Itchy Feet

Olive Hay-Edie, BA Social Anthropology

I am a fourth-generation third-culture kid, four generations of itchy feet. My father’s father’s father, my father’s father, my father and I, all have itchy feet. We aren’t the shadows of imperialism (I have checked), we simply reject that of what we are, authentically, begrudgingly and with privilege, which makes way for guilt.

My father is something, a mixing bowl of experiences, a little cinnamon and a touch of grey in his later years. He has the itchiest feet. His identity is scrambled, made apparent through 100 homes, 1000 hobbies and 10000 memories. If I were to ask him who he was, there would be no straight answer, no clear-cut crispy immunity from self-doubt. I feel that he would stare at me blankly and then say his name.

When people ask me where my father is from, I o en say, ‘I don’t really know’ because he has never told me. I sometimes say Portugal because that’s where he’s most at home, his place to return to, but his passports are British and Brazilian, yet his father is Norwegian? If I were to ask, he would not recite citizenship nor a nationality, he would never say he was English or that he feels at home on this soil. If I were to pick up his passport and hand it to him as proof, he would probably put it away.

If he were to look in a mirror, I wonder what he would see? e wind chill from Portugal, the hard jaw from Scotland, the tall we see eco-anxiety in student well-being support programs? e paper ‘Young People’s Voices on Climate Anxiety, Government Betrayal and Moral Injury: A Global Phenomenon’ suggests that one of the most supportive things an institution can do is to allow for students‘ ‘feelings and views [to be] heard, validated, respected, and acted upon.’ Taking it one step further, the initiative ‘Anxiety to Action’ uses group, parent and individual workshops, which are conducted to encourage movement towards positive action, identifying goals and challenging negative feelings. A similar group, ‘Force of Nature’, founded by climate activist Clover Hogan in 2019, advocates for young people to use their eco-anxiety for good by “mobilising mindsets’’. rough their student programs and teacher training, Force of Nature has collaborated with the likes of King’s College London and the University of Oxford to support students through their experiences with eco-anxiety.

Well, rst of all, there is the issue of budget. As students, we saw the e ects that Covid-19 had on our well-being and on well-being services. e entire health system in the UK suffered hugely. e fact that there is limited well-being funding comes as no surprise. But, on this basis, it seems illogical to forfeit eco-anxiety-related support and have to, in turn, face “hidden costs”; by hidden costs, I am referring to any unforeseen expenses that will result from perpetuated mental health issues at the hands of worsening climate conditions. And Eco-Anxiety support doesn’t need to cost a pretty penny.

However, a more productive alternative to addressing ecoanxiety head-on may be to invest in sustainable projects or work on mitigation solutions to climate change. In doing so, not only is the university more climate-conscious - rst green ag - it can also reduce the e ects of eco-anxiety by providing students with a sense of agency, knowing that they are part of a mindful community - second green ag. Take Keele University, for example; they have made a 25-year deal with ENGIE, a global energy and services group, ‘to develop a wind, solar and battery storage park to generate 50% of the university’s power,’ says Julie Tam from Universities UK. If SOAS were to invest in well-being to tackle eco-anxiety, there would be less of a budget for it to confront climate change, and like many other universities, SOAS does not have the capacity to have its cake and eat it. So, it seems that our universities should look to invest in the climate, to begin with, and perhaps, in turn, students may be relieved of their climate concern, for the time being anyway… brow from Norway, the sunspots from Hong Kong, the smile lines from Brazil, or the tired eyes given generously by the UK?

Whilst an acknowledgement of eco-anxiety would, I’m sure, go a long way for the students of SOAS, it is important that universities make some di cult budget trade-o s and invest in the climate in order to improve student well-being for the long term. In the words of Sir Anton Muscatelli, the Principal of the University of Glasgow, ‘we cannot achieve our goals at the expense of the environment.’ Renewable energy at SOAS? I’m a big fan.

My mother is English. Yet she has adjustments about her - from her own experiences elsewhere. Her smile lines are from Hong Kong, and her moles are from ailand, yet both of her feet are buried deeply in English soil. Not once have they been itchy since she returned home. Home is her house in the countryside. Home to her is solid and tangible, it has never been shaken. My mother has changed since she rst le , her clothes are colourful, and her house is lled with things you’d nd elsewhere, but home has always stayed the same, in the soil, on this island.

I am grateful to my mother as one of my feet is free from the itch and is buried deeply. Yet thanks to my father, one foot is sticking out and is hyperactive, existential and on re. I think it’s hard to feel rooted when you’re moving all the time. ere have been moments where I have tried to dig my deepened foot free, you could say I’ve used pickaxes, shovels and my bare hands to get it out so I can be detached from my half homes altogether. It works for a bit, I go manic, I am energetic, enthusiastically so, yet my tired foot always nds its way back down, deep in the cold and so English soil. ere have been times where I have buried the itchy foot as deep as the other so that I can be still, be English too. Again, this is a temporary x.

My identity is English, yet when I say it, I feel empty. I don’t remember long summer evenings playing in elds or ice cream vans, wood pigeons and metal slides, picking blackberries or village fetes. To me, that’s two feet in the ground English. Yet I’m not anything else. I’m informed by other things; my tastes and memories were given to me elsewhere. My hair has been bleached by Hong Kong, my teeth damaged by ailand, my knees worn out by Portugal, my ribs bruised by London, and my nose singed by Sta ord.

I think there are plenty of itchy feet. We all itch in di erent ways, some for home, some for adventure, some for a person or a culture. I think there are as many deep feet; feet under the surface; grounded and buried in belonging. Do your feet tickle for something or somewhere, do they need to be seen too? Or do you prefer them buried deep, would you bury them deeper? Or do you circle, pirouette like me? If so, let’s talk about it, let’s hook toes. We can complain about that itch on the one foot, and the inability to scratch it, as the other has nowhere to go.

I think that belonging and identity speak through metaphors, images and senses. I’ve never had a straightforward conversation about it. We’ve always liked the belonging to something and the nostalgia or longing for another. So if I asked you to draw it, would you draw itchy feet like me or a rug you used to curl up on? If you’d like to nd out more, drop me a message at 682200@soas.ac.uk, and we can talk about it.