The thesis of Garreau’s 1981 book, The nine nations of North America, is deceptively simple. Not only, he argues, are the borders between the states of the USA and between that country and Mexico & Canada are artificial constructions – they clearly are – but that they are irrelevant. There are commonly recognised regions with the USA, but they don’t work either. Consider, within the Mid-west, the differences between Missouri and Michigan! This all became increasingly obvious to Garreau, a journalist, and colleagues of his as they travelled around North America. If they wanted to work out what actions in what localities would effect which people in which places, they needed a different set of tools to explain how the USA works.
This gives rise to the titular nine nations. They are the Foundry, New England, Quebec, Dixie, MexAmerica, Ecotopia, the Empty Quarter, the Islands and the Breadbasket. They each have a capital (Detroit, Boston, Denver, Quebec, Atlanta, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Miami and Kansas City respectively). Some are historic regions – New England, Quebec, Dixie – others are characterised by their ethnic makeup – the Islands and MexAmerica – but, in Garreau’s book, they are all cogently described by looking at where different social, economic and geographic factors cause dividing lines with greater relevance to the quotidiarian than the accidental lines of history. The book goes through each ‘nation’ and looks at its extent, its borders and so on.
There is a problem with the term ‘nation’ as, if we accept Benedict Anderson’s definition of nations as imagined communities then these entities so not qualify as, not being widely recognised, people cannot, for the most part, imagine themselves to be members. There are exceptions. Quebec is a clear, full exception; MexAmerica and the Islands might be partial exceptions.
I don’t think Garreau had it quite right in ’81. There was still considerable variation within his nine nations; consider, for instance, Appalachia, which crosses two and possibly three of the nine. I would argue that its cultural and economic histories and situation make a good argument for it to ‘exist’ in some way; the existence of the Appalachian Regional Commission would suggest that I have at least some weight to my argument.
However, that very example shows the strength of Garreau’s argument. If Appalachia exists in any meaningful sense, it crosses state lines. From there, it is not far to crossing country borders. As anyone who has travelled across Texas will know, the Lone Star State is a varied place; that is not to say that people there do not identify both as Texans and Americans, but that, in terms of reality, someone from Texarkana might have more in common with a Sooner than someone from El Paso.
This idea has all sorts of implications.
First, identity, interest and reality are really, really complicated. Secondly, effective public policy needs to look at crossing international boundaries. Thirdly, given that in some cases, particularly MexAmerica and the Islands, the Anglo (Garreau’s term, not mine) policy establishment will need to be, ahem, a little more reasonable towards non-Anglo, and particularly those who don’t speak ‘Anglo’ as a first language, people.
The book was published in 81 and refers back over Garreau’s experiences in the previous decade. Things have changed greatly since then; the mentions of the possibilities of computers seem quaint now, the worsening economics of the Foundry have continued and the Hispanic population of the US has grown significantly. Nevertheless, the general thrust of the book holds true; polity, nation and economy do not necessarily overlap.
An interesting question would be how much this applies to Europe (is Saar-Lor-Lux more relevant than Benelux? Does Jutland make more sense tied to Northern Germany than Scandinavia? How well does Northern Italy sit with the rest of the Republic?) and the UK; England exists, in some sense, as a nation. Does it exist as a polity or an oiconome?
I do recommend the book.
xD.