Tuesday 20 November 2007

what's the relationship between kittens and a rabbit?

here's a story that happy families are of _all kinds_ (contra all conservative comments)- let us hope the friendship lasts... story brought to you via luqman here. being in the field makes me an unkeen newsreader. that's my excuse anyway.

adulthood


I had a dream where we buried someone. They were put into a white coffin. I arrived to the ceremony mid-way, and did not see whose funeral this was. It had been an unnatural death, and in people’s faces I not only read bereavement, but deep shock also. I awoke with a startling grief weighing me down, and the stark vision of candles lit remained with me for days. It was a youth that died. Youth itself may well have been put to its grave, who knows? The youth of my project?
If a project grows like a person, mine has just reached adulthood. How do you define that? Making decisions that you would have rejected earlier in your life, and accepting the consequences, instead of being raging of Sturm and Drang. Doing the job even though the initial enthusiasm has gone. Sticking to the promise despite a million ambivalences. Tuning down expectations to realistic levels. Loving the person despite your own and their own weaknesses. But being a bit disappointed sometimes, mostly of myself and my own limitations. Being a bit self-ironic in one’s momentary, slightly shameful admission that this is how it is even though it should not be. And of course I am only talking about my project.
and as a reply to aaron: i do a lot of silly things all the time... it seems that i am sometimes very solemn on my blog, but that's just a cover...my relationship to writing is the following: once i have written it, i conveniently forget all about it, and it helps me cope with everyday life. well it is a kind of oblivion that is semi-permanent.

Tuesday 13 November 2007

3 a.m. (like the matchbox 20 song)


As a consequence of sleeping pretty much all day to get my fever down and keep my head from exploding, I am wide awake now. I am headacheless through seventeen-hour-sleepy-spontaneous-remission-therapy. Monica and me spent time drinking tea and nibbling biscuits until well after midnight. We talked research, writing, people. I am actually so highly awake that my thoughts are racing. Everything is potentiality. I think in the dark and I imagine the entire neighbourhood population of socialist blocks around me fast asleep. I like the calm of the dead of the night. It is the time for second chances, a time with so much space it makes you feel little. I feel my stomach tingling. I turn on the light. I write, again.
I really feel fieldwork ending. Lots to do before the end of the year. I will cross the gates to the Orient, as they say here, then return home. Life takes me back to Scotland, and I will start writing the actual thesis. I may have reconciled myself with that thought. I have lots of material, I have lots of ideas, it is ‘merely’ a matter of putting them into a coherent, rigorous, beautiful fashion. Sayeth she, but little did she know.
And then, maybe, hopefully, slowly, I will get, like Aino said, to the more important things in life. I am not sure how it will work out, leaving here is the first step. I will get there in the end. Sayeth she, and tried to look at the stars, failing, for being in the city, in a flat, surrounded by concrete. Can we wish upon the stars if we do not see them? Course we can. Sayeth Paul Eluard:

‘La nuit n’est jamais complète.
Il y a toujours, puisque je le dis,
Puisque je l’affirme,
Au bout du chagrin
Une fenêtre ouverte,
Une fenêtre éclairée,
Il y a toujours un rêve qui veille,
Désir à combler, faim à satisfaire,
Un coeur généreux,
Une main tendue, une main ouverte,
Des yeux attentifs,
Une vie, la vie à se partager.’

Sayeth she: here’s another reason to start a new day in a few hours. Bonsoir. Bonne nuit.

Friday 9 November 2007

Two Parrots at the Fair

We stopped in our slow walk through the packed, muddy fairground where we had gone because it was the day of the archangels Michael and Gabriel, and people were taking it a bit easier on these kinds of days of special saints. We had bought a gogoasa each, a wonderfully simple sweet baked in oil, and were eating them, having a look at the vegetable stand nearby, and planning what else we needed to buy from there. Suddenly I noticed a guy walking around with a little wooden tray that had a little high-seat for two green little parrots. On the bottom of the tray was a kind of file system, holding tiny folded papers. As I looked at him, and turned to ask my friends about what he was all about, he was already coming our way. He said, hello, are you married? It immediately dawned on me that it was about the future somehow. Of immense naivety, I was still curious about the function of the parrots. I saw they were real and I noticed they also had a little corner on the tray where some bird food was spread out for them. He said, come on only two lei, I will tell you the future, what zodiac are you? My friends were already interjecting, we do not wish to be tricked, we do not give money for nothing. Noticing us having our gogosi, he said, looking at me, because I was obviously more fascinated, ok… for you one lei, because I also want to buy myself a gogoasa. What star sign are you? Returning to the hopeless manoeuvre of wooing my friends, he said, and maybe if you all get one, I can also take a car home. He was completely open about his money making scheme, and the way in which it worked: I tell you what you want to hear and you give me some money. I was amused, and said, ok I will give you one lei. So he just gave me a piece of paper, no longer insisting on what starsign I was. I was a bit ashamed of my own gullibility, and put it in my purse until I was by myself to read it. Let me tell you it was not the biggest revelation of my life, but I just like horoscopes, even the plumpest ones. The function of the parrots: good marketing tools. If at least they had been ventriloquists and sung the horoscope to me. That would have impressed me. Where did all the ventriloquists go? Why are fairs no longer about wonder, but merely about monkey-making? What are the new sites of wonder? Are they muddy? What is your favourite site of wonder?

Monday 5 November 2007

Giovanna Reggiani

On TV, the funeral of Giovanna, the story around an Italian woman (47) murdered by a Romanian rrom/gypsy (24) has dominated news reports of the last few days. Images: the grief-stricken husband is held by two friends while the coffin is moved into the church. Lots of politicians and notabilities attend the funeral service. In Bucharest, Realitatea TV has made a panel for Prayers for Giovanna, where people leave flowers, candles, and write messages on a whiteboard. Romanian officials react. Italian people make comments. The Romanian Foreign Ministry gives statements. On the outskirts of Rome bulldozers flatten the quasi-shantytowns built by Romanian rromi/gypsies. The rromi/gypsies in Italy are in distress because they may be expelled, and their dwellings destroyed. The Romanian premier accuses the Mayor of Rome of exploiting the events for his own purposes.
Populist, racist and moderate voices all shout at each other. As usual, the media does not just make the news, but is an arena for more engrained views, giving a (very specific) perspective. I think there are plenty of reasons, all not very flattering to ‘Europeans’, for which this story broke.

In Romania, discrimination against rromi/gypsies is a daily encounter. The word used in everyday speech is ‘tigan’. Never have I heard anyone use, in a non-parodyings way, any other word. Mass media (opportunistic and relatively emotional and populistic) uses a mixture. It is admitted that there are also ‘tigani cuminti’ (nice, well-behaved rromi/gypsies) who do not display any criminal behaviour, but they’re exceptions to the rule. Romanian Romanians who break laws are not criminals (except if they’re politicians), but they merely are resourceful (se descurca) or they are clever (destepti). Please note the hypocrisy inherent in this view denouncing a high degree of nationalist-exclusive sentiment-conviction.
I am routinely confronted with statements combining the following: dirty gypsies/they cannot do any work properly, they are bad craftsmen/they steal/they have made our nation a gypsy nation in Europe/they are not civilised/they refuse to work/they refuse to send their children to school/we know what it is really like to live with gypsies, not like those people in the EU who accuse us of discrimination/if we are not careful, we are going to be a minority in our own country, because the gypsies are still making children, even though they are too poor to raise them/go and have a look in X (insert village with majority of gypsies here), I was shocked, I thought this cannot be Romania, this must be Zimbabwe/………/
This type of attitude goes right across gender, age, class, and level of education.
The rrom/gypsy is, as others have pointed out too, the incarnation of a very hierarchical viewing of society, and it is pretty much equivalent with foreigner of the worst kind. You cannot get much more alien than being a gypsy.
I keep forgetting how much racism there is in large parts of any population.

The Gândul of Friday 2nd November contains an editorial by Bogdan Chirieac that renders the Romanian angle very well. This newspaper is not a tabloid. I read this, I understand all the words, and yet, I think, this is weird. Back to the rhetoric that I still strive to understand. The article in question is entitled ‘The punishment of Romania for Rrominia?’
I’ll translate it entirely.
“A raping criminal, of Romanian citizenship, of rrom ethnicity, has horrified Italy again. To the horrible crime against a woman of 47 years of age, committed by this man, can be added other frightening crimes committed in the last months of other Romanian citizens of rrom ethnicity. Rome’s government, assembled in an emergency meeting, as happens only in the case of war or natural disaster, has taken the firm decision to expel foreigners. The word ‘Romanian’ is not pronounced in the decree. But three quarters of arrests in Rome this year – 2700 persons – are Romanian citizens. All the Romanians commit 37 percent of thefts of Italy and over 15 percent of the murders [rendered as: asasinate]. The Italians, and, along with them, the French, Spanish, British, German, have every right to be angry. In their home, citizens of an Eastern state admitted at the limit into the European community affect their way of life in a concerning way: they steal from them, they plunder them, they kill them.
The Europeans have every right to be angry, but not the right of making the mistake of condemning the Romanian people [popor= people] in its entirety, for the mode of life of rrom minorities. The preservation of the rights of minorities, the encouragement of their respective languages and cultures are European values. Romania was judged harshly during the entire process of EU integration, for the fact that it discriminates against the rromi, that it does not respect their laws and traditions. Today, Europe is confronted with the problems of the rromi that were, until now, hidden from view. In the name of political correctness, Europe hesitates to describe things as they are. The gypsies (tiganii) are nomadic populations throughout Europe, not only in Romania. The way of life of some of them severely affects the European model. Stealing is learnt at the same time as walking, the children are not let to go to school, the little girls are married and even give birth when they are 10-11 years old. The gypsies live in tents, horse carriages, and, more modern, in caravans. There is a parallel justice system with an immediate carrying out of the sentence. The social integration is, as such, refused under all aspects in relation to education, family planning, medical assistance, professional development. These are the traditions of some gypsy populations of Europe. Does the EU want to preserve this way of life? If yes, then the public opinion needs to be prepared and informed in this direction. If not, the solution is not, under no circumstances, neither the condemnation of the Romanian people, nor the deportation or isolation of gypsies at the margins of the cities, as has been proposed by Mister Gigi Becali [Party of the New Generation and owner of Steaua Bucharest, a shepherd who got fantastically rich after 1990, known for his populist ‘policies’ consisting largely in money donations to deprived people to catch votes and for his lack of a programme] in Romania. The solution can only be found in the passing from an NGO policy priority to a European strategy, similar to the process of integration of the other minorities of the EU. The results will not be, however, spectacular or fast. In France, the integration of Maghreb minorities is a half-failure. The brother of the French Justice minister, Mrs Rachida Dati, of Moroccan origin, are or have been in prison. In the last years, the ‘garbage’, as Sarkozy has called them, of the peripheries of Paris have lit up, in a revolt, over 10000 cars. In strong and rigorous Germany, the integration of the Turks has not happened even after 40 years. The Turkish quartier of modern and cosmopolitan Berlin looks like an ill-famed suburb of Istanbul, and a lot of its inhabitants do not speak German, even if they were born and raised here.
The simple truths known by any police officer of Europe are not told by the politicians except by whispering and in the absence of TV cameras. President Basescu, for whom gypsies are ‘stinking’, does not have the courage to tell Europe that in the nomad tribes having a bath is not a normal tradition, and that people smear tallow over their bodies for protection from illnesses and charms. The Romanian people can be called thieving, raping and criminal, but this will not bring peace and security to the streets of Rome, Paris or Madrid. This is only possible by the recognition of the problems of the gypsies and their solving through a European way [pe cale europeana].”

A lot could be said about this piece. I do not question that integration is a delicate and difficult topic, but I am personally concerned with the increasingly restricting legislation as far as migrants are concerned. I think as far as internal migration within the EU is concerned, it is wrong to impose restrictions. I see it as a consequence of an increase of xenophobia, in an increasingly unstable economic environment, and, let me put it this way, I might be left-wing, but not entirely opposed to necessary reforms as far as work is concerned, as long as certain conditions are fulfilled. But this is an entire discussion for which there exist better arenas than this post.
Let me keep the comments brief, all in the line of ‘deux poids, deux measures’ really…

- Note the exhortation not to confuse Romanians and gypsies, juxtaposed with the conflation of Europe and the EU
- Note the conflation of EU accession and integration in the case of Romanians, and the rhetorically empty use of ‘integration’ meaning assimilation
- Note the value-laden, and spatially differentiating descriptions of the progressive West and the backward, unmodern East (epitomised by the Turks). Note, in the same vein, the juxtaposition of the EU as a torchlight of progressiveness, and that will solve Romania’s national problems as well as every other country’s
- ‘The solution can only be found in the passing from an NGO policy priority to a European strategy, similar to the process of integration of the other minorities of the EU’ – what on earth does he want to say? As far as I
- Note how the Europeans are, collectively, angry at the rromi
- There is a lurking feeling that it is the gypsies’/Turkish immigrants/Maghrebians fault that they are at least poorer than average (note that this does not enter the discussion), and that it is because of inherent deficiencies (e.g. weird, unprogressive traditions)
- As usual, I have a high level of mistrust in the way in which the Romanian press uses statistics, and gives sometimes distorted information that results from lack of rigour and/or overgeneralisation, e.g. the bit where gypsies are universally characterised as living in horse carriages, marrying off their children early, etc.
- The non-integration of gypsies is viewed as a refusal, but the engrained, interiorised views on gypsies (at least in Romania) do not help ‘integration’ in the best possible way because even key people like teachers or priests have these kinds of views…
- It does raise questions about certain aspects of political correctness that may, at first, be used to gloss something that might be unchanged in practice, but that might change over time, just by giving it a new frame and vocabulary, attitudes to follow shortly. In other words, Wilde’s phrase that the truth is rarely pure and never simple holds true, and I believe that even while there may be proportionally more gypsy criminals in Italy, I do not think that someone has done the statistics how many of the Romanians citizens arrested by Italian police were, actually, ‘of rrom ethnicity’. I have a hard time imagining Italian carabinieri asking the suspect, ‘please fill in this ethnicity questionnaire, thank you very much, Sir’. And I find it funny how police officers are transformed, suddenly, in a country where the police force is known for their lingering corruption and violence, in the keepers of the truth
- Hopefully the discussion will mature a little…

My apologies for exceeding normative post word count.

Absence, of Myself, from Myself, from the World

This week it has been hard to justify, even to myself, im stillen Kämmerlein, what the use of anthropology is, and what its methodological advantages, if any, are, in relation to a project like mine. I find it hard to see what I should be doing for the little time I have got left on the field, and I find it enormously difficult to face people in this state of being. I alternate between hitting the wall with my head to think clearly, and giving up, watching films I never wanted to see. Part of me just wants to hibernate, preferably until 2009. Another part just wants to live, in the here and now, and not always think, oh need to remember this as it happens, to write it down. The PhD gets in the way of living, for now.
All this is enormously destabilising, and makes me bite my nails and curse my consequential re-fledgling shyness. It feels like social life around me has no interest at all, goes (more than ever) into all directions. What is worse, it cannot capture my being, for the moment. Life-as-lived-here would need to ‘get to me’, but I feel my brain is woolly, I am more passive than I’d like to, I cannot seem to find the questions that would need to be voiced. I avoid. I hate my phone. I stare at the page, and forget to note down millions of things. I do not understand my scribbles. I am unsure about what words I need to use in English to express what I mean. I wonder about things that I cannot solve here and now, theoretical framework, structure of argument, number of chapters. I cannot take in what happens. I fail to discern the events that matter. Consequently, there is little eventfulness, of consequence, on the surface. My daydreams tell me otherwise, but when I rush to note it down, it is gone. I feel under- and overstimulated simultaneously.
I went to the mountains to get my concentration back. To think in the quiet, with only the fire and the wind rustling my thoughts. I walked and the regular pace of the steps eased my breathing. I even felt happy. On return I found, however, that my focus was still gone, and that I wanted to do anything but attend to the confusion. I told David that I was becoming world class at procrastination, then I went to my neighbour and broke down crying for no real reason in the middle of a conversation. As a consequence I felt ashamed of my own weakness, and my obsession to emulate no less than a supergirl, and the way in which les tout petits soucis seemed, at that moment, life-threatening. Who can I tell here, without shame of my own privilege, my position, my self-imposed project of little importance?
Neither has there been an obvious, event-like reason for this ‘wholesale’ questioning. If I try to give it some perspective: it is true that something like it has accompanied me for the entirety of the PhD project, but it peaks at certain times. Why now is a difficult question, and to be quite frank, I have no idea. Again I can feel myself being much less of an actor than I want to be, much more a product of personal history, enriched by circumstances, moods of season, acts of bacteria and exposure to northern breeze. I read somewhere that postgrads have stress levels similar to soldiers in battle, which I find entirely plausible. I shall learn to manage them better. I find we should have gotten some proper training for this, not just classroom-based, but practical. Furthermore, I think lone anthropology should be abolished. It would be much better to have teams of people, I think the dynamics (of all kinds) would be much better both for the project and the researchers involved, especially beginners.

Stress
ORIGIN Middle English (denoting hardship or force exerted on a person for the purpose of compulsion): shortening of distress , or partly from Old French estresse ‘narrowness, oppression,’ based on Latin strictus ‘drawn tight’ (see strict )

Saturday 3 November 2007

quiz....




first one to guess to the most precise degree where these places are is a winner!