The Argonaut: LSE Anthropology Magazine (Michaelmas 2018 Version)

SEPTEMBER 2018

London School of Economics and Political Science ©

The Editorial Team CHIEF EDITOR Maria Tzoannou DEPUTY EDITOR Dimitris Sarsentis NEWSLETTER DIRECTOR Juliette Gautron

HEAD OF FEATURES Marco Rossi CO - HEAD OF FEATURES Katie Tesseyman HEAD OF FIELDWORK Maria Cerdio Lara CO - HEAD OF FIELDWORK Zsófia Kunvári ART HEAD Lena Mansy ART CO - HEAD Regina Lagarte

ILLUSTRATION Maria Tzoannou

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR Dear readers, Welcome to the third edition of the Argonaut. We hope you will enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed creating it.

I still remember the first time I got my hands on the last issue of the Argonaut. It was Orientation Day on September 2016.

A year later, I found myself discussing with Nick Long what I perceived to be a lack of student initiatives. Then, from the very back of my head, I remembered the Argonaut magazine that I had once read. He explained to me that the magazine eventually closed down as the older generation of students graduated. Ever since then, I made it my mission to make the Argonaut a platform of expression for each and every Anthropology student.

A couple of days into the project “The Argonaut: Relaunch”, I could not believe how wrong I was in thinking our students lacked engagement. Together with Dimitris and Juliette, we walked into the Seligman Library in the very first meeting for the Argonaut awaiting to be just the three of us. Yet, we were pleasantly surprised by the large number of students who responded to our call for the project. We could not believe it.

So many wonderful people and so many wonderful ideas.

My predecessor, Jade Gorgan, wrote that every Anthropology Department is special in its own way. And ours is more than special. Each and every member of the Department offered a helping hand and words of encouragement to ensure that this publication would come to fruition. Professor Katy Gardner helped us every step of the way, guiding us and offering us her valuable advice. Countless meetings with Yanina Hinrichsen and Renata Todd, Nick Long and Catherine Allerton, shaped the Argonaut you have on your hands today. This publication could not have happened without their guidance, continued enthousiasm and infinite support.

To conclude, we would like to thank everyone who contributed in every which way to make this magazine dream come true, including our writers, photographers and artists that filled the pages of this very magazine with the most creative and original insights.

It has been an honour.

On behalf of the Argonaut editorial team, Maria Tzoannou

HOW TO BECOME AN ARGONAUT If you are interested in joining our editorial team, please email us at anthro.theargonaut@lse.ac.uk .

Argonaut Magazine

CONTENTS 24

26

16

FEATURES

2

Is God Actually Dead?

4

What’s a White Yardie, Mum?

6

12

Stories of Love and Hate in Jerusalem

8

A Marxist perspective on Hong Kong’s politics

10

The Power of Practical Solidarity

SNAP OF FIELDWORK

12

Gender and Kinship Relations among

Indonesian Domestic Workers

14

Krishna Valley: ‘An Ambitious Society’

16

Experiencing Senegal: Anecdotes from the

Field

18

6

18

20

The Great Murder

ART

22

September 2018

Azande Witchcraft and the Evil Eye

The Writing’s on the Wall (But Not For Long)

24

Symbiosis of Space and Identity

26

“El Etnógrafo”: A Film Review

27

Ingmar Bergman’s ‘The Seventh Seal’ (1957)

1

Is God Actually Dead?

Marco Rossi

Head of Features March 8, 2018

“L’enfer c’est les autres”. This is the revelation Joseph Garcin had in that room deep down in hell, while waiting, with two more women, the punishment for their sins. It took him rather long to understand how the actual punishment was merely sharing the room, having the entire eternity to talk about their lives, developing feelings of both attraction and hatred, flirting, insulting, and yelling at each other. “Hell is other people”. Or better, “hell” is the perception of the “other”, and of ourselves from other’s eyes.

Joseph’s conclusion, in Sartre’s Huis Clos, is thus addressed to other human beings. However, if we only capitalise the “a” in “autre”, the meaning changes completely.

In this sense we could broaden the concept from “the hell is other people” to the idea that “hell is the Other”, and more precisely the Lacanian Big Other that overarches our existence. In brief, the Big Other is the symbolic order perceived by the human subjectivity, whence come norms, principles, prohibitions, wishes, and guaranties of meaning, theorised by the French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan. Hook (2008) argues how the Big Other is always exterior, outside every conceivable inter-subjectivity. It provides the coordinates for inter-relations, being the place whence the subject absorbs the guides for his life and lives according to what he or she perceives as his or her duty. Thus, “[t]he Other here is an alienating system, an always already existing totality to which the subject needs accommodate themselves” (Hook, 2008). But how does this Other relate to the nihilist, modern Death of God? And is God actually dead, or is he still alive? I will argue that God, as the ideological compendium of values and norms never ceased to exist. He has been replaced with Society.

In an article by Slavoj Zizek (2009) there is a joke that was used to explain an important concept among Lacanian scholars. The joke goes: A man who believes himself to be a grain of seed is taken to the mental institution where the doctors do their best to finally convince him that he is not a grain but a man.

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When he is cured (convinced that he is not a grain of seed but a man) and allowed to leave the hospital, he immediately comes back trembling. There is a chicken outside the door and he is afraid that it will eat him. “Dear fellow,” says his doctor, “you know very well that you are not a grain of seed but a man”. “Of course I know that,” replies the patient, “but does the chicken know it?”

Why was it really that important for the patient that the chicken had to know his rediscovered identity of a human?

That is because the patient was not satisfied enough by the mere knowledge of his symptoms. This is the fetishisation of the exterior, the alien Other that must be “informed” of our condition, “it” must know and register, in order for our condition to be fully legitimised (Zizek 1997). In this case, the Other comes to be enabled as the mediator between societal and subjective, coordinating our communicative aspects. Indeed, Hook stresses the importance of this role of coordinator of a supra-game entity, the “accumulated mass of the social” (Hook, 2008), which regulates the subjects’ actions. In simpler terms, if we all had an innate shared knowledge we would not need something bigger to believe in.

“Hell is other people.”

When having a symbolic or social system, we will also need some anchoring points of prioritised norms and values, where one attaches himself to. But all the compound of signifiers need a Master Signifier, as Hook calls it, which functions as centring point, as the coordinates for all the other surrounding signifiers. To him, though, this Master Signifier cannot be determined, it is usually a hollow, empty concept with no actual meaning, the “positivisation of a void” (Dolar, 1999). Here we enter the kingdom of the Zizek’s notion of ideology, where the use of pivotal, hollow words as “Democracy”, “Socialism”, “Nation” and so on, stand for something that is never quite understood, but accepted as such.

Argonaut Magazine

We ideologically bow our head in the name of these concepts, accepting them as granted, since we live in the acceptance of “what others accept”. The relation with an inconclusive signifier, is a means of avoiding the uncertainty of our social being (Hook, 2008).

In the brilliant documentary The Pervert’s Guide to Ideology, Zizek stresses this as the “tragedy of our predicament”, that is the necessity of a fiction of a Big Other.

We need an agency where the truth of ourselves can be inscribed and accepted, and where one can confess to. As an example used by the same author, this is the tragedy of many women during the Bosnian war, who strived to survive to tell the truth of what happened.

When compared with the reality of not being heard, sometimes with even obscene insinuations on what they passed during the wartime, they discovered the truth of the last claim of Lacan: There is no Big Other. The existence of such an agency is not material nor tangible, it is not “there” for us to use it. It is rather the creation of our unconscious need to blame, complain and attach ourselves to something bigger than us. This recalls what said before of our addiction to a Master Signifier to coordinate all our actions and values, and if a God, or an Other, or whatever is not believed to be there, the “subjective destitution”, the abrupt awareness of the utter meaningless of our social links, the dissolution of our attachment to reality itself, can be too harsh to bear.

The advent of modernity might have killed God in its religious term, but the set of signifiers we live off are still there, they have just been replaced with another Master Signifier: our toxic addiction to Society.

The addiction to a greater ensemble, the rejection of a monadic existence, is triumphing in the cyberspace societal sphere. The virtual community has the ability of merging global harmony and solipsism in a strange coexistence (Zizek, 2009). Where the narcissistic creation of the imaginary ego, alienating and liberating from one’s natural body, by turning oneself into another contingent embodiment, marketing one’s figure, selling the concept of one’s brilliant life, or even one’s own loneliness and doomed existence. During a conversation with Professor Stephan Feuchtwang on the consumer compulsion of improving one’s own image, this obsession of identifying oneself through the internalisation of an ideal other, is the internal negation of one’s being.

September 2018

Scene from the movie “They Live” (1988),

by John Carpenter. | Source: deepfocusreview.

That is to say the internal abyss, the lack, how we are not them, but actually are only because of being seen by “them” as in a mirror. In simpler terms, the alienation of one’s unconscious, putting it in an exterior position, the process of self-othering, is what “materialises” the virtual Other.

The gnostic dream to get rid of one’s material rottenness, to ascend to an ideal rank were to be appreciated and accepted, where to confess and let its own steam off, where monads interact via the PC screen with virtual simulacra, and yet synchronise with the entire network: an exact ideological Other, to attach its own existence to, virtual in every meaning. This is the dreadful predicament of our modern society. The individuality of each subject, being in the embarrassing position of feeling unique, rare, far from the same absolute societal context, while actually unconsciously being embedded in it, ideologically attached to it, and with no possibility of exiting without an abrupt realisation of one’s own loneliness and meaningless existence.

References: Dolar, M. (1999). Where does power come from? New Formations, 35, 79–92. In Hook, ibid.

Hook, Derek (2008). “Absolute Other: Lacan’s ‘Big Other’ as Adjunct to Critical Social Psychological Analysis?” Social and Personality Psychology Compass 2, 1, 51-73.

Zizek, Slavoj (1997). “The Big Other Doesn’t Exist”. Journal of European Psychoanalysis [online]. URL: http://www.lacan.com/zizekother.htm (07/03/2018).

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What’s a White Yardie, Mum? Harry Comption March 20, 2018

Trends change constantly as a new generation strives to instil a new cultural element into its existence. With the hippies of California dreamin’ across the 60’s, the skinheads shaving their mark into British punk culture in the 70’s and 80’s and an era marred with change until the noughties, what do the current trends say about us?

Les Back’s ethnography “The ‘White Negro’ Revisited: Race and Masculinities in South London” invites us to consider a perspective which I feel is valuable for defining our current cultural identity that a younger generation, especially white males, converge towards.

We are witnessing a racially driven era, one in which white individuals are appropriating ‘black’ mannerisms and style in order to make use of its attractive features and potent masculinity. Back writes,“the existence of an interlocked dualism of ‘fear and desire’ is an essential feature of white constructions of black masculinity” (Back, 2017). There is an overt desire to actualise qualities of ‘blackness’ in consolidating this newly constructed identity of the ‘white negro’. Instead of embracing and integrating their culture into ours, we are trying to replicate it and practice key desirable features of it.

Historical events have acted as catalysts to these interests. For instance, the area of South London in which Back conducted fieldwork “has a long history of migration from the 1950’s onward” and “by 1981 black people constituted 25 per cent of the overall population of the borough and in some districts between 40 per cent and 50 per cent” (Back, 2017). Migration to the UK, and especially London, saw an influx of Caribbean migrants occupying large areas of estates which used to be impoverished areas with high crime rates. Such areas included Peckham, Tottenham and Hackney which have a notoriety for ‘Yardie’ gang culture and were focal areas for the London Riots in 2011.

The riots, which followed in response to the shooting of Mark Duggan, saw London descend into uncontrollable episodes of looting and crime.

4

“We are witnessing a racially driven era, one in which white individuals are appropriating ‘black’ mannerisms and style in order to make use of its attractive features and potent masculinity.”

However, more revealing than the violence itself was the demographic of people who were arrested and interviewed following the riots. Tim Newburn, Professor of Criminology and Social Policy at the LSE, cites the following in his report with the name ‘Reading the Riots’: of those interviewed, 47% were of ‘black’ origin whilst 26% were of ‘white’ descent. These statistics allude to the fear that the British public has towards certain racial groups. This is also reflected in policing, more specifically the New Scotland Yard has been criticised for its racial tendencies. Continuous black-targeted stop and searches in an effort to solve the wielding of offensive weapons reflect this mere fact. Newburn’s report itself displays an important confusion. It reffers to these racial groups by ‘ethnicity’ that does not adhere to a nationality or a skin tone, but to a shared practice of customs. It would be fair to say in reflection on Back’s ethnography that white men are trying to culturally appropriate a ‘negro ethnicity’.

Now here is my point, and don’t expect it to be a socially transforming one. Beyond the estate which Back describes, I hold that the cultural climate of adolescents, including a substantial majority of young white people in Britain, have been raised in tune with the growing attraction and fear of a potent and racialised ‘black ethnicity’. Back’s informant, a seventeen year old girl called Delora, states “Yeah, I remember one white boy talking about going out with black girls, it was like ‘once you go black, you never turn back’ ” (Back, 2017) .

Argonaut Magazine

The above quotation reveals that white adolescents are curious and attracted to the “mysterious” and “elusive” black cultural identity, which seemingly stems from the demographically deprived settings and only represents a small transect of black individuals. So the question I ask is: why does this attraction or appropriation exist in the world beyond the estate, for example in the riots, where ethnic origins have become racialised? We only have to look at a few stereotypes of white adolescents appropriating a ‘black’ racialised ethnicity to understand and realise the extent of it. To illustrate this further, I will present a few examples from my own observations and assess to what extent they have been appropriated.

The Woking Roadman Sliding both super-off peak returns from Woking to Guildford and railcard into his Nike side bag, this middle-class ‘Yute’ has seen harsher days. Stuck in the breadline at the shopping centre waiting for their NY vanilla cheesecake milkshake from Shakeaway, his pose has to let everyone know that their beverage of choice is both ‘Peng’ (meaning delicious) and that they are ‘gassed’, implying their excitement for it. Not even their favourite Grime rapper ‘Giggs’ could have put it any better, ‘you dunno’. Back to their five bedroom cul de sac they go for dinner.

Although I have used these stereotypes in a comical manner, there is one significant cultural influence that is noticeably idolized, especially by young white people beyond South London. The use of London slang, descending from Patwah as mentioned in the first example, to the finessing of a gritty estate image in the latter, are both clear indications.

However, it is of vital importance to acknowledge the irony as the ethnic image has progressively become racialised.

Is it morally correct to masquerade in their image, since ethnicity has become conjoined with complexion? Or is it essential that white people appropriate it, to help reduce the racial connotations that ethnicity imposes upon blacks?

Is it acceptable even if its roots stem from a sense of fear?

Either way, British youth culture is certainly welcoming the phenomenon with open arms, as our new generation instils another multicultural layer to it’s growing identity.

EDITOR’S FILM RECOMMENDATION

The Minted Mandem “Take this one with the flash on… there should be a setting which would really go well with the derelict theme we’re going for”. Unable to hide under the shade of their quaffed curtains and signature Nike Air Max kicks, a derelict council estate in Bermondsey is where you’ll find these privileged boys. Advertising a brand of streetwear on their themed Instagrams, that would equate to the same cost as a month’s rent for a two bedroom house. They are blissfully unaware of the irony they represent; this wasn’t taught at their boarding school in Sussex. These hipsters adore the gritty aesthetic the estate offers, whilst not knowing a single person who actually lives in it. The only thing they’ve ever given to the estate are the half eaten ends of their Tennessee chicken wings. I’d say a toast with a can of Red stripe would be more than appropriate for the Russell group Rasclat.

September 2018

Source: IMDb

The Yardie (2018) follows the life of a young Jamaican man set in the 70’s Kingston and 80’s Hackney. The early childhood murder of his brother has stigmatised him and he makes his way to London to live a life away from crime.

However, life has other plans for him.

References: Back, L. (2017). The ‘White Negro’ revisited: Race and Masculinities in South London. In: A. Cornwall, ed., Dislocating Masculinity: Comparative Ethnographies, 2nd ed. New York: Routledge.

5

Stories of Love and Hate in Jerusalem Maria Tzoannou Chief Editor February 20, 2018 It all started one cold morning of December just when the sun had started to rise upon the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem. The date was the 12 December 2017, a few days after the President Trump’s announcement to move the US Embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem.

A couple of travel warnings later, when streets were still quiet, a group of LSE students embarked on their journey around Israel and Palestine in seven days. You might have heard of the annual trip conducted by the LSE Faith Centre with the title “Interfaith Encounter”.

And an interfaith encounter it was.

As the dates were moving closer to the Jewish celebration of Sabbath, Jerusalem was celebrating in all its glory. The morning call for prayer echoing loud and clear from the Dome of the Rock woke up each and every citizen. Just a few minutes passed and the once empty street of Via Dolorosa was now filled with Christians, Muslims and Jews, all going their separate ways.

Details from the Dome of the Rock | Photo by Maria Tzoannou

Believers headed to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Dome of the Rock and the Western Wall accordingly. What a strange realisation; all waken by the same sound and yet, the more the day progressed, the more one could understand the division of the Old City into quarters.

Security checks and suddenly we walk in. The Western Wall is standing as magnificent as ever. I have struggled to describe the atmosphere I experienced that day many times before. However, I came to realise that Jerusalem is filled with love. Yes, love. Lights with blue undertones and embroidered prayer books all act as a constant reminder to the miracle of Hannukah. Men and women leave notes with their wishes and desires into the cracks of the Wall in hope of their fulfilment. With circular, almost dancing motions, they pray with words of love and grace to their God. They pray for the remnants of a wall that once surrounded the Temple of Solomon.

6

Details from the Chuch of the Holy Sepulchre | Photo by Maria Tzoannou

Argonaut Magazine

A temple now lost, and with it, the opportunity for one to reach the heavens. According to the Jewish religion, the Temple of Solomon was the only place on Earth that one could seek total forgiveness through a sacrifice. And the Western Wall will stand for many years to come and serve as a reminder of what has been lost that cannot be found again. Hate.

At the site where the Temple of Solomon used to be lies today the Dome of the Rock. Once again security checks. In order to be granted access to the mosque one needs now to recite a prayer from the Koran. We walk through the gates and the landscape transforms.

The sound of the afternoon prayer becomes louder and louder and suddenly there is no word spoken in Hebrew.

The language heard all around is Arabic and the Jewish kippahs are replaced by silk and colourful garments. The old and the young remove their shoes to feel the ground underneath their feet. According to Islamic belief, one needs to pray barefoot in order to directly connect with the earth and its creator. Each visitor kneels to the ground and they all become one when chanting Allah Akbar “Allah is great”. Muslims around the globe, no matter their mother tongue, all pray in the one and only language, Arabic . Their love of God transcends all, including language barriers, and that is the only thing that matters to them. The Dome of the Rock has a place in the heart of all Muslims in its connection to the Prophet Muhammad. The Prophet, according to the writings, was taken to heaven at the very point that modern day believers pray.

Yet, the very courtyard of the Dome of the Rock is not as serene as it appears. In April 1982, an Israeli soldier entered the mosque and with an automatic rifle killed two Muslim pilgrims. The tragic event has been carved into the memory of every Muslim and with its remembrance, the feeling of love that once filled their hearts is transformed to rage. What was once a symbol of faith and devotion now becomes a symbol of hatred.

September 2018

Jewish Men praying at the Western Wall | Source: The Land of The Bible

And then the people embody the past and wonder around the city of Jerusalem. Two religions, two ethnicities, one wall and one mosque. So close to each other, yet so far away. That is the story of the city of love and hate.

“Thou shalt love thy God and hateth thy neighbour”.

7

Marxist Analysis of the Recent Political Turmoil in Hong Kong June 7, 2018 Hong Kong, a place generally thought of as the Oriental Pearl, has suffered from unrest and disorder in recent years. The most famous of these movements is the Umbrella Movement of 2014. Several subsequent, but lesser known examples would include a somewhat violent attempt to interfere with Legislative Council proceedings and the ‘Fishball Revolution” in Mong Kok. Many of these movements were caused by severe dissatisfaction with the Chinese authorities’ suspected infiltrations of local politics. In particular, the Umbrella Movement was a response against suspected Chinese influences in local election laws. While many believe that the recent chaos has been caused by a standoff between the Chinese authorities and the Hong Kong locals, this is not necessarily be the case. To give a brief background overview of this tension, Hong Kong was ceded to the British for over a hundred years following China’s defeat in the Opium Wars. Upon its return to the Chinese government in 1997, Hong Kong became a Special Administrative Region with its own set of laws, allowing it to remain capitalist and democratic even if the Chinese Republic is supposedly socialist and authoritarian. Contraty to popular understanding, a diachronic analysis of the situation points to the fact that the chaos and disorder in Hong Kong in the recent years is not so much a battle between the Chinese government (or its allies) and the Hong Kong locals, but more of a battle between ideologies—a battle between neoliberalism and the desire for a welfare government.

One glance at the last Policy Address sheds light on the government’s neoliberal leanings. Housing has been a top concern of the society, and justly so, considering how Hong Kong has consistently topped the charts when it comes to rents (in some analysis even higher than London, see Business Insider, UK, 2017). Yet, issue of housing has been dealt with in an alarmingly Thatcher-like fashion by the government. Instead of building more affordable housing, the government proposes incentives for the middle-class to buy off public housing. With the contemporary development trend of ‘self-help’ and governments’ hands-off tendency all over the world (Elyachar, 2002), it is made evident how powerful neoliberalism has become.

8

As Wacquant (2008) has analysed, a punitive turn usually follows an invasion by neoliberalism. Movements are termed as riots even when they are largely peaceful, and protesters are increasingly brought to court. Police arrests become tools of punishment, an end in itself instead of means (Fassin, 2015), as evident in the battering of the pro-democracy protester Tsang by seven police officers. Public sentiment turns increasingly nostalgic of the golden years at the end of the 20th Century, when the government provided basic necessities and opportunities were plenty. Many more exhibitions are held showcasing old crafts, old buildings and old ways of life, which is common among areas that have experienced a neoliberal turn, such as in post-Fordist Italy (Muehlebach, 2011). And yet, in Hong Kong this nostalgia is manifested in an even more straightforward and artistic way.

This conflict between neoliberalism and a desire for welfare lies not only within the government - the pro-Beijing camp and the pro-democracy camp - but it is also embodied within many citizens. People fight for more welfare and more rights, which they believe should have been enacted through ‘democracy’, but are, at the same time, seriously offended when their economic interests are disrupted. To serve as an example, my parents agreed with the students’ fight for democracy during the Umbrella Movement, but condemned them for blocking the roads. As Girling et. al has written, “understanding without condoning was a common refrain” (1998: 484). However, there are practical difficulties for the government to achieve both at the same time: to retain minimal government intervention, which was put down during the colonial years by Sir Philip Haddon-Cave and has been enshrined in the government’s administrative guide ever since, and to provide extensive welfare. As many keen to travel would know, Hong Kong’s sales tax is close to non-existent, in addition to offering some of the most generous income and corporate tax rates in the developed world (KPMG, 2018). A major part of the government’s income thus comes from land sales, and in order for the government to maintain a steady stream of revenue it is impossible to allocate too much land to public housing.

Argonaut Magazine

When it was done, the results were disastrous—property prices dropped for over 70% from 1997 to 2003, leaving the property-holding middle-class in desperation. In other words, extensive welfare is essentially incompatible to a big market such as Hong Kong. To simply accuse the government of kowtowing to big corporate interests when it sells land to luxury property developers to build villas would be like blaming the South African governments for the bad structural decisions made in New York (Elyachar, 2002). The government is but a scapegoat for neoliberalism, and along that line, we are all complicit in upholding and maintaining the neoliberal discourse.

I am certainly not saying that the government should be completely blameless, but I do believe some degree of naiveté is involved in its operation. Its way of dealing with dissidents reflected a lack of experience in many officials and I am sure some of the tension within the society today could have been avoided. I would, however, like to offer a more unconventional analysis, perhaps in a Marxist interpretation in order to bring attention to the economic conflict underneath recent incidents.

In the face of an immense amount of public critique of the government, it is important to reflect on the failures of recent movements. They fail not because they were suppressed by the Hong Kong government, or Chinese authorities. Our sometimes rather inconsistent demands impede progress as well. In Scott’s phenomenal book on development (1998), he proposed four ingredients to a political disaster: a blind faith in scientific ideologies (not science itself), an authoritarian government, legibility of society and a prostrate civil society. I will propose that Hong Kong has at least three of these elements. The government believes in high-handed reforms, has a good knowledge of the demography, and people are generally apathetic. Surely, the government has been actively trying to incorporate more voices into the political discussion on the one hand, e.g. it is currently recruiting more young people into the governmental apparatus, but on the other hand many of the public’s demands went unheeded.

Only a facade of harmony has been maintained. The only thing keeping the society from going downhill according to Scott’s logic seems to be the government’s remaining respect for democratic values and the handful of activists fighting to keep justice intact.

September 2018

Hong Kong would still pale in comparison to our mother country, or the neighbour of our mother country to the east when it comes to authoritarian ruling. However, peace is endangered as long as society is prostrate, not in the sense that people are not educated and easy to be manipulated, but prostrate in the sense that people are afraid of change, afraid to let go of neoliberalism, the very cause of so many of their sufferings.

Like many other places with a colonial background, e.g. Sri Lanka (Nissan and Stirrat, 1990) and Rwanda (Mamdani, 2009), the tension between Hong Kong and the Chinese mainland, bordering to an ‘ethnic’ conflict, is arguably one of colonial legacy. Under the British administration, Hong Kong has grown to become a very different place from the Chinese mainland. Our people have a different way of life, a different language and different mannerisms. The difference between the Chinese and people from Hong Kong is largely created by history, very much like the difference between the Sinhala and the Tamils in Sri Lanka, and that between the Hutu and the Tutsi in Rwanda. There is no innate opposition between the two groups. The real opposition here is that between ideologies, between neoliberalism and welfarism. I do not deny the possibility to reconcile the two in the future, but for now, to demand more government support while defending the freedom of the market sounds rather hypocritical to me.

References: Business Insider, UK (2017). The 19 most expensive cities in the world to rent a property. [Online] Elyachar, J. (2002). “Empowerment Money: The World Bank, Non-Governmental Organizations, and the Value of Culture in Egypt”, Public Culture, 14 (3), pp. 493-513.

Fassin, D. (2015). At the Heart of the State: the Moral World of Institutions. London: Pluto Press, pp. 93-116.

Girling, E., Loader, I., and Sparks, R. (1998). “A Telling Tale: A Case of Vigilantism and Its Aftermath in an English Town”, The British Journal of Sociology, 49 (3), pp. 474-490.

KPMG (2018). Corporate tax rates table. [Online] KPMG (2018). Individual income tax rates table. Mamdani, M. (2009).

“Making Sense of Political Violence in Post-Colonial Africa”, Socialist Register, 39, pp. 132-151.

Muehlebach, A. (2011). “On Affective Labour in Post-Fordist Italy”, Cultural Anthropology, 26 (1), pp. 59-82.

Nissan, E. and Stirrat, R. (1990). Sri Lanka: History and the Roots of Conflict. London: Routledge.

Scott, J. (1998). Seeing like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition have Failed. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Wacquant, L. (2008). “Ordering Insecurity: Social Polarization and the Punitive Upsurge”, Radical Philosophy Review, 11 (1), pp. 1-19.

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The Power of Practical Solidarity Katie Tesseyman Co-head of Features and LSESU Women’s Officer March 13, 2018 On the 8th of March, women in 50 countries across the world went on strike. We went on strike to realise the power we already hold. The strike was about solidarity between women; women of colour, indigenous, working class, disabled, migrant, Muslim, lesbian, queer and trans women.

We went on strike for every woman tired of coming home from her paid job only to start another shift of unpaid cleaning, cooking and care.

We went on strike for the decriminalisation of sex work.

We went on strike for women who encounter homophobia, biphobia and queerphobia.

We went on strike for all the women who said Me Too. We went on strike for our sisters in detention centers, locked up like criminals because they sought asylum in the UK. We went on strike for every woman of transgender experience whose womanhood is repeatedly denied by her family, her employers, her doctor and the state.

We went on strike for every woman who has faced violence at the hands of friends, family, partners, employers and who has not been believed when she spoke up.

We went on strike not only from paid jobs but from unpaid reproductive labour and it is the latter action that I aim going to write about. As we well know, capitalism can only thrive because it relies on people doing the work required to reproduce the labour force for free (a big thanks to Marxist Feminists for bringing that to people’s attention). These people are usually women. Reproductive labour includes cooking, cleaning, childcare and emotional labour. These activities are dismissed as housework, not real work. It is simply expected that we do it for free.

Men who engage in reproductive labour full time are considered somehow emasculated. Men who occasionally partake in it are valorised for doing the bare minimum - how many times have we heard a man be praised for “babysitting” his own children whilst his partner is out? Clearly, there’s something wrong with this picture. It wasn’t until I got involved with organising the Women’s Strike Assembly that I realised how powerful practical solidarity can be.

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Women’s Strike in London 2018 | Photo by Katie Tesseyman

On a day which puts women at the forefront, some pretty amazing men stepped up to support us. They did not try to take on a leadership role, they did not try to “save” us or dominate the conversation. They provided practical solidarity. They offered to take on reproductive labour.

Some of the men felt that it was “politically the right thing to do”, almost all of them did it with the aim of empowering women and ensuring they could be at the forefront on the 8th of March. They also acknowledged that capitalism is bad for all of us and is predicated, in a lot of ways, on patriarchy; women striking thus tackles one of the structures on which capitalism most heavily relies.

At the meetings and talks leading up to the 8th of March, men were on hand to look after children and provide food for the women in attendance. This allowed women to focus on discussing what feminism means to them, how to ensure the movement is inclusive, what the strike meant and how to actually organise the assembly on the day. The dominant ‘Patriarchal Man’ was missing from these events but men were present and they were important. Their support with reproductive labour meant that women were able to give more energy in doing some incredible organising.

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Men supporting women’s movements in this way is not only important for women. It is important for men. We must destroy the idea that reproductive labour is inferior and to be avoided if possible. We will never create a more compassionate and caring society if we continue to see childcare and cooking as inferior work. Reproductive labour is caring labour, it requires compassion and empathy, traits that we are continuously told are “feminine”. The patriarchy works incredibly hard to confine men to a model of masculinity which suppresses emotion and equates empathy to weakness. No one benefits from this.

That is why, to me, the 8th of March was such an occasion for joy. Russell Square was full of people who were unlearning and actively subverting patriarchy. The stage saw countless strong women speak up about the issues facing their communities, their dreams, their struggles and their victories. Women were front and center, realising the power they already hold. The kid’s corner was run by men painting with young children, playing around in the flower beds and finding all available puddles to splash in.

They adapted beautifully to working outside rather than indoors - shout out to the sun for shining on the 8th of March. Sixty litres of vegan chilli with rice was prepared by men to ensure no one had to go hungry because they were striking. Together, we worked to ensure the day had women at its heart and it was a huge success.

So next time you find yourself wondering how you can support those who are less privileged than you are, try reaching out and offering them practical solidarity.

EDITOR’S NOTE

Here’s to the men that have been cheering for women all along.

Women’s Strike in London 2018 | Photo by Katie Tesseyman

As anthropologists, we know there are cases which fly in the face of the idea that men are innately bad at childcare - we also know that gender is a social construct but that’s worthy of a whole new piece. For instance, among the Aka, who live in the Brazzavile region of the Republic of Congo, fathers have extremely close relationships with their children, often taking on the primary caretaker role. Among the Beng, teenage boys are not overlooked as potential babysitters. In our own lives we may know men who are good with children, who want to have children and enjoy looking after them. The stereotype of innately brutish men completely unable to look after children not only harms both men and women, but it is also false. We do not need to go against some innate natural state to learn how to share reproductive labour equally; we need to un-learn the harmful patriarchal norms which tell us that reproductive labour is women’s work. For many of us, this is not a surprising statement. However, there is such a big difference between accepting something in theory and actually putting it into action.

September 2018

“If men were having babies, we would have different policies.”

- Barack Obama (2014) “Men have an important role to play in sending out the message that real men do not hurt or abuse their partners. “ - Ian Somerhalder on UK Women’s Aid ‘Real Man’ campaign (2011) “We won’t unlock opportunities for young women and girls unless we can change the mindset of every family and community. To achieve this, it cannot just be women who speak up for girls. ” - Prince Harry of Wales (2014)

References: O’Riordan, E. (2018). Men should support the women’s strike – by taking over the domestic work. [online] Redpepper.org. uk. Available at: https://www.redpepper.org.uk/men-shouldsupport-the-womens-strike-by-taking-over-the-domestic-work/ [Accessed 13 Mar. 2018].

Women’s Strike Assembly UK. (2018). Women’s Strike Assembly UK. [online] Available at: https://womenstrike.org.uk/ [Accessed 13 Mar. 2018].

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Gender and Kinship Relations among Indonesian Domestic Workers Karen Lee September 15, 2018 On the other hand, even if men do work abroad, they earn far less than their wives and have to be checked more rigorously to get a visa. Therefore, many women work abroad while men stay at home. As Hoang et al. (2012: 737) mentioned in their findings, the nucleation of family has made parental figures the predominant child-carers.

During my stay in Indonesia, I have often observed fathers taking care of their children without relying too much on their extended family in the absence of the mother.

Memories from the field | Photo by Karen Lee

Over the summer, I conducted fieldwork in a village in rural East Java, Indonesia, as part of the Summer Ethnography Project. My aim was to study the gender and kinship relations of domestic workers who have returned home.

My previous domestic worker, Irene, stayed with my family for over 10 years, and has returned to this village not too long ago. Her family welcomed me into their household.

This village, which I would refer to as Desa, has approximately 200 residents and I mainly interacted with my neighbours living on the same street, which amounted to around 30 people. Residents of Desa do not follow a specific marriage pattern: both patrilocal and matrilocal arrangements take place. If the bride’s family has available land or can accommodate the couple into their family house, the couple may live matrilocally. If the groom’s family is relatively more affluent, the couple may decide to live patrilocally. Most people belonging to an older generation work as rice farmers, the specialty crop of this region.

Many young women work abroad as domestic workers, at least for several years of their life, before returning to the village to retire. Some men work abroad as construction workers, while others take jobs locally such as security guards in factories and motorcycle taxi drivers. Those who have attended university have the option to open their own shop or work in a bank, but their salary is minimal.

As Irene has often mentioned to me, the money they earn in East Java is enough to sustain their daily living, and if nothing else they will always have rice to eat, but ambitions such as having a grand wedding ceremony, building a new house, or buying a new vehicle would require the wife to work abroad. If she goes to Hong Kong, she can save up enough to build a house in two years – the monthly salary for domestic workers in Hong Kong now is around 500GBP.

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My research question stems from the assumption that East Java, with its strong Islamic presence, is bound to speak out against women’s rising economic status. Not to mention that the Indonesian state emphasises the ideal of men as breadwinners and women as homemakers (Silvey, 2006). As Elmhirst (2007: 231) summarised, women are valued as “being able to stay at home, avoid work in the fields and keep their skins pale, whilst men enter the world of work and embrace expansive spatial horizons”. How are these domestic workers going to reintegrate back into their community after spending a long time away from their families? Constable’s (1999: 224) analysis may still ring true after nearly two decades, “migration has provided [domestic workers] with new experiences, desires, options, and visions but with no ready formulas for successfully transplanting them”.

After spending a month in East Java, Indonesia, I believe I may have found some preliminary answers to my questions. Firstly, my original use of the word “reintegration” is problematic, as migration to these Indonesian women is not a one-off event. Women may leave home as early as they finish high school and work to support their maternal family. Once they have found a marriage prospect they may return to marry, and by the end of the couple’s marriage ceremony they may have already spent all their money. Only the skeleton of their new house has been built; the walls have not been painted, the tiles not laid out. The wife may stay at home to try and conceive, but by the time the baby comes, new expenses are due. The wife would then go abroad again to earn more money. There are certainly other types of arrangements, but migration is often a reoccuring event. They go abroad, they save, they spend, and they go abroad again. “Reintegration” is therefore a problematic concept.

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Their time at home is more like a vacation from work.

After working consecutively to take care of someone else’s family for six to seven days, they return home to take care of their own families and if their family is grateful, they will be taken care of. However, the domestic workers’ families may not always be grateful for their sacrifices. Adiratna’s husband, who lives across the street, cheated on her while she was away in Hong Kong. His justification being that he was using his own money, not the money his wife remitted to him. Considering that his income was derived from the motorcycle his wife bought, his justification did not resonate well with me. Another girl, Citra, who lives at the mouth of the village, has apparently gone mad. After working abroad for years, she has saved enough to buy a house, a motorcycle, to get married, and gave birth to two boys. However, her mother wanted to push her to work again and forced a divorce between Citra and her husband. Ever since Citra has been “a little mad”, Irene said.

This may seem like a rather tragic description of the life of the domestic workers. Yet, there are also multiple stories of domestic workers wasting away their income when they are abroad. “They become lesbians, and bring shame to the family,” Irene said. “Is that allowed according to the Koran?” I asked. “No, but people do it anyway,” said Irene.

As Dolan (2002) has emphasised, people’s lived expectations may not necessarily coincide with their lived experiences. In truth, I admit that the Javanese are much freer people than I have originally assumed. Whether or not people follow the teachings of Islam is entirely up to them.

Eka, Irene’s sister-in-law decided to stay in Indonesia even though her family would have welcomed an extra income.

She was afraid of being alone. The Javanese’s relatively individualistic nature is also evident in their child rearing practice. Dewi, a neighbour of ours, did not attempt to persuade her son when he decided at the last minute that he would not go onstage to perform during Scout’s Day, ruining his classmates’ chance to perform too.

My hypothesis is that there is no truly effective sanctioning mechanism in place if people do not conform to the expectation of acting as a “good person” in the Desa community.

Since Desa is located 5 hours away from Surybaya, the administrative capital, state presence is minimal. The most people can do is gossip. Only routine television shows depict the horrors that would be bestowed upon people should they act inappropriately, like how one’s corpse will smell, discharge terrible fluids and will not be able to be laid down to rest in the grave. In comparison, religion acts as one of the more effective sanctioning mechanisms. Since children attend the mosque from an early age, Islamic values have been instilled in all villagers’ minds. Even if they sway a little, religion can be used to appeal to their good graces. Irene described to me how she persuaded Adiratna’s husband to return to the mosque because he had “such a good voice and would sing religious songs well”. She took pride in telling me that he has ceased his flirtatious affairs ever since. Yet, religion seems to be a solution in order to moderate deviant behaviour, not to prevent or punish it.

I have thus far proposed that domestic workers do not “reintegrate” back into their home community. The Javanese that I have observed are rather free spirited, since the Desa community seems to lack a truly effective sanctioning mechanism against deviant behaviours. Religion is one of the moderating mechanisms and encourages people to act properly according to the Javanese morality. Yet, it does act as not an absolute guiding principle for the people. Admittedly, the analysis I have presented here is preliminary. After all, I have only spent a month in the field and I am confident that there is much more to be learned from the Desa community. Moreover, since I could not speak fluent Indonesian, my main interlocutors were the domestic workers who have worked abroad and thus could speak English. In addition, considering that the domestic workers were female, a better insight to men’s perspective would have been greatly beneficial. To conclude, conducting fieldwork has presented an excellent opportunity for me to take note of the subtleties of a seemingly homogenous culture.

References: Constable, N. (1999). “At home but not at home: Filipina narratives of ambivalent returns”, Cultural Anthropology, 14 (2): 203-228.

Dolan, C. (2002). “Collapsing Masculinities and Weak States - A Case Study of Northern Uganda”, Masculinities matter!: Men, Gender, and Development, Cleaver F. eds. New York: Zed Books.

Elmhirst, R. (2007). “Tigers and gangsters: masculinities and feminised migration in Indonesia”, Population, Space and Time, 13 (3): 225-238.

Hoang, L. and Yeoh, B. (2011). “Breadwinning wives and ‘left-behind’ husbands: men and masculinities in the Vietnamese transnational family”, Gender and Society, 25 (6): 717-739.

Hoang, L., Yeoh, B., and Wattie, A. (2012). “Transnational labour migration and the politics of care in the Southeast Asian family”, Geoforum, 43 (4): 733-740.

Silvey, R. (2006). “Consuming the transnational family: Indonesian migrant domestic workers to Saudi Arabia”, Global Networks, 6 (1): 23-40.

Memories from the field | Photo by Karen Lee

September 2018

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Krishna Valley: An Ambitious Society Zsófia Kunvári Co-head of Snap of Fieldwork September 14, 2018

It is almost midday. He finally arrives at the campus riding his bike, carrying the food that he will soon distribute among the hungry and underprivileged university students. He serves the dishes one after the other while the music is playing from his carriage; once in a while, someone drops a donation into the tin. Few take a better look at him, and even less start a conversation. For most, he is the “Hare Krishna guy” who brings the “free food.”

The religion – rooted in Hindu beliefs – was founded in 1966 in the United States and used to be associated with the hippie movement. It quickly found its way to the other side of the ocean, even beyond the Iron Curtain. A mere 23 years later, the Hungarian state, living up to its new democratic values, recognised the association of the Krishna believers as an official church. So how did a religion, so different from any other practiced in the region, find its way into a country that is nowadays often associated with its hostile attitude to alien cultures? Here, this is a rather rhetorical question that requires a more thorough anthropological research to be answered. What can be said, however, is that the community and their beliefs are acknowledged and even admired by many.

This admiration is not necessarily addressed to the unwavering chanting of the Hare Krishna mantra or the Indian clothing. Rather, it is the lifestyle, and in particular, the Krishna Valley, that has been praised. Founded 25 years ago on a 2.8 square kilometers cornfield in the west of Hungary, the valley grew to be considered an outstanding example of self-sustainability. The nearest large city is about 40 minutes away by car, and if one embarks on a journey using one of the rather scanty public transport options, it may take hours to reach it. As I drove through the village and took a left turn to the paved road that will soon lead us to the entrance of the valley itself, I was struck by the sudden change of scenery: organised gardens, a lake with water lilies floating on top, and numerous small pavilions. The two elephant sculptures at the entrance make quite an impression. It was possible to leave the car here or drive even further into the settlement itself, eventually parking the vehicle next to the greenhouse.

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I decided to make my visit on the day of the gastronomic festival and, while its turnout is a far smaller than the three-day long festivities held earlier in the summer called “Búcsú,” it still attracted a great deal of curious visitors.

The event offered traditional vegetarian food made outdoors, dance performances, talks, and guided tours around the valley.

The valley welcomes visitors all year round – although not all parts are open to the the public. According to Sára, a young girl I befriended in the festival, it is normally “completely quiet and peaceful.” Sára did not have a given name yet, because she was too young to be religiously commited. The difference in culture and lifestyle in comparison to the rest of Hungary, in addition to the physical isolation, create a popular belief that this community is detached from society and reality alike. Even though distance may allow them to develop their society according to their own values, it is not automatically akin to isolation.

Kundavāli Devi Dāsī gave a lengthy tour around the temple, highlighting the key values of the Krishna Valley life. She narrated the impressive story of the cornfield which turned into a safe haven, with “a wide smile in the boiling heat”. On multiple occasions, she called the valley a “törekvő társadalom” which can be translated to an “ambitious society.”

Memories from the field | Photo by Zsofia Kunvari

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Top right and left illustrations by Maria Tzoannou

The fact that after 25 years they have managed to run a bio farm, a cattle reserve and even an accredited school without connection to the regional electricity supply is indeed remarkable. She phrased this, jokingly, in the form of a popular proverb that “one shall stretch only as far as the blanket lasts”, but no one said that the blanket cannot be made bigger.

The fact that 30,000 visitors come to the village in a year, refutes the assumption of isolation. If we look further, we can discover evidence of the community’s strong ties with the outside world.

In the past years, the registered church came fourth in the line as one of the most financially supported churches after the Catholics, Calvinists and Lutherans. Every event and festivity has numerous donation tins put out inviting visitors to support them in their “religious journey.” Besides they are also involved on social media platforms through creating video blogs and running an online shopping site for their natural beauty and health products. They may not watch the news on television but the

world finds its way into the valley. Kundavāli Devi Dāsī provided a striking example herself. Explaining karma, action and reaction on her podium in the temple, she made an argument. Instead of centuries old wisdoms and examples, she asked a simple question: “Where are the migrants heading?” Immediately providing an answer, she stressed that the final destination of migrants are the once colonising states. She elaborated that it is not only the country which carries the weight of karma that colonising entails, but also all the people living in it. While I can only speculate the intentions behind her choice of example, it was certainly one that evoked strong reactions and steered back the attention of the audience who had once wished to leave the hot and crowded room.

Self-sustainability, after it has been established, has the capacity to be upheld without outside support. An ambitious society with an aspiration to “make the blanket bigger”, needs a helping hand itself. The Krishna Valley serves such an example. Tourists, followers and financial supporters all work towards the realization of this ambition, making the community of the valley very much connected to the greater society

and reality. This does not take the value of their achievements away, instead it stands as an example for a life conducted in greater harmony with nature. Which is more important then? Complete self-sufficiency or development? Does the two have to be mutually exclusive or is the valley a living example of how the two can create something valuable when in coordination?

The Krishna Valley is definitely a work in process.

References: ISKCON GBC. 2018. Official website of the Governing Body Commission of ISKCON. [ONLINE] Available at: http://gbc.iskcon.org/. [Accessed 14 September 2018].

Magyarországi Krisna-Tudatú Hívők Közössége (MKTHK). 2018. Magyarországi Krisna-Tudatú Hívők Közössége (MKTHK). [ONLINE] Available at: http:// krisna.hu/. [Accessed 14 September 2018].

MKTHK, Krisna-völgy Indiai Kulturális Központ és Biofarm. 2018. Krisna-völgy. [ONLINE] Available at: http://krisnavolgy.hu/. [Accessed 14 September 2018].

Illustration by Zsofia Kunvari

September 2018

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Experiencing Sénégal: Anecdotes from the Field Lisa Pentaleri September 12, 2018 To everyone reading this: get your hands on a copy of “Stranger and Friend“ by Hortense Powdermaker (a radical early anthropologist with a name to die for). She offers a “behind the scenes” view of fieldwork that is far more apt and insightful than anything I could write up. However, having had the privilege of conducting a mini-ethnography in Senegal through the Summer Ethnography Programme, I figured I ought to try and capture a couple of anecdotes from the field.

One of the things they don’t tell you is that you probably will have diarrhoea. Also, get prepared to be laughed at, a lot. My Senegalese friends, especially boys around my age, interacted with me primarily through mocking my inability to do things and cluelessness about their basic facts of life. I never saw my host brother laugh as much as when his horse almost kicked me. Having Sérère spoken around you everyday without understanding what is being said triggers insecurities on a whole new level. There were many conversations between members of my host family that I convinced myself were about me. In other words, a wonderful playground for my neurotic demons. AN298 is a beautiful thing but really, nothing can prepare you for full immersion participant observation. You just have to get out there and do it. Half the time I had no idea what I was doing from the anthropological side of things and still am pretty unsure if I “did it right”.

But I guess that’s field work: messy and unpredictable.

But these few snags aside, oh my goodness, field work is the best thing I have ever experienced. Participating in a discipline so fundamentally based on human connectivity is truly exciting and fulfilling. Let me provide you with a bit of context. I lived in a rural Senegalese community in the Fatick region for the month of August. The village chief and his two wives, sister in law and their six sons were my hosts. Three of the chief ’s brothers and most of his older children dropped by at one point or another throughout my stay.

The village is fairly rural, so far it does not really exist on the internet. But change is underway. Every villager had a phone, which will, in due time, be upgraded to smartphones.

The younger generation that works in the city had made this change already and they are as engrossed in their phones as their peers in Europe.The younger generation that works in the city had made this change already and they are as engrossed in their phones as their peers in Europe.

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The whole “family PC in the living room” phase was circumvented. Selfies are very popular too. Men in their 20s, especially, take shameless selfies in public. To start, scratch your mental images of the Nuer by Evans Pritchard and think 21st century: WhatsApp voice messages, Facebook and the snapchat dog-filter.

The villagers are cultivators and agriculturalists. Since state support or social security in the form of retirement payments, unemployment benefits and health care are virtually non-existent, the family relies on the oldest siblings to work for a wage. The chief ’s two oldest kids, 27 and 26, thus work in Dakar in order to finance the need for foods that are not cultivated by the family as well as medicine and clothing. Forget looking for that perfect job that is ethical and fulfilling, well-paid and fun. You’ve got your three parents and eleven siblings to feed. This means, as you know, no pressure.

That is not to say, however, that anyone in the village (animals aside) goes hungry. Breakfast and dinner consist of a fine grained couscous called Said that is eaten with a salty sauce and beans. Lunch is the highlight of every day. :It consists of greasy, fragrant rice with fried fish and many vegetables such as aubergine, carrots, cabbage, okra, as well as a funky veggie called Solanum aethiopicum or bitter tomato or Ethiopian eggplant. And yes, we ate with our hands. And yes, it was amazing. My first few meals were a mess. Rice grains everywhere an oil running down my forearm and dripping off my elbow. However, after close observation and a couple of lessons, I got used to it. The rice needs to be shaped into a ball, primarily using the soft part of your hand between your palm and your thumb. Fingers are used to rotate the clump of rice so that a fairly symmetrical shape is formed. During every meal my host moms would yell at me “Njamé! Njamé wei!”/ “Eat! Eat more!”.

Memories from the field | Photo by Lisa Pentaleri

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After the daily feast in 40°C heat, everyone fell into a food coma and dozed in the courtyard for about an hour. There is a reason why “Jàmm”/ “Peace” is the most frequently used word. The birds would chirp, the sheep bleat and the children yell as we lounged on the tables and chairs that were scattered across the yard.

But the villagers knew how to make work fun. asks were never done alone. Rather, they were taken care of communally, and the women would chat and joke and laugh as they worked. Speed was rarely the mantra. Neither was efficiency which occasionally made my German toes curl.

But in due time I adopted this pace of life. Writing field notes became my second nature, though they did appear endless at times. I was constantly at my desk or doodling something in my little notepads. I may have developed subtle paranoia of forgetting something and my writing became compulsive. The villagers would often watch me as I wrote and I would read them excerpts, translating as I went along. They were very intrigued by my world and asked almost as many questions about my life as I asked about theirs. I answered them all honestly. The family integrated me using kinship terminology in no time. I became “Awa Séne”.

Memories from the field | Photo by Lisa Pentaleri

This daily nap was, however, a brief break in a day otherwise filled with chores. For me, every day began with bloodthirst.

The rooster was asking to have its neck wrung as it crowed unabashedly and uninterruptedly from dawn on. The women would rise and sweep the compound with a hand-held broom, which was, of course, an extremely satisfying job for a neat-freak like me. One by one, family members would come out from their respective huts. “Fédé Jàmm”/ “Rise in Peace” we would sleepily call out to each other. The men ate from the bowl first, the women and small children second.

Then we were all off to work. The village chief would ride his scooter to some town or another to attend to his chiefly duties. The women headed out to the peanut fields. The eldest son tilled the corn fields. He was 20 and wore his ripped and sagging jeans, a “playboy” t-shirt or football jerseys and played loud Senegalese hip hop from his phone.

His screen background was a scantily clad lady. Every day, rain or shine, he went out to plough the fields without complaint – an anecdote I shall certainly share with my future children when they are being selfish. The younger boys would collect food for the horse to eat or herd the goats around to let them graze. The kids that were too young to work spent their days looking for entertainment. I usually sat alone in the courtyard and used the peace and quiet of the morning to write field notes or go on little explorations around the village. The afternoons were spent around the compound. Men would gather by the baobab, a gigantic and awe-inspiring tree that marked the centre of the village, and drink sweet black tea and play checkers. The women started getting dinner prepared. Water would have to be fetched from the well, too. My host aunt often told me humbly “Oh yes, in Senegal the women work hard”. And she was right.

September 2018

My host aunt Oumy tilling the field | Photo by Lisa Pentaleri

Now I sit before my 200 scanned pages of field notes, with my hundreds of pictures and priceless memories. I chat on the phone with my host family every week or so. I want to go back. It is difficult to take this extremely emotional and personal experience and make it “science”. However, there certainly are plenty of interesting habits in Senegalese life to write about such as systems of reciprocity, joking culture, gender relations, complex kinship systems, ancestor worship, and coming-of-age rituals; an anthropologist’s true dream.

If there is one thing I want to leave you with is this: Go. Talk to strangers. Listen to their stories and learn about their worlds. As I sat in that plane to Dakar I was terrified of what I was about to embark upon. But little else has been as rewarding and inspiring as this past month. So go.

Do field work. Make mistakes. Resent the tedious task of writing field notes. Go with an open mind, an honest heart and a willingness to let people laugh at you. You won’t regret it.

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Azande Witchcraft and the Evil Eye Mary Tzoannou Chief Editor February 20, 2018 THE AZANDE WITCHCRAFT The study and desire to understand magic within human society has been a driving force behind anthropology since the earliest works of Tylor and Frazer. The “father” of modern ethnographic methods, Bronislaw Malinowski, produced Magic, Science and Religion, a seminal work, which made anthropologists turn their gaze towards the social functions of magic within the day-to-day lives of their research communities and, in particular, led to Evans-Pritchard writing the infamousWitchcraft, oracles and magic among the Azande. Unlike the Azande society studied by Evans-Pritchard in the late 1920s, I have nonetheless, experienced another form of “magic”, the evil eye, while growing up in a “rational” and “modern” Greek society.

The popular understanding is that witchcraft is a deliberate practice, in which its practitioners intentionally direct and cause harm to others, whereas, the evil eye is thought to be within all of us, causing unintentional harm based on our uncontrollable inner emotions. Both, however, psychically attack their victims and cause physical harm by draining their life essence. In this article, I seek to better understand the practices of witchcraft, and the evil eye, as well as the social functions they imply.

Evans-Pritchard’s study of the Azande of central Africa resulted in what is the seminal ethnographic study of witchcraft. “A witch performs no rite, utters no spell, and possesses no medicines” (Evans-Pritchard, 1976), but they deliberately direct psychic acts to harm others, a capacity made possible by the presence of a physical “substance” in their bodies, “attached to the edge of the liver” (Evans-Pritchard, 1976). As the only way to prove this is through autopsy, it is usually impossible to tell a witch by their physical appearances. A witch may choose not to use the power of the witchcraft substance, which remains “cool” in their body, making the capacity for witchcraft an individual choice. In addition, Pritchard claims that the Azande are what he calls “rational” about witchcraft. If a known witch is in his hut when an act occurs, this is rationalized since it is actually the witch’s soul that travels to attack the victim. This mbisimo mangu (soul of witchcraft) operates over short distances, usually at night, and “sails through the air emitting a bright light” (E-P, 1976). The one time that Evans-Pritchard witnessed such a light was followed by the death of an old man in a hut on the path of the light.

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The mbisimo mangu travelled to his victim where it devoured his organs’ “soul”. The mbisimo mangu is not autonomous but must be intentionally guided by the witch to its actual physical destination.

Within Zande life, any time something goes wrong it is presumed to be the result of witchcraft. It can be something as simple as a minor accident in the bush or a “sulky and unresponsive” wife, or something graver such as the failure of game hunting (Evans-Pritchard, 1976).

Certainly, almost all illnesses and deaths are the result of witchcraft. However, the Azande recognize the same “obvious” causes for misfortunes as do those who think with “Western” “rationality”. They know the symptoms and causes of many diseases, but there is always the possibility of witchcraft contributing to the illness. When witchcraft is suspected, the usual course of action is to consider which neighbors are holding a grudge and then consult the poison oracles to confirm the witch’s identity (Evans-Pritchard, 1976). Consulting the oracles actually reveals “histories of personal relationships”, for the suspected witches’ names provided are the people with whom the accuser has known social problems. In fact, when the Azande evoke witchcraft, they are simply “foreshortening the chain of events and in a particular social situation are selecting the cause that is socially relevant and neglecting the rest” (Evans-Pritchard, 1976). A Zande, then, will rationalize that a man might be sick for natural causes, but if he dies, it will be due to the jealousy of a witch. Thus witchcraft explains unfortunate events by providing the missing link in a chain of causation, filling in the gaps so that the whole of life, and death, is imbued with meaning” (Evans-Pritchard, 1976).

THE EVIL EYE The evil eye is a phenomenon common throughout Europe, especially across the Mediterranean region, as well as the northern parts of Africa, the Middle East, India, and other areas of the world colonized by Europeans (Dundes, 1981). The evil eye is often linked to envy and jealousy; within the Orthodox Church it is known as vaskania, an envy born of the devil (Chrysanthopoulou-Farrington, 2008). This link between the evil eye and envy is also supported etymologically, for “envy”, associated with jealousy, derives from the Latin in videre, “to see”. The assumption is that to see something is to consciously or unconsciously desire it.

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Christina Veikou, the foremost anthropologist of the evil eye in Greece, defines it simply as “the harmful power which the insistent and penetrating gaze has on admirable persons and objects” (Veikou, 2008). Hence, linking the evil eye to their Orthodox belief system allows the believers to rationalize their personal misfortunes that arise out of social interactions. In addition, people often believe the evil eye is an “involuntary” action or reaction by the person casting it, “it just happens” (Veikou, 2008). The actual harm caused by the evil eye derives from the “intense emotions” associated with admiration, lust, and envy, that reside in the “heart” which is uncontrollable.

So what effects can the evil eye have?

Dundes suggests that an evil eye attack results in one’s vital liquids and, therefore, one’s life essence, being drained (Dundes, 1981). However, the effects of the evil eye can also be socially structural.

The Sarakatsani observe that their animals, the source of family and community sustenance, can be negatively affected by the evil eye cast by a neighbor or even their own wives when they are menstruating (Campbell, 1964). In fact, the evil eye negatively affects the appearance, health, and fertility of community members, specifically, “whatever is of value for the survival and reproduction of a community” (Veikou, 2008). Vassiliki Chryssanthopoulou who studied the concept of the evil eye in Australian Greeks disocvered that the evil eye or “Mati” or “Matiko”, is particularly revealed through their modern pre-wedding rituals, where lavender and mousoukarfia cloves are used to protect the couple and to assure fertility (Cryssanthopoulou-Farrington, 2008). Likewise, the groom always carries a pair of scissors to “cut the evil tongues”, another form of the evil eye, in order to protect himself from the jealousy of another woman whose gaze is capable of impeding his ability to sleep with his new wife.

Although Evans-Pritchard’s study of Azande witchcraft is almost a century old, and the practices he describes have certainly adapted and changed to modernity, I feel that we can nevertheless draw certain similarities between witchcraft of that earlier time and the evil eye as it is experienced in today’s Greece. So far it is clear that the evil eye affects everyone, but in the same manner, so does Azande witchcraft. The key difference in this comparison is that the witch must direct the ‘evil’ whereas the ‘evil eye’ is presumed to act autonomously from the person casting the gaze. However, this seems too simplistic.

Illustration by Maria Tzoannou

September 2018

Firstly, the person must gaze upon the victim, in effect directing the evil eye, so this then becomes a question of conscious or unconscious intent. Acknowledging both witchcraft and intentionality Campbell argued that “the witchcraft or the sorcery of the evil eye is recognized by the Church as one of the Devil’s weapons” (Campbell, 1964). Moreover, he added that the Sarakatsani recognized that certain individuals were known to possess and use the evil eye; an eye infected by the Devil. Therefore, I see a direct analogy between this diabolical essence of the evil eye and the “substance” that resides within the Azande witches’ bodies, which attacks and consumes the “innards” of the victim. Probably, the most important parallel is that witchcraft in Azande society and the evil eye in Greek society are both important cultural constructs which highlight the expected values of social relationships and community cohesion (Chrysanthopoulou-Farrington, 2008). In both cultures, intense emotions, especially those linked to envy or jealousy, can cause social frictions, resulting in witchcraft or an evil eye attack. While it is important to identify the competitive parties, the associated rituals help restore order and calm to the community. Such transgressions of social norms are, of course, common and quite normal within small communities, as are misfortunes and good luck, and despite witchcraft and the evil eye being illogical and irrational by “modern” standards, they can still play a significant role in reducing inevitable friction.

References: Campbell, John K. Honour, family and patronage: a study of institutions and moral values in a Greek mountain community. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1964. Print.

Chryssanthopoulou-Farrington, Vassiliki. “The evil eye among the Greeks of Australia: Identity, continuity and modernization.” In, J.C.B. Petropoulos. Greek Magic: Ancient, medieval and modern. London, New York: Routledge. 2008. Pp. 106-118. Print.

Dundes, Alan. “Wet and dry, the evil eye: An essay in Indo-European and Semitic worldview.” In, Dundes, Alan (ed.). The Evil Eye: A Folklore Casebook. Pp. 257–312. London, New York, 1981. Print.

Evans-Pritchard, E.E. Witchcraft, oracles, and magic among the Azande. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1976. Print.

Veikou, Christina. “To Kaku Mati: I Kinonkiki Kataskevi tis Optikis Epikinonias.” Athens. 1998. P. 144. Print. Cited in Chryssanthopoulou-Farrington, Vassiliki. “The evil eye among the Greeks of Australia: Identity, continuity and modernization.” In, J.C.B. Petropoulos. Greek Magic: Ancient, medieval and modern. London, New York: Routledge.

2008. Pp. 106-118. Print. P. 109 Veikou, Christina. “Ritual word and symbolic movement in spells against the Evil Eye.” In, J.C.B. Petropoulos. Greek Magic: Ancient, medieval and modern. Pp. 95-105. London, New York: Routledge.

2008. Print.

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The Great Murder

Lebanon as a society has been torn by war. A plethora of different religious communities exist – namely Christians, Petros Petrikos Muslims, Jews, Druze – with some minorities holding powMSc Conflict Studies erful status ever since the 1943 National Pact, an unwritten September 13 , 2018 arrangement which discriminates in favour of certain groups (El Rajji: 2014). Following the end of the French Mandate of The concept of Khaleeji rule in various countries in the Lebanon, it was decided that the President would always be Middle East is derived from the Arabic word Khaleej, meaning ‘Gulf ’. This very often implicates the Gulf Cooper- a Maronite Christian, the Prime Minister a Sunni Muslim, ation Council (GCC) that focuses on development, foreign and the Speaker of the House a Shi’a Muslim (Salibi, 2002: 185). Even until now in 2018, this obsolete agreement is direct investment (FDI), the oil and gas sector, and other carried on, evident in how the last elections in May 2018 still attributes that shape the political economy of its members granted the premiership to Saad Al-Hariri, despite the fact and partners (Hanieh, 2011: 2, 82, 101). The exponential that Hezbollah as a political party had secured a majority of involvement of Gulf countries in other countries’ economies today reflects a sad loss of autonomy and independent seats (Ajroudi: 2018). works in multiple sectors, not least to say the financial imBecause of these divisions, the sectarian system in place has plications, but also the political influence that institutions from Gulf exert over other governments (Bizri, 2013: 132). always benefited the elite, who sought to preserve the status At its heart, the GCC follows an FDI policy that is based on quo. Lebanon’s Khaleeji heritage has its roots at the 1975Sunni Muslim values, a process known as “Islamic Banking 1990 civil war. The new economic order was set by former and Finance”, which operates according to the rulings of the Prime Minister Rafiq Al-Hariri. Being half Lebanese and Sha’aria (Islamic law) (Khan and Bhatti: 2008). Particularly half Saudi, Hariri established powerful connections in the GCC and elsewhere that helped transform society. During in Lebanon, Khaleeji involvement has a twofold, lasting the civil war, he contributed generously in the restoration of impact: (a) it jeopardises the authority of the state, religious, and financial institutions in a sectarian society, and; the Beirut’s infrastructure, with “40 trucks, 100 bulldozers and 1300 workmen” (Fisk, 2001: 51, 465). Post-war, he was (b) it meddles with the functions of independent society elements and movements that seek to depart from a closed, seen as a powerful actor contributing to the capital’s and Lebanon’s general development in reconstructing the counsectarian model of politics. try. His myriad connections, often found in the Gulf guaranteed him the prime-ministerial post, following the signing of This article is based on ethnographic fieldwork conductthe Ta’if Accords (Salloukh et al, 2015: 17; Masri, 2009: 235). ed in Lebanon in light of the 2015-2016 protests and the As a result, the use of Khaleeji resources and financial capital subsequent developments within civil society and social movement circles. Although a short piece, the article sheds became effectively a government priority. The neoliberal some light over how governmental inaction due to Khaleeji economic policies that followed during Hariri’s premiership were focusing on free market economics and expanding the influence has kept the Lebanese state at bay, whilst prebusiness class (Baumann, 2016: 86; Balanche, 2012: 154venting any effective organisation of civil society and civic 155). Ironically, Hariri was also branded as “Father of the engagement. As a result, issues like political sectarianism, which dictates over Lebanon’s electoral system, still persist Poor”, despite the lack of focus on the poorer classes (Kingston, 2013: 85). This allowed legitimising such policies in the even today. Not only that, but the rise of new actors that eyes of the wider public that believed they contributed to the attempt to overcome the sectarian division are effectively greater good, and the restoration of Lebanon after the war. shut down: not only does the state act as an all-powerful hegemon, but it is itself subject to decisions made by foreign interests (Chit and Nayel: 2013). The true victims of UNDERSTANDING THE PROTESTS AND THE AFTERMATH this arrangement are the rest of the society, and with that, “Part of these organisations usually called ‘civil society’ organisacivic engagement is effectively murdered. tions in Lebanon are these NGOs that operate in the way of ‘flag

LEBANON’S KHALEEJI HERITAGE

“It’s like living in a country of fourteen dictators […] Each one has a loyal fascist mentality, well-linked into the capitalist class,

advocacy’ […]. The things that bring them together, ideologically, are anti-corruption, anti-sectarianism […] These people in the movement of 2015 were prominent not because they jumped in,

the bourgeois economy, the Khaleeji economy; they control all the but because a lot of them are considered the ‘activists of Beirut’’ ” – Nizar Hassan, former journalist at the Daily Star Lebanon, media, they control the state”

– Nadim Haidar, Former Vice-President of the Red Oak Society at researcher at the Lebanese Centre for Policy Studies (LCPS), and the American University of Beirut during the 2015 protests.

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political organiser.

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Taking into account the background which allowed the state to exercise direct control over societal affairs, it is important to understand why the 2015-2016 protests in Beirut failed. The protests originally took place in the summer of 2015 due to lack of governmental action over the disposal of waste and garbage. The government had decided not to renew the contract of Sukleen, which was the main private entity responsible for waste collection. On top of that, it had decided to close down Beirut’s landfill areas, without any alternative means for accommodating waste. The end product was that no garbage nor waste could be disposed. Branded as a “waste mismanagement” or “garbage crisis”, various groups took it to the streets, forming social movements in protest against the state.

At first, the issue was predominantly environmental and a matter of welfare, though it soon became an economic and a political dispute. “The problem of solid waste is not a technical problem, it’s not a policy problem or government problem – it’s a political problem”, says Dr André Sleiman, Governance Expert and Country Representative of Democracy Research International, and Public Policy Coordinator at Beirut Madinati. Various actors were involved in the protests. Ranging from a loosely defined Tul’it Rihetkun (You Stink), which was the main collective that sparked the protests, other politically active groups soon got involved, including over 60 Non-Governmental Organisations focusing on the environment, Ash-Sha’ab Yurid (The People Want), Badna Nahsib (We Want Accountability), Ash-Shara’a (To the Streets), Jayi Taghyir (Change is Coming) (Civil Society Knowledge: 2016; Kerbage, 2017: 13).

Some of these groups also had party affiliations, seeking to influence the protests in a sectarian way, in order to uphold the interests of the party (Ibid: 37).

Because of this ongoing war of influencing and redirecting the movements, more secular groups and individuals were infuriated with how stagnant the situation had become. What came to be seen as an important moment for Beirut and Lebanon was losing its momentum. A new actor soon emerged from the protests. Starting off as Beirut Madinati (Beirut My City), this movement first established itself as a secular NGO that sought to overcome the sectarian obstacles within the Lebanese society. Dr Sleiman’s words echo deeply: “If you really want to change politics, the only way is to seize the reins of power […]

The theory of change was to seize power by all means possible – of course, by all democratic means. And Beirut Madinati started like this in September [2015], it was just a trigger in September”.

Although Beirut Madinati lost at the establishment’s traditional party elements during the 2016 municipal elections, it managed to gather a notable amount of support, which helped raise awareness over the stagnant situation, encouraging a shift towards a more secular path in Lebanese politics – or at least, that was the original plan.

September 2018

The problem, as reflected previously, still prevails: sectarianism is still very vibrant, and the people are still incapable of acting. Nothing has virtually changed ever since. Although people are very much aware of the political stagnation and Lebanon’s past, there is a general reluctance (or at least a lack of will) to move towards a more secular direction. Consequently, civic engagement and political participation is indeed murdered.

Not only do secular parties fail to gather sufficient support from the locals, they are often prevented from taking any action to challenge the status quo. Other testimonies show a rather pessimistic view of current affairs. This is attributed towards the structural causes that maintain the status quo and sectarian politics. The Khaleeji model has effectively ensured that no matter the action taken by independent groups, free from sectarian ties and identity, it still remains rather difficult to break away from the ongoing situation. The 2015-2016 protests did little to account for governmental inaction to begin with. At the same time, the state itself reinforces these restrictions, as it suits its own elitist strategy, at the expense of the rest of the society. Unfortunately, Lebanon continues to follow a path of sectarianism that inhibits the growth of its people’s intellectual freedom and liberty. The presence of civil society does not help that much, since groups as such often misread the situation in thinking that expert and technical know-how will help overcome sectarianism. In reality, had the protests sustained a focus away from sectarianism, the situation would have been much different than what it is today.

References: Ajroudi, A. (2018) “Unpicking the Results of Lebanon’s Elections” Available at https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2018/05/unpicking-results-lebanon-elections- 180510171253490.html [Accessed 09/09/2018] Balanche, F. (2012) “The Reconstruction of Lebanon or the Racketeering Rule” in Knudsen, A. and Kerr, M. (eds.) Lebanon: After the Cedar Revolution. London: C. Hurst & Co. (Publishers) Ltd. Baumann, H. (2016) Citizen Hariri: Lebanon’s Neoliberal Reconstruction. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Bizri, R.M. (2014) “A Study of Islamic Banks in the Non-GCC MENA Region: Evidence from Lebanon” International Journal of Bank Marketing, 32(2): 130-149.

Chit, B. and Nayel, M.A. (2013) “Understanding Racism Against Syrian Refugees in Lebanon” Available at http://cskc.daleel-madani.org/paper/ understanding-racism-against-syrian-refugees-lebanon [Accessed 09/09/2018] Civil Society Knowledge (2016) “Social Movement Responding to the Lebanese Garbage Crisis” Available at https://civilsociety-centre.org/ party/social-movement-responding-lebanese- garbage-crisis [Accessed 10/09/2018] El Rajji, R. (2014) The Leaves of One Tree: Religious Minorities in Lebanon. London: Minority Rights Group International.

Fisk, R. (2001) Pity the Nation: Lebanon at War. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Hanieh, A. (2011) Capitalism and Class in the Gulf Arab States. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.

Kerbage, C. (2017) Politics of Coincidence: The Harak Confronts Its “Peoples”. Working Paper. Beirut: Issam Fares Institute for Public Policy and International Affairs, American University of Beirut.

Khan, M.M. and Bhatti, M.I. (2008) “Islamic Banking and Finance: On Its Way to Globalisation” Managerial Finance, 34(10): 708-725.

Kingston, P.W.T. (2013) Reproducing Sectarianism: Advocacy Networks and the Politics of Civil Society in Postwar Lebanon. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.

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The Writing’s on the Wall (But Not For Long) Konrad Stillin September 13 , 2018

Thirty five thousand years ago, the Palawa settled on the island now known as Tasmania by crossing the Bassain Plain, which later submerged after the Last Glacial Movement.

As the Palawa diverged into various language groups, they created various spiritual and cultural artefacts which complemented their customs and traditions. Cave art became a valuable asset through which generations were able to pass along ideas of importance and solidify their spiritual connection to their ancestors by depicting stories of creation or hunting parties within the Australian landscape. A set of artworks of extreme importance to the Palawa was located within the shelter known today as Dirmena Nala. The artworks are estimated to have been created over eight thousand years ago. The artists of the Dirmena Nala are unknown up to the day but could potentially be traced back to either the Mouheneenaa on the Western province, or the Moumairrmenair of the Eastern province of the Derwent Valley The Aboriginal communities lost their legal ownership over the Dirmena Nala during the European settlement and were only recognised as owners in December 2015 after years of struggle and efforts to retrieve their rights to this significant site for the Aboriginal community.

Even upon initial research on the matter, one can immediately recognise the value of the Dirmena Nala as a critical piece of Australian culture. Artworks which predate global empires and have withstood the test of time should definitely be considered valuable pieces of collective histories. The Dirmena Nala is of even greater importance upon considering the oral tradition of the Aboriginal cultures. Most of cultural ideas and teachings were passed down to generations through dialogues, rather than being recorded. Nonetheless, in May 2016 the artwork was found to have been vandalised, with the drawings scratched out and left in an irreparable state.

These artworks have now been wiped off the history of the Aboriginal community.

As abhorrent as these actions were, the question asked in this piece is not why individuals would want to desecrate such cultural artefacts. Rather, one should ask why there was no international outrage over the destruction of the Dirmena Nala. Even within Australia, the outcry was centralised mostly within the State of Tasmania and there was a failure to create uproar within the mainland. Would it be any different if the Uluru was vandalised beyond repair? Would groups have spoken about a greater injustice?

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Cave art | Source: Hello Kids

I believe so since the Uluru is recognised as an exceptional icon of both the Aboriginal culture and the Australian culture. Herein lies the problem found within numerous debates surrounding cultural property, one which Anthropology has yet to offer solutions to. This is not to say that Anthropology has not attempted to adequately define cultural property. Instead, I believe that the current focus on cultural protectionism within Anthropological fields has resulted in cultural property of critical importance to the international community to be inadequately protected.

Ideas on the protection of cultural properties can be placed within two sides of a debate: the cultural nationalist perspective and the cultural internationalist viewpoint.

Anthropologists struggle to fully align with one standpoint, yet I believe that cultural internationalism has proven to be more favourable. Cultural nationalism supposes that it is the nation that ought to determine what exactly is ‘cultural property’ and what is not. This idea focuses on the importance of the artefact only in relation to its place of origin and places the burden of protection onto the nation in question. For example, the protection of Pompeii should be reserved for Italian groups alone, as they are responsible for determining the palace to be of cultural importance. Thus, they are responsible for the funds to be spent if necessary to protect it. On the other hand, cultural internationalism suggests that there exist certain cultural properties that are important to the human collective. This instead places the burden of protection on an international level. For instance, if the any other government apart from the Italian one wished to spend funds in order to secure the protection of Pompeii, it would be free to do so.

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Cultural nationalism raises two issues in terms of property protection. First of all, promoting a culturally nationalist viewpoint further conceals already existing hierarchies between various cultural groups within the nation. In short, the destruction of Dirmena Nala was not given the attention it deserved because Aboriginal culture is often looked down by the Australian media, and the Australian society as a whole. On the contrary, the Uluru is perceived to be of higher importance due to the fact that many Australian sub-cultures have claimed it to be an important piece of their cultural origin. Secondly, promoting cultural nationalism inherently prevents international action. Disguising inequalities by promoting inter-cultural co-operation leads to international calls for added representation falling on deaf ears. That is because ownership is explored solely in the national realm causing nations to be hesitant to offer property protection in fear of being labelled imperialist in nature. This can be seen in the backlash of Britain holding on to the Elgin Marbles. What was initially a valid transaction has now morphed into an image of British Imperialism due to the UK’s reluctance in returning the cultural artefacts to Greece. The British Museum’s exhibition of the Elgin marbles should not be an issue, especially since the artefacts are important to the global community and not just Greece.

In theory, such a stance should be adopted. Yet, in practical matters, more needs to be done if the physical protection of cultural properties is to be achieved.

I believe that a lot of credit is due to the Internationalist stance, especially since most already adopt in the global scene. The largest wonders of the world and the greatest pieces of cultural property are now determined by their recognition by other nations, rather than the nation of origin. The Eiffel Tower is more important than the Bridge of Avignon because foreign nations and peoples have deemed it so. As more tourists and academics focus on one property, the relative importance of the other national property is lessened. It is a combination of both national and international forces which create importance, in turn offering the thought that both national and international forces should be responsible for maintaining such a property. It is to be noted that Anthropology tends to dislike the thought of ‘international communities’ and with good reason. All cultures are incredibly diverse and each identity that is created within a culture cannot be replicated. To suggest that therefore, all cultures could be condensed into one single ‘international culture’ refutes the idea of diversity being fostered through culture.

The Writing’s on the wall and it’s time that we read it.

The power of a nation is constantly shifting, sometimes granting its ability to devote resources into cultural protection and at other times failing to support proper economic growth and safety for its citizens. Cultural protection will never be an issue of the highest priority for the nations. If they afford to dispense funds into securing cultural properties, then they will. That is when the internationalist perspective will allow groups to intervene if a property is at risk and make the appropriate efforts to ensure their survival.

Nations, empires and civilisations have risen and have fallen, changed and transformed. Hence, to place a rigid framework on something as dynamic as cultural ownership means to undermine the potential for global change. Furthermore, is it not better to have such a property made available to the public for many years to come, rather than deprive future generations of it? In my opinion, the knowledge and appreciation that is fostered through such cultural pieces is critically more important than the officially recognised owner.

Top: the Great Mosque of Aleppo destroyed during the Syrian Civil War | Source: Daily Sabah. Bottom: The empty hollow in which a Buddha of Bamiyan once stood | Source: Wikipedia.

September 2018

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Symbiosis of Space and Identity Megan Robinson September 14 , 2018 , 2018

This article proposes the move towards a political culture based on recognition of the fluidity and centrality of the relationship between social life and the environment, thus allowing for meaningful identity formation, representation, and relationship to space.

Navigating space is an inherently fluid process; our identities form and fluctuate symbiotically with our movement in space: in our cities, in the narratives of our bodies, in the synapses between our thoughts and conversations with friends. Those intersecting spaces are where we explore new narratives of ourselves, becoming an expansive Venn diagram formed on the intersecting connections between people, experiences, ideas, and meanings. Our identity moves and interacts fluidly in and with space. Our identity is animist, inherently affected by and affecting in turn the space it moves in.

However, not all spaces are equally co-constituted. Indigenous marginalisation, capitalist expropriation, minority exclusion, cultural appropriation and other looming narratives and practices of space organisation mean that the space we inhabit stands to be owned by something else, something that writes its violence in our bodies and minds. Grenfell Tower constitutes a lack of autonomy in defining relationships to space, identities, homes, safety - a product of inequality and unequal access. Spaces pre-determined, our ability to create meaningful genuine relationships with space distorted.

How can we navigate our relationship to space?

For one, physical environment is never passive and objective, always ready for us to write its meaning. The space we inhabit always has its own agency. Environmental agency is recognised by indigenous groups in Ecuador*, who seek to maintain relationships to the environment wherein the two main parties are the human social community, and the environment itself as an actor.

In contrast, London space-culture refuses to recognise the environment as an actor, and instead space is imbued with multifarious forces acting upon it and through it: business models of organising space, gentrification, environmental degradation and social marginalisation. As a result, particularly poor communities are hidden away from the centre in tall towers, where they take up less physical space and are stacked in the air rather than living on the physical land. This marginalisation renders them vulnerable to negligence and to destruction, as Grenfell Tower clearly illustrates.

When our lives are piled upwards in tower blocks, how do we form a relationship to space? When physical land isn’t seen as an actor but as a commodity, how do we shape our identity to a space from we are excluded, of which our relationship to is marginalised?

“Our identity moves and interacts fluidly in and with space.”

“The space we inhabit always has its own agency.”

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Argonaut Magazine

Our ‘resistance’ is questionable. Feeling threatened by the future, we look to the past to construct an identity for ourselves that is static, stable, never changing. Cultural property is necessary for resistance to appropriation, but cultural property is not the answer. It promotes the idea of both identities and space as fixed in time and meaning, both objective, autonomous, and stable. This is not only not true of the reality of the fluid relationship between them, but it is dangerous. The identities we construct as true, stable and immortalised, are themselves constructed through imperialist lenses, exoticisations and distorted senses of the self. Reclaiming narratives of space and identity through espousing fixed cultural narratives is necessary for resistance, but we must recognise that the relationship between ourselves and our environment is always fluctuating, and that there is no core stability to either our identity or our space which can be found beneath the layers of cultural meanings. Autonomy is not the end goal. Philosophically speaking, ‘finding a core identity’ aside from the fluid flux of our relationships, is not possible. We can use notions of property and cultural stability to resist forces which seek to marginalise it, but this should not and cannot be a tenable end goal.

We must seek to form a relationship to space which recognises both physical space itself as an actor, and the multifarious forces that work through it. We must recognise our identity as formed through infinitely various fine channels of power. We must work so that there is no one power which looms greater in shaping us than the rest. We must be sea, air, earth, as well as gender, race, culture, ends. Ultimately, we must be able to choose which network we give priority to, recognise the variety of forces that shape us, but be able to decide which we prioritise. Physical space, equally, cannot be dominated by any single force, but we must work so that space can speak for itself, human infringement on it minimal, and where it is so, aim for equal access to land.

The poetry that arises from the symbiosis between humans and their environment is written onto the narratives of the soul. This poetry cannot be owned, dominated or called our own. The relationships that create it are neither formed from us or anything external to us, but are liminal, mysterious synapses that are the nature of all relationships and identity formation. The narratives we live in in London, with Cartesian dualism and social inequality, do not speak to this truth. In our self awareness. We cannot replicate this through notions of property and self contained identities.

In the meantime, we must work to eradicate the notion of Cartesian dualism as informing our physical space organisation. We look to Ecuador to inform us on how to create a political landscape which reflects the animist nature of our existence, rather than a space organisation formed on the distortions of Cartesian dualism. *Marisol De La Cadena: Indigenous Cosmopolitics in the Andes. Indigenous groups in Ecuador use animist relations with Pachamama (mother nature) to inform the political and legal system through establishing nature as an actor with rights against environmental degradation. Land is recognised as an active force in social life, not an objective mute fact.

Human social life is shaped through a mutual relationship between humans and environment, and through minimising the role of external actors, financial influence, and ultimately, the Cartesian dualism which contextualises marginalisation and spatial/social degradation.

“When our lives are piled upwards in tower blocks, how do we form a relationship to space?”

Lloyd’s Building, the Gherkin and the Barbican by

@jiteshpatel | Source: Instagram

September 2018

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Welcome to the LSE Oscars!

Find out more about the most loved movies in the anthropology department. ”EL ETNÓGRAFO”: A FILM REVIEW

Agustin Diz March 6, 2018

El Etnógrafo. 2012. 89 minutes. Ulises Rosell and Pablo Rey. Fortunato Films. Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Set in the Gran Chaco region, a vast semi-arid plain that occupies a large swath of territory at the heart of South America, El Etnógrafo (The Ethnographer) is a recent award-winning documentary that captures the harsh beauty of one of the continent’s least known regions. The documentary – which takes its title from a short story by Jorge Luis Borges – provides an evocative portrait of the life of indigenous Wichí communities in the north west of Argentina and captures the pressure that encroaching extractive interests are increasingly placing upon Wichí settlements.

As its title suggests, however, the film is primarily a character study whose protagonist is a man by the name of John Palmer.

Palmer, now in his sixties, is an Oxford trained anthropologist who has worked with indigenous Wichí communities for decades. Having conducted doctoral fieldwork in the 70s under the supervision of Peter Rivière, Palmer completed his dissertation

Particularly interesting are the ways in which company representatives appeal to the ‘chain-of-command’ within the company and avoid taking responsibility for the company’s actions. Far from the air-conditioned offices where big decisions are made, the film’s focus on the micro-tactics of both the Wichí and the company representatives illustrate the processes through which politics and extraction interact in the day-to-day of an extractive frontier.

However, as Palmer himself admits at one point, from the Wichí’s perspective the whole struggle is more of a ‘one step forward and five steps back’ kind of affair.

in the 1990s and returned to the Chaco region of north-western

The most poignant and controversial of Palmer’s activist involveArgentina where he married Tojweya, a Wichí woman. Somewhat ments concerns the case of Qa’tu, a Wichí a man who has been distanced from academic anthropology, Palmer, who received accused of raping and impregnating an under-aged girl from his the Royal Anthropological Institute’s Lucy Mair medal in 2009,

currently dedicates himself to activist work on the Wichí’s behalf.

In beautifully captured scenes of domesticity, the documentary captures the complex, multicultural lives of Palmer, Tojweya, and their five children. Perhaps the most memorable of these is the

settlement. To its credit, the documentary does not straightforwardly absolve Qa’tu. Instead, it hints at the cultural nuances and misunderstandings at play. Through Palmer and Qa’tu’s relatives, the film sheds light on Wichí marriage customs and also on the complexity of the Wichí’s engagements with bureaucracy, health

services, and the justice system. As a viewer, one feels that perhaps family’s visit to Tojweya’s birthplace; here the unforgiving environ- this case might have merited some deeper analysis. In particular, ment of the Chaco contrasts with the warmth of family life and questions of potential gender asymmetries among the Wichí are is bound together by powerful images of the muddy Pilcomayo river. The scenes of Palmer and Tojweya’s family lives are often touching and their rambunctious children provide an endearing source of comic relief throughout the film. At various points in the film, Palmer and Tojweya reflect upon the cultural complexities of their lives together which include issues like family finance, distance from extended kin networks, and even infant naming practices.

The heart of El Etnógrafo, however, is made up of various scenes in which Palmer enacts the role of activist-anthropologist in a Sisyphean struggle for indigenous rights. Several of these show Palmer confronting loggers and oil workers who are operating within Wichí territory and drafting police reports to denounce these encroachments.

not explored even though these seem to be at play in the few scenes where we are able to see Wichí politics unfold at the local level.

From an anthropological perspective, the emphasis on Palmer’s mediating role often seems overemphasised and uncritical. Indeed, rarely do the documentary’s Wichí protagonists speak without Palmer being present and, in the confrontation scenes, the anthropologist does practically all of the talking. This is not a critique of Palmer, but rather of the way in which his actions are represented in the film. In some ways, the overemphasis on Palmer’s role is slightly ironic given the fact in the story that lends its name to the film, Borges writes that, although the story ‘has only one protagonist,’ ‘in all stories there are myriad protagonists, visible and invisible, alive and dead.’ Perhaps the filmmakers could have heeded this advice and crafted a more polyvocal portrait of life in the Chaco.

Topl left: The poster of Etnografo film | Source: IMDB Top right: Scene from the 7th Seal | Source: Sense of Cinema

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Indeed, the authorial presence of the filmmakers is pushed deep into the background. The film is not guided by a narrative thread, but seems to flit from scene to scene, gracefully introducing new characters and situations without ever quite linking them up explicitly.

Coupled with the soft-spoken tone of most scenes, the documentary often becomes an almost dream-like, but not quite nightmarish, portrait of life in the Chaco. In an aesthetic sense, this impressionistic kind of story telling is, I think, one of the film’s strengths. However, for a more activist or even anthropological audience, it may seem slightly disengaged or insufficiently contextualised. For instance, historical, political, and economic issues are hinted at throughout, but they are never presented in an explicit account that might help to situate the life of the people on the screen.

Overall, however, El Etnógrafo provides an engrossing introduction to South America’s Gran Chaco. Throughout, it captures the cultural and politico-economic complexities of Wichí lives in the region. Although as anthropologists we might lament the lack of other, particularly Wichí, voices, the documentary is essentially meant as an exploration of John Palmer’s life. As such, it raises interesting questions concerning the politics of representation as well as insights regarding the role of anthropology and anthropologists beyond the ivory tower.

Thought-provoking and beautifully filmed, El Etnógrafo is well worth a watch.

INGMAR BERGMAN’S “THE SEVENTH SEAL” (1957)

Nathalia Joukova Edholm March 1, 2018

In honour of the Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman’s 100th anniver-

So, how does human life and thought react as death takes enormous and arguably unnatural proportions, such as the Black Plague in the middle ages?

‘Bad death’ is the opposite of an expected ‘good death’. Survivors left in despair, hopeless in the face of evil. The Plague, estimated to have killed 30-60% of Europe’s population in a matter of decades.

As the film begins, the main character Antonius Block, a knight returning from the crusades, encounters Death who has come to take him away. Antonius, reflecting the human tendency to elude death, challenges Death to a chess match in order to postpone the inevitable. During the match, he experiences a crisis of faith in God, a fact that makes death even more daunting. “Is it so terribly inconceivable to comprehend God with one’s senses? Why does he hide in a cloud of half-promises and unseen miracles?”. The loss of faith, presumably a result from his experiences in the crusades, makes death seem devoid of meaning and substance. Echoing the futility of life, he confesses to Death: “we must make an idol out of fear, and call it God.” Not all characters in the film adopt the same defeatist view of death. On the contrary, the role of religion grows alongside that

sary, we will look deeper into one of his most iconic films, The Seventh of death. Monks speak of the sins of men that initially brought the Seal (Det Sjunde Inseglet), a movie that triumphs in its depiction of Plague as a punishment from God (the HIV epidemic, anyone?). humanity’s relationship to death in a time when it is a most intimate component of our lives.

“Who are you?”

“I am Death /…/ Are you ready?”

“My body is ready, but I am not” So goes the famous dialogue between the knight Antonius Block and Death himself, a dialogue so well remembered even 61 years after its premiere. It is not surprising, since few scenes so directly confront the

Cults of people reenact the suffering of Jesus through whipping themselves—and as such, society and meaning are reconstructed as physical suffering, that still seems less painful than a meaningless existence. Other characters, such as the macho squire Jöns, adopt an arguably nihilist and hedonistic worldview. Jöns dismisses love as nothing more than worldly lust and proceeds to ask for the bottle after observing painted murals depicting death, doing so in a desperate effort to forget its lurking presence. Finally, a farmer comments, regarding the Judgment Day: “if it is as they say one can

only take care of one’s house and live happily as long as one stands universal fear of death—we are never quite ready for it. Nevertheless, it on one’s bare legs.” has been, and will presumably continue to be, an inevitable part of life.

Many anthropologists have considered the role death plays in life. Our very own Bronislaw Malinowski in “Magic, Science and Religion” emphasises rituals that mend the social disorder in events of death, where the body is purified in order to foster an idea of an immortal spirit.

Some thinkers such as Ernest Becker and Zygmunt Bauman go even further by claiming that the universal human fear of death is one of our strongest inner drives. In order to escape death, we subconsciously try to immortalise ourselves through genealogical procreation, the making of art, and the following of religious faith. Human life seems, ironically, to be intimately connected to death.

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Bergman’s fluency in black comedy is displayed throughout the film and reveals itself in the best light in one particular scene. An actor, encountering Death, attempts to negotiate: “I haven’t got time… my performance [tomorrow]… is there no exemption for actors?”. Presenting morbid matters through humorous dialogues, the audience is allowed to playfully reflect over the often suppressed knowledge of one’s own mortality and what it does to oneself. As the Church painter said to Jöns: “Why should one always make people happy? It might be a good idea to scare them once in a while.”

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FOLLOW THE ARGONAUTS AROUND 36 COUNTRIES AND 6 CONTINENTS!

Explored by the Argonauts.

Members of our editorial team and staff writers have traveled across the globe.

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Stay tuned for new articles every week!

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ANTHRO-CROSSWORD A little treat from our Deputy Editor, Dimitris Sarsentis, to refresh your anthropology favorites.

ACROSS 1. Obsession with patterns and oppositions 4. Interested in gifts (Full Name) 7. Derek Freeman challenged this famous anthropologist (Surname) 11. Wacquant’s state (2 Words) 12. His analysis has been reevaluated especially on the backdrop of neoliberal economics (Surname) 13. They go around in a circle 14. ‘Women are to men as nature is to culture’ (Surname) 15. Geertz’s famous fight

DOWN 2. Anthropology according to Radcliffe-Brown (2 Words) 3. The universality of what did the AAA reject in 1947? (2 Words) 5. His diaries tarnished his image (Surname) 6. Much-criticized theory to determine the roots of poverty (3 Words) 8. Judgement of another culture according to preconceptions originating in one’s own culture 9. Anthropologist interested in agrarian societies, subaltern resistance, and anarchism (Surname) 10. Influential book for the postmodernist turn (hint: Clifford and Marcus) (2 Words)

September 2018