropics come to be understood as a site for massive resource extraction and luxurious tourism? And how did the cultural imagining of the tropics, and the work necessary for the tropics to be profitable, define U.S. imperial labor practices?

For this, we might turn to historian David Arnold who, in his analysis of British India, argues that empires produce specific understandings of the tropics that link evocations of luxuriant nature with the possibility of production, fostered, naturally, by the British Empire. Economic longings rested in representations of imperial space as abundant beyond the recognition of indigenous peoples. As Arnold as well as Felicia Martins and Felix Driver have noted, the tropics, in the imperial imagination, appeared as spaces both for self-realization by explorers, entrepreneurs, and the military, and for capitalist fantasies of development.39 The discourse of what Arnold terms “tropicality” was enabled by racialized representations of native peoples as lulled into laziness by the abundance of the land. However, Arnold approaches but stops short of engaging with labor history, resting his analysis instead on the examination of the imperial traveler, rather than the imperial entrepreneur or the imperial worker, as the key figure in the articulation of tropicality.

If local workers were “savage” or “lazy” or incompatible with the work needed to produce imperial profit, then who would imperial actors find to do the work? In brief, they would often find other mobile or more vulnerable populations. The histories of empire are replete with population (p.22) removals.40 if we understand population removal as a form of imperial enclosure in which land use is radically altered and developed, often for resource extraction, we must examine the forms in which local communities are evaluated—and, most frequently, rejected—as suitable laboring groups. In turn, the U.S. military and corporations imported new working populations and developed new forms of labor discipline and management.

Andrew Zimmerman challenges us to think about the U.S. empire not simply for the lands used for the production of goods, but for the export of U.S. racialized labor systems. Zimmerman argues that German colonial officials were desperate to reduce the autonomy of local villagers in the early twentieth century. To create a dependent colonial workforce, they relied on brute force and violence, but also more interestingly the technical expertise of the Tuskegee Institute and the post-emancipation, racial share-cropping system in the U.S. South. Zimmerman’s chapter raises questions about the travels of working-class African Americans and their own vacillations between solidarity and empire making and the politics of unfree labor in the post-emancipation era. Zimmerman is not arguing that somehow a German colony had become a part of a formal U.S. empire, but rather that U.S. racialized labor systems were more than effective in making empires work.

Empire produced its share of boosters, triumphant in their stories of turning tropics to profit, and the German case in Togo is one of the more curious ones. At the same time, such ambitions left behind legions of frustrated employers, unable to wrest wage labor from indigenous populations. Sometimes, their frustration generated anthropological, racialized evaluations that cast local populations as incapable of the labor needed for imperial modernity. Jason Colby and Augustine Sedgewick turn our attention to Central America, the region with one of the best documented histories of U.S. empire and work. First, Colby argues how Progressive ideology defined U.S. imperial ideology. Notably, his reading of tropicality diverges from that of Arnold and commentators on the British Empire, who are more inclined to place geography and anthropology at the center of their narratives. Colby, instead, emphasizes the UFC managers’ definitions of and imaginations about British West Indian workers in Central America. In turn, Sedgewick examines the management practices of an El Salvador coffee plantation. He highlights not only the struggle of (p.23) imperial management to wrest labor from those they denigrated as lazy, but also how the nature of consumption blinded metropolitan audiences to the realities of tropical labor. The myths of the idyllic tropics could persist alongside the extraordinary violence of tropical management.

Finally, Lauren Hirshberg returns us to the U.S. military empire and the Cold War era. She focuses on Kwajalein, which is so distant from U.S. shores that its very invisibility served to increase, rather than limit, U.S. power. Outside the public eye, the U.S. government has used Kwajalein as a testing site for intercontinental ballistic missiles, and this highly sophisticated defense apparatus exists alongside, and at the expense, of the local Marshallese population. To accomplish the requisite technological feats, the U.S. government transported knowledge workers from the continental United States to the middle of the Pacific, and in turn, mobilized local Marshallese workers. Many Marshallese men and women were evicted from the island of Kwajalein itself, and instead live on the nearby, overcrowded and resource-depleted island of Ebeye. In her close analysis of the interdependence of knowledge, military, and local service labor, Hirshberg shows how tropical spaces like Kwajalein, as distant and unusual as they might seem, are in fact not exceptional or anomalous atolls, but rather mirrors of U.S. politics and empire.

Conclusion: The Empire’s Work

The United States, as an imperial polity, has, at different moments, endorsed and rejected the colonial project. Working people challenged, adapted to, and placed expansive demands on an empire, whose existence the state itself often denied. The corporate and state responses that working people provoked revealed the gap between the rhetoric of civilization, peace, stability, and the “denial of empire” and the lived practice of management, resource exploitation, and military exigency. When historians place labor and working people at the center, empire appears as a pivotal dynamic of U.S. history, rather than as a brief chronological blip or a moment of European envy. Empire, like the global economy itself, had its metamorphoses, its crisis, and its rebirths, as it passed from the eras of slave emancipation, Indian removal, and continental expansion to the colonial empire to the New Deal empires of free trade to the postwar and contemporary military empires.

(p.24) The imperial system also had its continuities. Empire, in 1898 or 1998, produced its intimacies, engendered its solidarities, and mobilized workers for the hard labor of resource extraction, tourist work, domestic service, sex work, and the military. The military base, like the tourist resort, demanded domestic work, service labor, and the sex trade. The sugar plantation, like the factory or agribusiness conglomerate, needed malleable workers and looked widely for them, often into the heart of other empires, thereby stitching together imperiums into a global system of shared management, corporate fantasies, and racialized class formation. When labor history is in dialogue with U.S. diplomatic history, the precise boundaries that divide colony from protectorate or one empire from another merge into entwined systems of labor, management, and worker mobilization.

Empires have their fluttering flags and their unique governance—sometimes openly colonial and at other times not. Distinctions between metropolitan and imperial space also dissolve as national labor relations compete with guest work. For the coffee bean picker, the sex worker, the infantry private, the domestic servant, and the other millions who made the U.S. empire work, maps matter much less than the intimacies, violence, discipline, and solidarities that characterized their encounters with empire. With this in mind, perhaps we might rely on the experiences of working men and women as we recognize that the United States, too, had its empire.

Notes

(1.) For select works that place labor at the center of their analyses of U.S. empire, see Jason Colby, The Business of Empire: United Fruit, Race and U.S. Expansion in Central America (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2011); Julie Greene, The Canal Builders: Making America’s Empire at the Panama Canal (New York: Penguin, 2009); Jana K. Lipman, Guantánamo: A Working-Class History between Empire and Revolution (Berkeley: University of California, 2009); Harvey Neptune, Caliban and the Yankees: Trinidad and the United States Occupation (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007).

(2.) Alfred McCoy, Francisco A. Scarano, and Courtney Johnson, “On the Topic of Cancer: Transitions and Transformations in the U.S. Imperial State,” in Colonial Crucible: Empire in the Making of the Modern American State, ed. Alfred W. McCoy and Francisco A. Scarano (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2009), p. 11. For a sampling of other recent historiographical essays on the prominence of empire in U.S. historiography, see Matthew Frye Jacobson, “Where We Stand: U.S. (p.25) Empire at the Street Level and in the Archive,” American Quarterly 65.2 (June 2013): 265–90; Paul Kramer, “Power and Connection: Imperial Histories of the U.S. in the World,” American Historical Review (December 2011); Bruce M. Knauft, “Provincializing America: Imperialism, Capitalism, and Counterhegemony in the Twenty-First Century,” Current Anthropology 48.6 (December 2007): 781–805; Amy Kaplan, “Violent Belongings and the Question of Empire Today,” 2003 American Studies Association Presidential Address, American Quarterly 56.1 (2004): 1–18. For a dissenting voice, see Jeremi Suri, “The Limits of American Empire: Democracy and Militarism in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries,” in Colonial Crucible, ed. McCoy and Scarano, pp. 523–31.

(3.) Gilbert Joseph, “Close Encounters: Towards a New Cultural History of U.S.–Latin American Relations,” in Close Encounters of Empire: Writing the Cultural History of U.S.–Latin American Relations, ed. Gilbert Joseph, Catherine LeGrande, and Ricardo Salvatore (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998), p. 8. Also see LeGrande, “Living in Macondo: Economy and Culture in a United Fruit Company Banana Enclave in Colombia” in Close Encounters of Empire; John Soluri, Banana Cultures: Agriculture, Consumption, and Environmental Change in Honduras and the United States (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2006); Miguel Tinker Salas, The Enduring Legacy: Oil, Culture, and Society in Venezuela (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009); Greg Grandin, Fordlandia: The Rise and Fall of Henry Ford’s Forgotten Jungle City (New York: Picador, 2010). While less developed, there is also a valuable literature on U.S. empire and corporate power outside of Latin America; see Robert Vitalis, America’s Kingdom: Mythmaking on the Saudi Oil Frontier (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2007); Nan Enstad, “To Know Tobacco: Southern Identity in China in the Jim Crow Era,” Southern Cultures (Winter 2007): 6–23.

(4.) For example, Alfred McCoy and Francisco Scarano emphasize the formal empire under direct U.S. control, while Ricardo Salvatore analyzes the “informal empire” in South and Central America. McCoy and Scarano, Colonial Crucible; Ricardo D. Salvatore, “The Enterprise of Knowledge: Representational Machines of Informal Empire,” in Close Encounters of Empire, ed. Joseph et al., pp. 69–104.

(5.) William Appleman Williams, The Tragedy of American Diplomacy (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1972 [1959]), p. 50. For recent commentary on the book’s continued influence, see “Fifty Years of William Appleman William’s Tragedy of American Diplomacy: An Anniversary, a Discussion, and a Celebration,” Passports (September 2009). Williams also inspired what became known as the “Wisconsin School,” with Walter LaFeber becoming the leading scholar arguing for economic imperatives as central to U.S. foreign relations. See Walter LaFeber, The New Empire: An Interpretation of American Expansion, 1860–1898 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1963, 1998).

(6.) The historiography of the War of 1898 is quite extensive and well known. For example, George Kennan, Samuel Bemis, and Ernest May all wrote about the Spanish-American War in the mid-century, which solidified an interpretation of (p.26) U.S. empire as anomalous, an aberration, and/or benevolent. For example, Ernest May ended Imperial Democracy with the classic formulation that through the Spanish-American War “the United States had greatness thrust upon it.” The analyses by these authors, particularly Kennan and May, are more complex and nuanced than generally recognized in recent scholarship, with key insights into European imperial politics; however, collectively they generated a scholarly understanding of the United States’ empire as both benevolent and accidental. George F. Kennan, “The War with Spain,” in Kennan, American Diplomacy, 1900–1950 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951); Ernest May, Imperial Democracy: The Emergence of America as a Great Power (Chicago: Imprint Publications, 1961, 1991); and Samuel Bemis, “American Foreign Policy and the Blessings of Liberty,” 1961 American Historical Association Presidential Address, http://www.historians.org/info/aha_history/sfbemis.htm. For more recent reiterations of the United States as an “empire of invitation” or as less than a “real” empire, see Geir Lundestad, “Empire by Invitation in the American Century,” Diplomatic History 23.2 (December 2002); John Lewis Gaddis, We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 284–85; Suri, “The Limits of American Empire.”

Since the 1998 centennial of the War of 1898, there has been a substantial revisionist trend in the historiography, reemphasizing the war’s intentional and imperial motivations and consequences. See, in particular, Louis Perez, The War of 1898: The United States and Cuba in History and Historiography (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998); Kristin Hoganson, Fighting for American Manhood: How Gender Politics Provoked the Spanish American and Philippine American Wars (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000); Christina Duffy Burnett, Foreign in a Domestic Sense: Puerto Rico, American Expansion, and the Constitution (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001); Paul Kramer, The Blood of Government (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006); Mariola Espinosa, Epidemic Invasions: Yellow Fever and the Limits of Cuban Independence, 1878–1930 (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2009).

(7.) Amy Kaplan, “‘Left Alone with America’: The Absence of Empire in the Study of American Culture,” in Cultures of United States Imperialism, ed. Amy Kaplan and Donald E. Pease (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993), pp. 3–21.

(8.) For some key works that explore cultural elements of the U.S. empire, see Laura Wexler, Tender Violence: Domestic Visions in an Age of U.S. Imperialism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000); Melani McAllister, Epic Encounters: Culture, Media, and U.S. Interests in the United States since 1945 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); Mary Renda, Taking Haiti: Military Occupation and the Cultures of U.S. Imperialism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001); Amy Kaplan, The Anarchy of Empire in the Making of U.S. Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005); Christina Klein, Cold War Orientalism: Asia in the Middlebrow Imagination, 1945–61 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005); Kristin Hoganson, Consumers’ Imperium: The (p.27) Global Production of American Domesticity, 1865–1920 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007); Julian Go, American Empire and the Politics of Meaning: Elite Political Cultures in the Philippines and Puerto Rico during U.S. Colonialism (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008); Keith Camacho, Cultures of Commemoration: The Politics of War, Memory, and History in the Mariana Islands (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2011); Adria Imada, Aloha America: Hula Circuits through the U.S. Empire (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2012).

(9.) Randolph Bourne, “Trans-national America,” Atlantic Monthly 118 (July 1916): 86–97; Gary Gerstle, American Crucible: Race and Nation in the Twentieth Century (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002).

(10.) Thomas Bender, “The La Pietra Report: A Report to the Profession,” Organization of American Historians (September 2000), http://www.oah.org/about/reports/reports-statements/the-lapietra-report-a-report-to-the-profession; Thomas Bender, ed., Rethinking American History in a Global Age (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). Additionally, a set of influential articles on this topic appeared in the Journal of American History: David Thelen, “The Nation and Beyond: Transnational Perspectives on U.S. History”; Ian Tyrell, “Making States/Making Nations: American Historians in the Context of Empire”; Marcel van der Linden, “Transnationalizing American Labor History”; Donna Gabaccia, “Is Everywhere Nowhere? Nomads, Nations, and the Immigrant Paradigm in American History”; Robin Kelley, “‘But a Local Phase of a World Problem’: Black History’s Global Vision, 1883–1950,” all in Journal of American History 86.3 (December 1999).

(11.) Linda Basch, Nina Glick Schiller, and Cristina Szanton Blanc, Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects, Postcolonial Predicaments, and De-territorialized Nation States (New York: Routledge, 1993); Peggy Levitt, Transnational Villagers (Berkeley: University of California, 2001): Rhacel Salazar Parreñas, Servants of Globalization: Women, Migration, and Domestic Work (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001).

(12.) Leon Fink, The Maya of Morgantown: Work and Community in the Nuevo New South (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007); Leon Fink, ed., Workers across the Americas: The Transnational Turn in Labor History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).

(13.) Robert Gregg, “Making the World Safe for American History,” in After the Imperial Turn: Thinking with and through the Nation, ed. Antoinette Burton (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003), pp. 170–85.

(14.) Adele Perry, On the Edge of Empire: Gender, Race, and the Making of British Columbia (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 2001); Alicia Schmidt-Camacho, Migrant Imaginaries: Latino Cultural Politics in the U.S.-Mexican Borderlands (New York: New York University Press, 2008); Holly Karibo, “Detroit’s Border Brothel: Sex Tourism in Windsor, Ontario, 1945–1960,” American Review of Canadian Studies 40.3 (2010): 362–78; Katherine Benton-Cohen, Borderline Americans: Racial Division and Labor War in the Arizona Borderlands (Cambridge, MA: (p.28) Harvard University Press, 2011); Rachel St. John, Line in the Sand: A History of the Western U.S.-Mexico Border (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011).

(15.) Linda Gordon, “Internal Colonialism and Gender,” in Haunted by Empire: Geographies of Intimacy in North American History, ed. Ann Laura Stoler (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), p. 437; Linda Gordon, The Great Arizona Orphan Abduction (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999).

(16.) Mae Ngai, Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern America (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005); Kornel Chang, “Circulating Race and Empire: Transnational Labor Activism and the Politics of Anti-Asian Agitation in the Anglo-American Pacific World, 1880–1910,” Journal of American History 96.3 (2009); Kornel Chang, Pacific Connections: The Making of the U.S.-Canadian Borderland (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012).

For other works on Asian migration, racial formation, and labor regimes, see Evelyn Hu-DeHart, “Chinese Coolie Labour in Cuba in the Nineteenth Century: Free Labour or Neo-Slavery?” Slavery and Abolition 14.1 (1993): 67–83; Moon-Kie Jung, “Different Racisms and the Differences They Make: Race and ‘Asian Workers’ of Prewar Hawai‘i.” Critical Sociology 28.1–2 (2002): 77–100; Vijay Prashad, Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting: Afro-Asian Connections and the Myth of Cultural Purity (Boston: Beacon, 2001); Matthew Pratt Guterl, “After Slavery: Asian Labor, the American South, and the Age of Emancipation,” Journal of World History 14 (2003): 209–41; Helen Jun, “Black Orientalism: Nineteenth-Century Narratives of Race and US Citizenship,” American Quarterly 58.4 (2006): 1047–66; Moon-Ho Jung, Coolies and Cane: Race, Labor, and Sugar Production in the Age of Emancipation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006); Moon-Kie Jung, Reworking Race: The Making of Hawaii’s Interracial Labor Movement (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006).

(17.) Works that argue for the continuity of U.S. empire since colonial times include Anders Stephanson, Manifest Destiny: American Expansion and the Empire of Right (New York: Hill and Wang, 1996); Michael Hunt, Ideology and U.S. Foreign Policy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987); Richard H. Immerman, Empire for Liberty: A History of American Imperialism from Benjamin Franklin to Paul Wolfowitz (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2010); Bruce Cummings, Dominion from Sea to Sea: Pacific Ascendancy and American Power (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009).

For works specifically on American Indians and empire, see Richard White, The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Region, 1650–1815 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1991); Richard Drinnon, Facing West: The Metaphysics of Indian-Hating and Empire-Building (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997). For newer works, see Jeffrey Ostler, The Plains Sioux and US Colonialism from Lewis and Clark to Wounded Knee (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Paige Raibmon, Authentic Indians: Episodes of Encounter from the Late-Nineteenth-Century Northwest Coast (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005); Brian DeLay, War (p.29) of a Thousand Deserts: Indian Raids and the U.S.-Mexican War (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009); Pekka Hämäläinen, The Comanche Empire (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009).

(18.) Rebecca Scott, Degrees of Freedom: Louisiana and Cuba after Slavery (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008).

(19.) Cynthia Enloe, Bananas, Beaches, and Bases: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000 [1989]); Cynthia Enloe, Maneuvers: The International Politics of Militarizing Women’s Lives (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000). For works that emphasize the military role in women’s lives, particularly the politics and economy of sex work and U.S. bases, see Saundra Pollack Sturdevant and Brenda Stoltzfus, Let the Good Times Roll: Prostitution and the U.S. Military in Asia (New York: Free Press, 1993); Katherine H. S. Moon, Sex among Allies: Military Prostitution in U.S.-Korean Relations (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997); Ji-Yeon Yuh, Beyond the Shadow of Camptown: Korean Military Brides in America (New York: NYU Press, 2004); Jin-Kyung Lee, Service Economies, Sex Work, and Migrant Labor in South Korea (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2010); Maria Hohn and Seungsook Moon, eds., Over There: Living with the U.S. Military Empire from World War II to the Present (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010); Kimberley L. Phillips, War: What Is It Good For? Black Freedom Struggles and the U.S. Military from World War II to Iraq (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012)

(20.) There are numerous excellent books on African Americans and Mexican Americans in the Vietnam War, but few of these books examine the military as “work.” For key exceptions, see Christian Appy, Working-Class War: American Combat Soldiers in Vietnam (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1993); Catherine Lutz, Homefront: A Military City and the American Twentieth Century (Boston: Beacon Press, 2002); Beth Bailey, America’s Army: Making the All-Volunteer Force (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009); Phillips, War: What Is It Good For?; Peter Way, “‘black service … white money’: The Peculiar Institution of Military Labor in the British Army during the Seven Years’ War,” in Workers across the Americas, ed. Leon Fink (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), pp. 57–80. In 2011, the International Labor and Working-Class History journal (ILWCH) published a special series on labor and military history. See in particular, Jennifer Mittlestadt, “‘The Army Is a Service and Not a Job’: Unionization, Employment, and the Meaning of Service in the Late-Twentieth-Century United States”; Elizabeth Shesko, “Constructing Roads, Washing Feet, and Cutting Cane for the Patria: Building Bolivia with Military Labor, 1900–1975”; Michelle Moyd, “Making the Household, Making the State: Colonial Military Communities and Labor in German East Africa”; Priscilla Murolo, “Wars of Civilization: The U.S. Army Contemplates Wounded Knee, the Pullman Strike, and the Philippine Insurrection,” all in ILWCH 80.1 (2011).

(21.) Joshua Freeman, American Empire, 1945–2000: The Rise of a Global Power, the Democratic Revolution at Home (New York: Penguin, 2013). (p.30)

(22.) Vernadette Vicuña Gonzalez, Securing Paradise: Tourism and Militarism in Hawai‘i and the Philippines (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2013).

(23.) Ann Laura Stoler, Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1995); Ann Laura Stoler, Carnal Knowledge and Imperial Power: Race and the Intimate in Colonial Rule (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002); Ann Laura Stoler, “Tense and Tender Ties: The Politics of Comparison in North American History and (Post) Colonial Studies,” Journal of American History 88.3 (2001): 829–65; Ann Laura Stoler, ed., Haunted by Empire: Geographies of Intimacy in North American History (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2006).

(24.) Ann Laura Stoler, Capitalism and Confrontation in Sumatra’s Plantation Belt, 1870–1979 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995); Stoler, Carnal Knowledge, pp. 162–203.

(25.) For a critique of what he terms the “Solidarity Left,” see Steve Striffler, “Solidarity, the Labor Movement, and the Challenge of Building a Left in the United States,” Dialectical Anthropology 35 (2011): 233–38.

(26.) In the contemporary moment, much of the work on international labor solidarity has focused on globalization and the challenge of transnational labor organizing in response to multinational corporations. See Jefferson Cowie, Capital Moves: RCA’s Seventy-Year Quest for Cheap Labor (New York: New Press, 1999), pp. 180–209; Michael P. Hanagan, “Labor Internationalism: An Introduction,” Social Science History 27.4 (2003): 485–99; Andrew Herod, “Geographies of Labor Internationalism,” Social Science History 27.4 (2003): 501–23; Aviva Chomsky, Linked Labor Histories: New England, Colombia, and the Making of a Global Working-Class (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008).

(27.) Frederick Cooper, in a broad critique of postcolonial studies and its lack of attention to the quotidian experience and struggles of ordinary people, has identified a tendency toward “story plucking.” That is, he criticizes postcolonial scholars for finding in specific examples of romantic and revolutionary anti-colonialism an “essence of being colonized independent of what anybody did in a colony.” Simply “naming the colonial” reveals little about how ordinary people challenged, adapted to, and transformed imperial power and the particular vocabulary they employed. See Frederick Cooper, Colonialism in Question: Theory, Knowledge, History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005).

(28.) Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynolds, Drawing the Global Color Line: White Men’s Countries and the International Challenge of Racial Equality (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Chang, Pacific Connections; David Roediger and Elizabeth Esch, The Production of Difference: Race and the Management of Labor in U.S. History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012); Adam Ewing, “Caribbean Labor Politics in the Age of Garvey,” Race and Class (July 2013):23–45; Adam Ewing, The Age of Garvey: How a Jamaican Activist Created a Mass Movement and Changed Global Black Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014). (p.31)

(29.) Stoler, Haunted by Empire.

(30.) For recent works on tourism, see F. Robert Hunter, “Tourism and Empire: The Thomas Cook & Son Enterprise on the Nile, 1868–1914,” Middle Eastern Studies 40.5 (September 2004): 28–54; Dennis Merrill, Negotiating Paradise: U.S. Tourism and Empire in Twentieth-Century Latin America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2009); Christine Skwiot, The Purpose of Paradise: U.S. Tourism and Empire in Cuba and Hawai‘i (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010); Dina Berger and Andrew Grant Wood, eds., Holiday in Mexico: Critical Reflections on Tourism and Tourist Encounters (Durham, NC: Duke University Press 2010); James W. Martin, “Mapping an Empire: Tourist Cartographies of the Caribbean in the Early Twentieth Century,” Popular Visual Culture 9.1 (February 2011): 1–14. On domestic service, see Julia Martinez and Claire Lowrie, “Everyday American Imperialism: The Politics of Chinese Domestic Servants in the Philippines,” Pacific Historical Review 81.4 (2012): 511–36.

(31.) For works that link imperial and immigration histories, see Donna Gabaccia, Foreign Relations: American Immigration in Global Perspective (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012); Desmond King, Making Americans: The Origins of the Diverse Democracy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002); Matthew Frye Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues: The United States Encounters Foreign People at Home and Abroad, 1876–1917 (New York: Hill and Wang, 2001); Gilbert G. Gonzalez, Culture of Empire: American Writers, Mexico and Mexican Immigrants, 1880–1930 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2004).

(32.) Lake and Reynolds, Drawing the Global Color Line; Cindy Hahamovitch, Jamaican Guest Workers in America and the Global History of Deportable Labor (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011); David G. Gutiérrez and Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo, eds., Nation and Migration: Past and Future, American Quarterly (special issue) 60.3 (September 2008); Paul R. Spickard, Almost All Aliens: Immigration, Race, and Colonialism in American History and Identity (New York: Routledge, 2007); Ngai, Impossible Subjects; Cindy Hahamovitch, Fruits of Their Labor (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1997).

(33.) Carey McWilliams, Factories in the Field (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); Michael Denning, The Cultural Front (London: Verso, 1997), pp. 260–69.

(34.) Rick Baldoz, The Third Asiatic Invasion: Empire and Migration in Filipino America, 1898–1946 (New York: NYU Press, 2011); Catherine Ceniza Choy, Empire of Care: Nursing and Migration in Filipino American History (Durham, NY: Duke University Press, 2003); Dorothy Fujita-Rony, American Workers, Colonial Power: Philippine Seattle and the Transpacific West, 1919–1941 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002); Parreñas, Servants of Globalization.

(35.) McWilliams, Factories in the Field.

(36.) Vicente Rafael, White Love and Other Events in Filipino History (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000), p. 5.

(37.) Andrea Queeley, “Somos Negros Finos: Anglophone Caribbean Cultural Citizenship in Revolutionary Cuba,” in Global Circuits of Blackness: Race, (p.32) Citizenship, and Modern Subjectivities, ed. Percy C. Hintzen, Jean Muteba Rahier, and Felipe Smith (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 2010); David Vine, Island of Shame: The Secret History of the U.S. Military Base on Diego Garcia (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009); Jorge Giovannetti, “The Elusive Organization of ‘Identity’: Race, Religion, and Empire among Caribbean Migrants in Cuba,” Small Axe 19 (February 2006): 1–27.

(38.) Ellsworth Huntington, The Character of Races (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1924); Ellsworth Huntington, Civilization and Climate (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1924 [1915]). See, also, Gary Okihiro, Pineapple Culture: A History of the Tropical and Temperate Zones (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010); Daniel E. Bender, American Abyss: Savagery and Civilization in the Age of Industry (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2009), 40–68.

(39.) David Arnold, The Tropics and the Traveling Gaze: India, Landscape, and Science, 1800–1856 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006); David Arnold, “‘Illusory Riches’: Representations of the Tropical World, 1840–1950,” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 21 (March 2000): 6–18; Felix Driver, “Imagining the Tropics: Views and Visions of the Tropical World,” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 25 (March 2004): 1–17; Felix Driver and Luciana Martins, Tropical Visions in an Age of Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005). For related works, see Nancy Leys Stepan, Picturing Tropical Nature (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001); Krista Thompson, An Eye for the Tropics: Tourism, Photography, and Framing the Caribbean Picturesque (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006); James W. Martin, “Becoming Banana Cowboys: White-Collar Masculinity, the United Fruit Company, and Tropical Empire in Early-Twentieth-Century Latin America,” Gender & History 25.2 (August 2013): 317–38; Greg Bankoff, “First Impressions: Diarists, Scientists, Imperialists, and the Management of the Environment in the American Pacific, 1899–1902,” Journal of Pacific History 44.3 (December 2009): 261–80; Paul Sutter, “Nature’s Agents or Agents of Empire? Entomological Workers and Environmental Change during the Construction of the Panama Canal,” Isis 98.4 (December 2007):724–54; Karen Morin, “Embodying Tropicalities,” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 25.1 (March 2004): 23–25; Greg Bankoff, “In the Eye of the Storm: The Social Construction of the Forces of Nature and the Climactic and Seismic Construction of God in the Philippines,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 35.1 (February 2004): 91–111; Natalie Ring, “Inventing the Tropical South: Race, Region, and the Colonial Model,” Mississippi Quarterly 56.4 (October 2003).

(40.) Jodi A. Byrd, The Transit of Empire: Indigenous Critiques of Colonialism (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2011). Also see, Vine, Island of Shame; J. Kehaulani Kauanui, Hawaiian Blood: Colonialism and the Politics of Sovereignty and Indigeneity (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008); Noenoe Silva, Aloha Betrayed (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004); Huanani Kay Trask, From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawai‘i (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999).

Notes:

(1.) For select works that place labor at the center of their analyses of U.S. empire, see Jason Colby, The Business of Empire: United Fruit, Race and U.S. Expansion in Central America (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2011); Julie Greene, The Canal Builders: Making America’s Empire at the Panama Canal (New York: Penguin, 2009); Jana K. Lipman, Guantánamo: A Working-Class History between Empire and Revolution (Berkeley: University of California, 2009); Harvey Neptune, Caliban and the Yankees: Trinidad and the United States Occupation (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007).

(2.) Alfred McCoy, Francisco A. Scarano, and Courtney Johnson, “On the Topic of Cancer: Transitions and Transformations in the U.S. Imperial State,” in Colonial Crucible: Empire in the Making of the Modern American State, ed. Alfred W. McCoy and Francisco A. Scarano (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2009), p. 11. For a sampling of other recent historiographical essays on the prominence of empire in U.S. historiography, see Matthew Frye Jacobson, “Where We Stand: U.S. (p.25) Empire at the Street Level and in the Archive,” American Quarterly 65.2 (June 2013): 265–90; Paul Kramer, “Power and Connection: Imperial Histories of the U.S. in the World,” American Historical Review (December 2011); Bruce M. Knauft, “Provincializing America: Imperialism, Capitalism, and Counterhegemony in the Twenty-First Century,” Current Anthropology 48.6 (December 2007): 781–805; Amy Kaplan, “Violent Belongings and the Question of Empire Today,” 2003 American Studies Association Presidential Address, American Quarterly 56.1 (2004): 1–18. For a dissenting voice, see Jeremi Suri, “The Limits of American Empire: Democracy and Militarism in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries,” in Colonial Crucible, ed. McCoy and Scarano, pp. 523–31.

(3.) Gilbert Joseph, “Close Encounters: Towards a New Cultural History of U.S.–Latin American Relations,” in Close Encounters of Empire: Writing the Cultural History of U.S.–Latin American Relations, ed. Gilbert Joseph, Catherine LeGrande, and Ricardo Salvatore (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998), p. 8. Also see LeGrande, “Living in Macondo: Economy and Culture in a United Fruit Company Banana Enclave in Colombia” in Close Encounters of Empire; John Soluri, Banana Cultures: Agriculture, Consumption, and Environmental Change in Honduras and the United States (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2006); Miguel Tinker Salas, The Enduring Legacy: Oil, Culture, and Society in Venezuela (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009); Greg Grandin, Fordlandia: The Rise and Fall of Henry Ford’s Forgotten Jungle City (New York: Picador, 2010). While less developed, there is also a valuable literature on U.S. empire and corporate power outside of Latin America; see Robert Vitalis, America’s Kingdom: Mythmaking on the Saudi Oil Frontier (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2007); Nan Enstad, “To Know Tobacco: Southern Identity in China in the Jim Crow Era,” Southern Cultures (Winter 2007): 6–23.

(4.) For example, Alfred McCoy and Francisco Scarano emphasize the formal empire under direct U.S. control, while Ricardo Salvatore analyzes the “informal empire” in South and Central America. McCoy and Scarano, Colonial Crucible; Ricardo D. Salvatore, “The Enterprise of Knowledge: Representational Machines of Informal Empire,” in Close Encounters of Empire, ed. Joseph et al., pp. 69–104.

(5.) William Appleman Williams, The Tragedy of American Diplomacy (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1972 [1959]), p. 50. For recent commentary on the book’s continued influence, see “Fifty Years of William Appleman William’s Tragedy of American Diplomacy: An Anniversary, a Discussion, and a Celebration,” Passports (September 2009). Williams also inspired what became known as the “Wisconsin School,” with Walter LaFeber becoming the leading scholar arguing for economic imperatives as central to U.S. foreign relations. See Walter LaFeber, The New Empire: An Interpretation of American Expansion, 1860–1898 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1963, 1998).

(6.) The historiography of the War of 1898 is quite extensive and well known. For example, George Kennan, Samuel Bemis, and Ernest May all wrote about the Spanish-American War in the mid-century, which solidified an interpretation of (p.26) U.S. empire as anomalous, an aberration, and/or benevolent. For example, Ernest May ended Imperial Democracy with the classic formulation that through the Spanish-American War “the United States had greatness thrust upon it.” The analyses by these authors, particularly Kennan and May, are more complex and nuanced than generally recognized in recent scholarship, with key insights into European imperial politics; however, collectively they generated a scholarly understanding of the United States’ empire as both benevolent and accidental. George F. Kennan, “The War with Spain,” in Kennan, American Diplomacy, 1900–1950 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951); Ernest May, Imperial Democracy: The Emergence of America as a Great Power (Chicago: Imprint Publications, 1961, 1991); and Samuel Bemis, “American Foreign Policy and the Blessings of Liberty,” 1961 American Historical Association Presidential Address, http://www.historians.org/info/aha_history/sfbemis.htm. For more recent reiterations of the United States as an “empire of invitation” or as less than a “real” empire, see Geir Lundestad, “Empire by Invitation in the American Century,” Diplomatic History 23.2 (December 2002); John Lewis Gaddis, We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 284–85; Suri, “The Limits of American Empire.”

Since the 1998 centennial of the War of 1898, there has been a substantial revisionist trend in the historiography, reemphasizing the war’s intentional and imperial motivations and consequences. See, in particular, Louis Perez, The War of 1898: The United States and Cuba in History and Historiography (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998); Kristin Hoganson, Fighting for American Manhood: How Gender Politics Provoked the Spanish American and Philippine American Wars (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000); Christina Duffy Burnett, Foreign in a Domestic Sense: Puerto Rico, American Expansion, and the Constitution (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001); Paul Kramer, The Blood of Government (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006); Mariola Espinosa, Epidemic Invasions: Yellow Fever and the Limits of Cuban Independence, 1878–1930 (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2009).

(7.) Amy Kaplan, “‘Left Alone with America’: The Absence of Empire in the Study of American Culture,” in Cultures of United States Imperialism, ed. Amy Kaplan and Donald E. Pease (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993), pp. 3–21.

(8.) For some key works that explore cultural elements of the U.S. empire, see Laura Wexler, Tender Violence: Domestic Visions in an Age of U.S. Imperialism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000); Melani McAllister, Epic Encounters: Culture, Media, and U.S. Interests in the United States since 1945 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); Mary Renda, Taking Haiti: Military Occupation and the Cultures of U.S. Imperialism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001); Amy Kaplan, The Anarchy of Empire in the Making of U.S. Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005); Christina Klein, Cold War Orientalism: Asia in the Middlebrow Imagination, 1945–61 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005); Kristin Hoganson, Consumers’ Imperium: The (p.27) Global Production of American Domesticity, 1865–1920 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007); Julian Go, American Empire and the Politics of Meaning: Elite Political Cultures in the Philippines and Puerto Rico during U.S. Colonialism (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008); Keith Camacho, Cultures of Commemoration: The Politics of War, Memory, and History in the Mariana Islands (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2011); Adria Imada, Aloha America: Hula Circuits through the U.S. Empire (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2012).

(9.) Randolph Bourne, “Trans-national America,” Atlantic Monthly 118 (July 1916): 86–97; Gary Gerstle, American Crucible: Race and Nation in the Twentieth Century (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002).

(10.) Thomas Bender, “The La Pietra Report: A Report to the Profession,” Organization of American Historians (September 2000), http://www.oah.org/about/reports/reports-statements/the-lapietra-report-a-report-to-the-profession; Thomas Bender, ed., Rethinking American History in a Global Age (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). Additionally, a set of influential articles on this topic appeared in the Journal of American History: David Thelen, “The Nation and Beyond: Transnational Perspectives on U.S. History”; Ian Tyrell, “Making States/Making Nations: American Historians in the Context of Empire”; Marcel van der Linden, “Transnationalizing American Labor History”; Donna Gabaccia, “Is Everywhere Nowhere? Nomads, Nations, and the Immigrant Paradigm in American History”; Robin Kelley, “‘But a Local Phase of a World Problem’: Black History’s Global Vision, 1883–1950,” all in Journal of American History 86.3 (December 1999).

(11.) Linda Basch, Nina Glick Schiller, and Cristina Szanton Blanc, Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects, Postcolonial Predicaments, and De-territorialized Nation States (New York: Routledge, 1993); Peggy Levitt, Transnational Villagers (Berkeley: University of California, 2001): Rhacel Salazar Parreñas, Servants of Globalization: Women, Migration, and Domestic Work (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001).

(12.) Leon Fink, The Maya of Morgantown: Work and Community in the Nuevo New South (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007); Leon Fink, ed., Workers across the Americas: The Transnational Turn in Labor History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).

(13.) Robert Gregg, “Making the World Safe for American History,” in After the Imperial Turn: Thinking with and through the Nation, ed. Antoinette Burton (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003), pp. 170–85.

(14.) Adele Perry, On the Edge of Empire: Gender, Race, and the Making of British Columbia (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 2001); Alicia Schmidt-Camacho, Migrant Imaginaries: Latino Cultural Politics in the U.S.-Mexican Borderlands (New York: New York University Press, 2008); Holly Karibo, “Detroit’s Border Brothel: Sex Tourism in Windsor, Ontario, 1945–1960,” American Review of Canadian Studies 40.3 (2010): 362–78; Katherine Benton-Cohen, Borderline Americans: Racial Division and Labor War in the Arizona Borderlands (Cambridge, MA: (p.28) Harvard University Press, 2011); Rachel St. John, Line in the Sand: A History of the Western U.S.-Mexico Border (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011).

(15.) Linda Gordon, “Internal Colonialism and Gender,” in Haunted by Empire: Geographies of Intimacy in North American History, ed. Ann Laura Stoler (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), p. 437; Linda Gordon, The Great Arizona Orphan Abduction (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999).

(16.) Mae Ngai, Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern America (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005); Kornel Chang, “Circulating Race and Empire: Transnational Labor Activism and the Politics of Anti-Asian Agitation in the Anglo-American Pacific World, 1880–1910,” Journal of American History 96.3 (2009); Kornel Chang, Pacific Connections: The Making of the U.S.-Canadian Borderland (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012).

For other works on Asian migration, racial formation, and labor regimes, see Evelyn Hu-DeHart, “Chinese Coolie Labour in Cuba in the Nineteenth Century: Free Labour or Neo-Slavery?” Slavery and Abolition 14.1 (1993): 67–83; Moon-Kie Jung, “Different Racisms and the Differences They Make: Race and ‘Asian Workers’ of Prewar Hawai‘i.” Critical Sociology 28.1–2 (2002): 77–100; Vijay Prashad, Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting: Afro-Asian Connections and the Myth of Cultural Purity (Boston: Beacon, 2001); Matthew Pratt Guterl, “After Slavery: Asian Labor, the American South, and the Age of Emancipation,” Journal of World History 14 (2003): 209–41; Helen Jun, “Black Orientalism: Nineteenth-Century Narratives of Race and US Citizenship,” American Quarterly 58.4 (2006): 1047–66; Moon-Ho Jung, Coolies and Cane: Race, Labor, and Sugar Production in the Age of Emancipation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006); Moon-Kie Jung, Reworking Race: The Making of Hawaii’s Interracial Labor Movement (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006).

(17.) Works that argue for the continuity of U.S. empire since colonial times include Anders Stephanson, Manifest Destiny: American Expansion and the Empire of Right (New York: Hill and Wang, 1996); Michael Hunt, Ideology and U.S. Foreign Policy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987); Richard H. Immerman, Empire for Liberty: A History of American Imperialism from Benjamin Franklin to Paul Wolfowitz (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2010); Bruce Cummings, Dominion from Sea to Sea: Pacific Ascendancy and American Power (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009).

For works specifically on American Indians and empire, see Richard White, The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Region, 1650–1815 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1991); Richard Drinnon, Facing West: The Metaphysics of Indian-Hating and Empire-Building (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997). For newer works, see Jeffrey Ostler, The Plains Sioux and US Colonialism from Lewis and Clark to Wounded Knee (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Paige Raibmon, Authentic Indians: Episodes of Encounter from the Late-Nineteenth-Century Northwest Coast (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005); Brian DeLay, War (p.29) of a Thousand Deserts: Indian Raids and the U.S.-Mexican War (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009); Pekka Hämäläinen, The Comanche Empire (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009).

(18.) Rebecca Scott, Degrees of Freedom: Louisiana and Cuba after Slavery (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008).

(19.) Cynthia Enloe, Bananas, Beaches, and Bases: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000 [1989]); Cynthia Enloe, Maneuvers: The International Politics of Militarizing Women’s Lives (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000). For works that emphasize the military role in women’s lives, particularly the politics and economy of sex work and U.S. bases, see Saundra Pollack Sturdevant and Brenda Stoltzfus, Let the Good Times Roll: Prostitution and the U.S. Military in Asia (New York: Free Press, 1993); Katherine H. S. Moon, Sex among Allies: Military Prostitution in U.S.-Korean Relations (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997); Ji-Yeon Yuh, Beyond the Shadow of Camptown: Korean Military Brides in America (New York: NYU Press, 2004); Jin-Kyung Lee, Service Economies, Sex Work, and Migrant Labor in South Korea (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2010); Maria Hohn and Seungsook Moon, eds., Over There: Living with the U.S. Military Empire from World War II to the Present (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010); Kimberley L. Phillips, War: What Is It Good For? Black Freedom Struggles and the U.S. Military from World War II to Iraq (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012)

(20.) There are numerous excellent books on African Americans and Mexican Americans in the Vietnam War, but few of these books examine the military as “work.” For key exceptions, see Christian Appy, Working-Class War: American Combat Soldiers in Vietnam (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1993); Catherine Lutz, Homefront: A Military City and the American Twentieth Century (Boston: Beacon Press, 2002); Beth Bailey, America’s Army: Making the All-Volunteer Force (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009); Phillips, War: What Is It Good For?; Peter Way, “‘black service … white money’: The Peculiar Institution of Military Labor in the British Army during the Seven Years’ War,” in Workers across the Americas, ed. Leon Fink (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), pp. 57–80. In 2011, the International Labor and Working-Class History journal (ILWCH) published a special series on labor and military history. See in particular, Jennifer Mittlestadt, “‘The Army Is a Service and Not a Job’: Unionization, Employment, and the Meaning of Service in the Late-Twentieth-Century United States”; Elizabeth Shesko, “Constructing Roads, Washing Feet, and Cutting Cane for the Patria: Building Bolivia with Military Labor, 1900–1975”; Michelle Moyd, “Making the Household, Making the State: Colonial Military Communities and Labor in German East Africa”; Priscilla Murolo, “Wars of Civilization: The U.S. Army Contemplates Wounded Knee, the Pullman Strike, and the Philippine Insurrection,” all in ILWCH 80.1 (2011).

(21.) Joshua Freeman, American Empire, 1945–2000: The Rise of a Global Power, the Democratic Revolution at Home (New York: Penguin, 2013). (p.30)

(22.) Vernadette Vicuña Gonzalez, Securing Paradise: Tourism and Militarism in Hawai‘i and the Philippines (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2013).

(23.) Ann Laura Stoler, Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1995); Ann Laura Stoler, Carnal Knowledge and Imperial Power: Race and the Intimate in Colonial Rule (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002); Ann Laura Stoler, “Tense and Tender Ties: The Politics of Comparison in North American History and (Post) Colonial Studies,” Journal of American History 88.3 (2001): 829–65; Ann Laura Stoler, ed., Haunted by Empire: Geographies of Intimacy in North American History (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2006).

(24.) Ann Laura Stoler, Capitalism and Confrontation in Sumatra’s Plantation Belt, 1870–1979 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1995); Stoler, Carnal Knowledge, pp. 162–203.

(25.) For a critique of what he terms the “Solidarity Left,” see Steve Striffler, “Solidarity, the Labor Movement, and the Challenge of Building a Left in the United States,” Dialectical Anthropology 35 (2011): 233–38.

(26.) In the contemporary moment, much of the work on international labor solidarity has focused on globalization and the challenge of transnational labor organizing in response to multinational corporations. See Jefferson Cowie, Capital Moves: RCA’s Seventy-Year Quest for Cheap Labor (New York: New Press, 1999), pp. 180–209; Michael P. Hanagan, “Labor Internationalism: An Introduction,” Social Science History 27.4 (2003): 485–99; Andrew Herod, “Geographies of Labor Internationalism,” Social Science History 27.4 (2003): 501–23; Aviva Chomsky, Linked Labor Histories: New England, Colombia, and the Making of a Global Working-Class (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008).

(27.) Frederick Cooper, in a broad critique of postcolonial studies and its lack of attention to the quotidian experience and struggles of ordinary people, has identified a tendency toward “story plucking.” That is, he criticizes postcolonial scholars for finding in specific examples of romantic and revolutionary anti-colonialism an “essence of being colonized independent of what anybody did in a colony.” Simply “naming the colonial” reveals little about how ordinary people challenged, adapted to, and transformed imperial power and the particular vocabulary they employed. See Frederick Cooper, Colonialism in Question: Theory, Knowledge, History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005).

(28.) Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynolds, Drawing the Global Color Line: White Men’s Countries and the International Challenge of Racial Equality (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2008); Chang, Pacific Connections; David Roediger and Elizabeth Esch, The Production of Difference: Race and the Management of Labor in U.S. History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012); Adam Ewing, “Caribbean Labor Politics in the Age of Garvey,” Race and Class (July 2013):23–45; Adam Ewing, The Age of Garvey: How a Jamaican Activist Created a Mass Movement and Changed Global Black Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014). (p.31)

(30.) For recent works on tourism, see F. Robert Hunter, “Tourism and Empire: The Thomas Cook & Son Enterprise on the Nile, 1868–1914,” Middle Eastern Studies 40.5 (September 2004): 28–54; Dennis Merrill, Negotiating Paradise: U.S. Tourism and Empire in Twentieth-Century Latin America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2009); Christine Skwiot, The Purpose of Paradise: U.S. Tourism and Empire in Cuba and Hawai‘i (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010); Dina Berger and Andrew Grant Wood, eds., Holiday in Mexico: Critical Reflections on Tourism and Tourist Encounters (Durham, NC: Duke University Press 2010); James W. Martin, “Mapping an Empire: Tourist Cartographies of the Caribbean in the Early Twentieth Century,” Popular Visual Culture 9.1 (February 2011): 1–14. On domestic service, see Julia Martinez and Claire Lowrie, “Everyday American Imperialism: The Politics of Chinese Domestic Servants in the Philippines,” Pacific Historical Review 81.4 (2012): 511–36.

(31.) For works that link imperial and immigration histories, see Donna Gabaccia, Foreign Relations: American Immigration in Global Perspective (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012); Desmond King, Making Americans: The Origins of the Diverse Democracy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002); Matthew Frye Jacobson, Barbarian Virtues: The United States Encounters Foreign People at Home and Abroad, 1876–1917 (New York: Hill and Wang, 2001); Gilbert G. Gonzalez, Culture of Empire: American Writers, Mexico and Mexican Immigrants, 1880–1930 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2004).

(32.) Lake and Reynolds, Drawing the Global Color Line; Cindy Hahamovitch, Jamaican Guest Workers in America and the Global History of Deportable Labor (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011); David G. Gutiérrez and Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo, eds., Nation and Migration: Past and Future, American Quarterly (special issue) 60.3 (September 2008); Paul R. Spickard, Almost All Aliens: Immigration, Race, and Colonialism in American History and Identity (New York: Routledge, 2007); Ngai, Impossible Subjects; Cindy Hahamovitch, Fruits of Their Labor (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1997).

(33.) Carey McWilliams, Factories in the Field (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); Michael Denning, The Cultural Front (London: Verso, 1997), pp. 260–69.

(34.) Rick Baldoz, The Third Asiatic Invasion: Empire and Migration in Filipino America, 1898–1946 (New York: NYU Press, 2011); Catherine Ceniza Choy, Empire of Care: Nursing and Migration in Filipino American History (Durham, NY: Duke University Press, 2003); Dorothy Fujita-Rony, American Workers, Colonial Power: Philippine Seattle and the Transpacific West, 1919–1941 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002); Parreñas, Servants of Globalization.

(36.) Vicente Rafael, White Love and Other Events in Filipino History (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000), p. 5.

(37.) Andrea Queeley, “Somos Negros Finos: Anglophone Caribbean Cultural Citizenship in Revolutionary Cuba,” in Global Circuits of Blackness: Race, (p.32) Citizenship, and Modern Subjectivities, ed. Percy C. Hintzen, Jean Muteba Rahier, and Felipe Smith (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 2010); David Vine, Island of Shame: The Secret History of the U.S. Military Base on Diego Garcia (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009); Jorge Giovannetti, “The Elusive Organization of ‘Identity’: Race, Religion, and Empire among Caribbean Migrants in Cuba,” Small Axe 19 (February 2006): 1–27.

(38.) Ellsworth Huntington, The Character of Races (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1924); Ellsworth Huntington, Civilization and Climate (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1924 [1915]). See, also, Gary Okihiro, Pineapple Culture: A History of the Tropical and Temperate Zones (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010); Daniel E. Bender, American Abyss: Savagery and Civilization in the Age of Industry (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2009), 40–68.

(39.) David Arnold, The Tropics and the Traveling Gaze: India, Landscape, and Science, 1800–1856 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006); David Arnold, “‘Illusory Riches’: Representations of the Tropical World, 1840–1950,” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 21 (March 2000): 6–18; Felix Driver, “Imagining the Tropics: Views and Visions of the Tropical World,” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 25 (March 2004): 1–17; Felix Driver and Luciana Martins, Tropical Visions in an Age of Empire (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005). For related works, see Nancy Leys Stepan, Picturing Tropical Nature (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001); Krista Thompson, An Eye for the Tropics: Tourism, Photography, and Framing the Caribbean Picturesque (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006); James W. Martin, “Becoming Banana Cowboys: White-Collar Masculinity, the United Fruit Company, and Tropical Empire in Early-Twentieth-Century Latin America,” Gender & History 25.2 (August 2013): 317–38; Greg Bankoff, “First Impressions: Diarists, Scientists, Imperialists, and the Management of the Environment in the American Pacific, 1899–1902,” Journal of Pacific History 44.3 (December 2009): 261–80; Paul Sutter, “Nature’s Agents or Agents of Empire? Entomological Workers and Environmental Change during the Construction of the Panama Canal,” Isis 98.4 (December 2007):724–54; Karen Morin, “Embodying Tropicalities,” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 25.1 (March 2004): 23–25; Greg Bankoff, “In the Eye of the Storm: The Social Construction of the Forces of Nature and the Climactic and Seismic Construction of God in the Philippines,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 35.1 (February 2004): 91–111; Natalie Ring, “Inventing the Tropical South: Race, Region, and the Colonial Model,” Mississippi Quarterly 56.4 (October 2003).

(40.) Jodi A. Byrd, The Transit of Empire: Indigenous Critiques of Colonialism (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2011). Also see, Vine, Island of Shame; J. Kehaulani Kauanui, Hawaiian Blood: Colonialism and the Politics of Sovereignty and Indigeneity (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008); Noenoe Silva, Aloha Betrayed (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004); Huanani Kay Trask, From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawai‘i (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999).