Monday, March 14, 2016

Nationalism: So simple and yet...so complex

“The work of a geographer should question and unsettle the presuppositions about space and geography that underlie the hegemonies of an unjust world.” –Joel Wainwright, Decolonizing Development

“Uneven development is social inequality blazoned into the geographical landscape, and it is simultaneously the exploitation of that geographical unevenness for certain socially determined ends.” –Neil Smith, Uneven Development

For me, what everything comes down to is uneven development, especially the spatial distribution of inequality. The multi-scalar inequalities of our world are profound, saddening, and frightening: from the profoundly unjust disparities between the United States and Nigeria, to the vast divisions between Mississippi and California, to the gentrification and ghettoization of Manhattan, to the superior position a husband wields over his wife. The social injustice of gratuitous wealth derived from desperate poverty, while frightening power sits side-by-side cruel oppression lights the fire of passion that drives my work. Of course economic realities intersect with other divisions driving us apart, especially race and gender (that’s why in common everyday English parlance we talk a lot about “socioeconomic inequality.” Because social divisions are so closely related to economic inequalities, especially in the United States where race and income are dramatically correlated).

I argue that political-economic structures are the birthplace of these socially constructed (i.e. imagined but with very real effects on our everyday life) identities. For example, Mao pretty successfully eradicated male/female divisions under communism (not saying it’s a good or a bad thing, but it’s a thing). So if you’re going to put me in a box with a label on it, I guess that makes me a Marxist. For me, the political-economic structures, that is capitalism for us in the United States and state socialism for my dear friends in China, is incredibly influential and, dare I say, crucial component of shaping our world.

A feminist might disagree with me, saying that the patriarchy and gender are the most influential factors in shaping our world, especially in the homes and on individual bodies. A poststructuralist would say that power comes from below and our world is made up of complex and dynamic power struggles that cannot be reduced to political-economic structures, but are realized in multiple, corporeal, discursive, and material ways.

Note that Marx actually has very little to do with communism or socialism. Just because Stalin and Mao co-opted Marx’s work for their own state ideological projects, doesn’t mean that Marx would have agreed with them. Marxist critiques are about the way political-economic and material structures shape our lives, not about massive state projects that are actually about capital accumulation and violence.

Also notice I said “shaping our world”, and not “determining.” Because while I see the world through a Marxist lens—that is, I see inequalities and power hierarchies driven by money everywhere I go—I recognize that there are other sites of domination and oppression that sit outside the state, capital, and labor. If you know anything about me by know, you know I hate boxes and I hate labels even more.

The structuralist (aka Marxist) versus poststructuralist divide is a false binary. Poststructuralists draw on Marx too. We cannot and should not let ourselves be limited by these boxes and labels because in reality these two theoretical approaches influence and collide with one another. And, harping back to my previous post, I would argue that perhaps the most successful academics draw on both, defying the boundaries of one or the other, balancing their work with one foot in each camp. There are Marxist-feminists too.

Now that being said, I’m not a traditional Marxist, who would probably argue something about how capitalist social relations determine everything from culture to identity. I draw on other theorists as well, all of whom drew on Marx but also challenged him.

Gramsci said that the relationship between economics and culture was mutually constitutive—there is a constant back and forth creative process between material realities and ideological constructions where one does not determine the other, instead they create each other.

Foucault argued that knowledge is power. For him, power was not about top-down domination, but rather a corporeal, multiple, material, capillary, productive, and increasingly invisible process of relationships. He argues that with the beginning of capitalism, political and ethical power became linked through territory as a new site of sovereignty over a population, where discourses of normalization are a tool of governing of an entire population by controlling space. 

Lefebvre, probably my favorite theorist of all, said that we need to move out of the factory and into the cities to understand social relations to be about the partnership between the state and capital in the production of space—that is, he argued that the commodification of land, especially in urban areas, was key to understanding our (very fucked up) world.  

Today I will sit in an empty room (with a window, thank God) for 9 hours. During those 9 hours (technically it is an 8-hour exam with a 1-hour lunch break but anyone who knows me knows I will not be taking a lunch break), I will answer 2 of the 4 questions my committee has prepared. The exam is closed-book and closed-note. I will have access to nothing except for a blank laptop, a pen and paper, and a bibliography. The bibliography is the list of books and articles I made 8 months ago, the list of publications that I told my committee I would read in preparation for this day. I need the bibliography so I can reference authors without having to memorize the publication dates as well.

The questions will direct me to a single topic, but in answering the questions I will need to evaluate the previous work in my field (“good, but missing some important spatial components”), explain how and why geography is important and should be used more often “spatial relationships are key always!”), position myself within the major debates in the field (“Marx is awesome, but feminists are cool too”), make a clear and cohesive argument about my position (“You can’t deny the power of capitalism because inequality and uneven development”), and argue about where the field should go in the future (“We really need to talk more about the spatial relationships of territory, scale, and colonialism when we talk about nationalism”).

I will do this 3 times over the course of 7 days: first, political geography. Second, China geography. Third, urban geography.

In preparation for the political geography exam, I’m writing a manifesto for the incorporation of geographic considerations into the study of nationalism.

Nationalism is different from other claims because it’s about identity. It’s personal, emotional, embodied, and violent. Nationalism involves spatial (i.e. territorial) and temporal (i.e. historical) claims. The nation manifests a key relationship between people and territory.

The nation is built on material, spatial, and territorial relationships. The spatial relationships of capitalism are key to understanding the history of nationalism as a Western construct to accumulate capital and protect private property. Nationalism is deeply connected to land and control of that land, which invokes violence to protect the people on that land. Conflict, land, and territory are deeply connected to nationalism.

While the political and social construction of the nation is ideological and cultural, it carries with it tangible effects. Nationalism as ideology brings with it war, violence, and oppression of minorities. Sometimes the idea of the nation can be inspirational in liberation struggles, but most of the time the post-colonial nation continues its economically oppressive relationship with its colonizer, and the ethnic and class divisions set up by the colonizer continue as the post-liberation nation repeats the cycles of violence and oppression manifest in nationalist ideology built on territorial and capital accumulation (read: we need a new system).

The ideology of nationalism is based on modern (i.e. post-Enlightenment in Europe) ideas of space, time, and money. For example, the nation is seen as temporally infinite, simultaneously looking back into ancient territorial claims from the beginning of time, and looking forward into the progress of modernity. Meanwhile, the space of the nation is seen as homogenous, static, and fixed—never contested or changing.

The nation built on capital accumulation presents a paradox. Capital depends on territorial fixity to protect its investments in factories, roads, bridges, airports, and houses. However, capital is also mobile—it depends on its ability to move around to find the cheapest prices and extract the highest profits. The result of this is profound inequalities between the First World and the Third World—where the Western nations move their factories to places they can find the cheapest labor. But the nation finds itself in a dilemma. 

How can capital protect its investments and deal with overaccumulation (e.g., unemployment, empty and expensive houses), while still providing a place for capital to be mobile, cheaply invest and accrue the highest profits without leaving the country? The solution is to create divides of inequality within a single country. This way capital can exploit the poor in the (often) rural parts of the country, but not leave the country. We see this in the US as many big corporations are finding their headquarters in South Carolina and Georgia, moving away from the expensive parts of New York and California. This solution is called “internal colonialism,” where a country tries to collect many different peoples under one unified national identity, while dividing them economically and culturally to create a division of labor. Identity built on difference (e.g., race and gender) is set up within a single country to exploit the poor and uneducated creating a paradox of unified diversity (e.g., women all over the world, people of color in the US, Scots in the UK, Tibetans in China, hill tribes in Southeast Asia, indigenous peoples in South America).

Of course this happens on multiple scales: global, national, local. One of the key contributions of geography is to understand the social construction of scale. First, capital produces social scales to give uneven development its coherence. Second, capital produces uneven territorial hierarchies of scale: global>national>local>household>individual. We often see the state as more powerful than individuals. But actually we know this not to be true. Individuals defy the state all the time (and vice versa), from jaywalking to drug crime to protesting to emigrating. Indeed, with the labor and capital mobility of intensified globalization, we see many cities becoming more powerful than the countries in which they are located. And the diverse populations in those cities no longer identifying with a nation. We are moving toward new definitions of national identity and citizenship. In these examples, we can see the individual body moving through space as transgressing the global imaginaries of national power.


There’s a little taste of Marxist theory on nationalism for you. I could probably write another 10 pages, but I’m going to stop now.

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Social relations, capital accumulation, and the work/life balance


Too Long, Won’t Read: My basic point is that social relationships > capital accumulation. It’s sad that in our current political-economic system, all too often it’s the other way around… When we can learn to integrate our work into our life, that is living to work rather than working to live, and stop seeing work/life as an opposed dichotomy, we can potentially live more satisfying and meaningful lives.  

Harms also connects the ability to take advantage of manipulating bifurcated categories as a way to discuss work/life balance.

At one point, Harms meets a man dressed in rags sitting outside of a cafe who claimed to be more rich than Americans: even if he didn’t have material wealth, he had time, he told Harms. He was one of many workers in the urban fringes of Saigon who sit with their friends drinking coffee in front of cafes waiting for work. If someone needs a task done, such as construction or carpentry work, they can go to the cafes and bargain for a coffee-drinking cafe-goer to come help them. If the worker thinks it’s worth it, he will agree to the job.

Harms argues that this man embodies a vision of an alternative way of living, a calculus of material comfort x free time = happiness. For the man in rags, there is no spatial or temporal division between work and life. He is king in a world where people have the time to enjoy their coffee at the cafe and chat with friends as a part of their working day.

Harms notices that the most successful people in Hoc Mon were not only those who harnessed their position in the middle of the rural/urban divide, but also those who did not draw a line between work and life. In other words, people who live to work instead of work to live, either by converting their homes into storefronts, or otherwise by seamlessly integrating their life with their work, like the man in rags, were the most successful.

Contrast this image of the man sitting outside the cafe with a factory worker. The factory worker is completely subordinated to capital, and having no family to help or land to live off of, uses his wages for both subsistence and remittances back home, which leaves him with neither material wealth nor social reproduction. The factory worker has wholly subordinated family time and family space to the factory.

Factories take people out of their homes and subordinate them to the power of the capitalist process, essentially forcing them to give up the role of social reproduction and social life, and making them devoted to capital accumulation by essentially separating work and life.

When you make someone work all the time, you essentially take away their life. You take away someone’s own ability to produce and reproduce themselves as social beings. You take away their ability of being, and make their lives all about doing.

How does this relate to all of us? Sure, this is the description of a factory worker in Vietnam, and obviously we are not in that position in terms of having to be slaves in order to secure subsistence existence or in terms of material comforts. But what about in terms of time? What about in terms of our relation to the modes of production? What about in terms of our roles in social reproduction versus capital accumulation?

I think such a situation is related to everyone I know who has subordinated themselves to the priority of capital accumulation; that is, working for the man. Certainly this subordination is not by choice. Because right now in the political economic realities of our country, chasing capital accumulation is how we are educated and raised; this is how we survive. There is no alternative right now for any of us.

And what a sad world we live in as a result. It’s not the world I want to live in and it’s not the world I want to bring children into. Not as an academic, not as a mother. That’s just not how I want to live my life. That’s not the vision I have for me, for my future, or for my children. I want to prioritize social relations.

Obviously we first have to have that subsistence level: water, shelter, food. Once we attain that subsistence level, can we start thinking about how to subordinate capital accumulation to social relations? The problem is that we are often burdened by debt: student loans, credit card debt, car payments, mortgages. And so we work our asses off just to maintain some sense of normalcy, struggling to keep from drowning. But what happens is that we lose a big part of what life is about: being instead of doing.

And capitalism tricks us into thinking that this is a good thing, that we are sacrificing the present for the sake of a better future. This is a lie. The time is now. There is no time to waste. It’s time to start enjoying our lives, living our lives, and just being before it’s too late. Before we wake up and think to ourselves, “where has my life gone…?” I want to wake up and say to myself, “I’ve committed myself to cultivating meaningful connections and genuine relationships and friendships with people.”

I completely agree that working hard is an extremely important part of life. Working hard is one of the core values of my life that I hold very close to my heart and one that I try to live out every single day. But what are we working so hard toward? And who are working so hard for? It is the answer to this question that is essential. I want to work hard to better humanity, but also to maintain relationships with the people I care about.

Are we working for ourselves, and by extension for our friends and family, for social relations? Or are we working for the capitalist who is extracting the sweat and blood off of our backs for his own benefit?

Capitalism is not the only way. There are other alternatives. The man in rags on the street exemplifies this alternative in a very real way.

So what does this mean for us, in the real world? It means, to quote Amy Poehler, treating your career like a bad boyfriend. It means making time for friends and family and also for ourselves. Making time for ourselves to read, to enjoy the sunshine, to relax, and to be creative. It means making our social lives a top priority, above trying to please other people, including our bosses or our mothers or our significant others. It means taking care of ourselves as a way to take care of our communities, as a way to foster social relations. It’s not about taking care of other people with an expectation that we will get something back, but as a way to cultivate a joy and happiness for life.

What I got out of Harms’ book is that one way to achieve this is to integrate work and life so that they’re not separated, but actually one in the same. This could be something like opening a jiujitsu gym (where my life and work would be completely integrated), or some other occupation such as being an artist. For me, it means being a part of academia or writing or teaching.

For me, the academic life straddles the life-work balance by integrating my research into my life. The happiest and most successful professors have made clear to me that the key to success in academia is being okay with and embracing the aspect of academia that spills over into your personal life. 

The fact that there is no defined split between work and life in academia-- that you write in the evenings and on weekends, for example-- has its advantages. Because work is your life, there is no separation that means you are miserable while you are working and happy while you’re not. Because your research is what you’re passionate about and so if you really enjoy it then you don’t mind working on the weekends because it’s not really work; it’s an ingrained part of your life.

A lot of people I talk to despise this aspect of graduate school and academia, wishing longingly to be like their professional friends who have nights and weekends off. I too sometimes long for this kind of lifestyle. But at least in my limited personal experience and observations and talking to friends, this kind of lifestyle is exhausting. Having a work/life separation can be very alienating and draining, leaving one without energy to really enjoy the time off.

So why do we have to separate work and life? Why is it a zero sum game, a mutually exclusive one or the other? What about a job that is your life? Whether it be traveling, producing art, writing, or doing jiujitsu, have you imagined a life where you could integrate your work into the things you already love to do?

In our current political-economic system, this is impossible for most of us. So let’s change the system.

We can have our cake and eat it too. Let’s make it happen.

Monday, February 29, 2016

Standing between binaries, The Sequel

As part of my comps preparation, over the summer I read Saigon’s Edge: On the Margins of Ho Chi Minh City (University of Minnesota Press, 2011), an excellent book about contemporary Vietnam. The book is written by Erik Harms, a professor of anthropology at Yale University.

In this post, I talk about the power of standing between binaries, something that I've discussed before on a more personal basis. This post is a more intellectual or, dare I say, philosophical take on bifurcated categories.

Saigon’s Edge was first recommended to me by my friend [you can read his blog here]. He recommended it because he had read a draft of one of my articles about Old Nanjing. In the (still unpublished) article, I talk about contested urban modernity. That is, alternative visions of progress (i.e., looking beyond skyscrapers as a sign of improvement) that are both realized and resisted in Old Nanjing.

The residents of Old Nanjing showed me the contradictions and ambivalence of modernity and development. The residents of Old Nanjing both love and hate their neighborhood, and both eagerly anticipate and dread its demolition and their families’ displacement. Through their everyday practices, they both perpetuate and resist the state’s vision of urban modernity. The state defines modernity as progress and order of the urban built environment (e.g., skyscrapers). The residents seem to agree with this in some senses as they eagerly anticipate moving to a building with indoor plumbing. Yet, again and again they insist that the tight-knit relationships they have with their neighbors will be impossible in such a modern building. In this way, the new skyscrapers don’t mark progress, but rather fragmented social relations.

Harms’ book, packed full of extremely interesting ideas and colorful anecdotes, speaks to a lot of the same ideas and experiences I had in Old Nanjing. He very successfully ties the relevance of his case study in a neighborhood called Hoc Mon, located on the urban fringes of Saigon/Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, to broader theoretical approaches of (post-)structuralism and modernity. Being a rapidly urbanizing rural area just outside the city limits, Hoc Mon is situated physically and socially between the urban and rural. Hoc Mon is “neither country nor city but uncomfortably both,” Harms writes.   
The main point of the book is to examine the contradictions and paradoxes of categories. That is, how we try to put concepts into boxes with fixed labels, such as gay/straight or male/female. Even though these idealized categories are culturally and socially constructed, and in practice the categories often don’t fit our everyday lives (bisexuals and transexuals are good examples), the categories still have very real, tangible, and material effects on our lives. While we continuously create a world broken up into black and white categories, more often than not we find ourselves in some kind of grey area in-between. Those differences are a myth.  

Harms is mostly interested in the binaries of rural versus urban and inside versus outside. He is very interested in how these binaries are false--that is, imagined social constructions because there is no real divide between the urban and rural. In reality, these two categories intermingle in both the physical landscape and in social practice, and are mapped onto spatial, material, temporal, and social realities.

He examines how people reproduce and try to make sense of the rural/urban and inside/outside categories; how the state represents them; how people utilize them for personal advancement; how people simultaneously oscillate between them across space and time; and how people express love-hate relationships of them.

For example, he shows how people love and hate the city, and how the city signifies both power and danger, and how the city is both empowering and oppressive. He shows how people see urban development with triumph and pride, but also are nostalgic for rural lifestyles. Hoc Mon residents straddle the line between the despised rural villagers and the civility of the urban.

The idealized categories of urban/rural and inside/outside are both transgressed and reproduced in the everyday lives of Hoc Mon residents. Life in Hoc Mon is a life simultaneously full of despair and opportunity, of power and oppression, of inclusion and exclusion.

He provides a brilliant example to illustrate the simultaneous oscillation between inclusion and exclusion that is experienced in Hoc Mon. According to the patrilineal marriage customs in Vietnam, where the wife of the family joins the male family, she is considered to be an outsider,  and yet is still a part of the family; she is hated by her in-laws but needed for reproduction.

In a similar way the urban fringe is necessary for the life of the city (provides cheap labor and manufacturing), and is needed for capitalist reproduction. The urban fringe and the rural are necessary parts of the city, yet seen as the outside of it. Like the daughter-in-law, the urban fringe--where the poor and marginalized of the city live--is a source of life for the city, yet despised (think of the way New Yorkers seem to hate New Jersey and people from New Jersey, for example).

In another example, he uses a Vietnamese proverb that says, "suck the soapberry and call it sweet,” to describe the way that urbanization and development is bitter, but people force themselves to like it anyway. Like sucking on a soapberry, life in Hoc Mon is a bittersweet experience of social change, and people express a love/hate relationship with the changes of urbanization, and with the life changes that come with economic development. On the one hand, they have more money, technology, and an improved standard of living. On the other hand, there is dispossession, poverty, fatigue, pollution, inequality, crime, and a loss of community and close social connections. The sweet is the ideal of the city, imagined as civilized and orderly, but the bitter is the chaos of everyday life: despair, inequality, and poverty.

Meanwhile, people negotiate their own sense of self in these temporal and spatial worlds. You can think of this as similar to someone who lives in New Jersey but works in New York City. In this arrangement, this person is able to make more money than they would in New Jersey, but pay lower housing prices than they would in New York City. By working in the city, but living in the “country,” they put themselves at an advantage. Going abroad to work and sending remittances home is another example of manipulating space and time differences for personal benefit.

This is what Harms calls “spatiotemporal oscillation,” which occurs when one is able to move between the rural and urban in space and time. This is a form of power that attempts to harness the advantages of both rural and urban at once. The most relevant socioeconomic division in Hoc Mon is between those who manipulate the categories and those don’t. For those who don’t challenge the categories, the urban/rural dichotomy becomes an exclusionary and constraining binary. But for those who can straddle themselves with one foot in each category, landing in the grey area in-between the binaries? They’re the ones who succeed the most.

In other words, Hoc Mon residents use the false myth of the rural/urban dichotomy “as a means to harness the advantages of two competing forms of spatiotemporal organization that give them the power to reproduce themselves as social persons” (Harms 2011).  

MIND BLOWN. By deconstructing these constraining binaires, and understanding ourselves as situated somewhere in-between, we can harness the power to reproduce ourselves as social persons, as unique snowflakes. Not as robots, or cogs in the machine, or slaves to the man. But as social persons: alive in the world through our social connections to other people, standing between binaries.

Monday, February 1, 2016

My Year of Daring Greatly: Gratitude for 2015

2015 was a year of growth and change for me. It was also a year of adventure, love, and thrilling challenges. Here are some of the things I got to do in no particular order, which looking back on fills me with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude.

In 2015, I competed in 4 jiujitsu competitions, took the Amtrak train across Colorado to go hiking with my aunt in Moab, watched rom-coms with Becky in New York City, experienced the debauchery of Las Vegas, visited Nanjing three (!) times, took a 41-hour train across China, trained jiujitsu with my best friend in Thailand, hitchhiked across the Chinese border with Kirghiz truckers, got put on house-arrest after attending a friend’s wedding, visited the ancient Buddhist grottoes in Kucha, fell in love, fell out of love, got kicked out of a hotel, drank wine and star-gazed with friends on the roof of my 18-story apartment building, got kicked off of said roof, cycled along the Karakoram Highway to the Chinese-Pakistani border, went hiking with sheep herders in the Tianshan mountains, stayed in a homestay in Osh, Kirghizstan, listened to over 100 hours of audio-books and podcasts, became conversationally proficient in Uyghur, partied until dawn broke and got lost walking home in the morning light, went dancing at Uyghur clubs and weddings, fainted in the middle of a restaurant, wore a headscarf and got mistaken for being Uzbek (multiple occasions), shared many laughs, tears, and my heart with dear friends, went biking through the mountains of the suburbs of Urumchi, taught jiujitsu, kicked the shit out of said jiujitsu students, (kind of) learned how to kickbox, got the shit kicked out of me by multiple 14-year old girls during sparring on multiple occasions, watched the sunset over Urumchi, traveled by bus and train along the southern Silk Road across the Teklimakan desert, wandered the “old” city of Kashgar discussing love and life with Kay, presented my research in Chicago, felt incredible gratitude laughing with my cousins, aunts, and uncles in Arizona over Thanksgiving dinner, bonded with my sister over Christmas in North Carolina, saw Hunger Games with my dad, and found out that hospital beds are really comfortable when you’re cuddling with your mom.

It’s been a hell of a year. Bring it on, 2016!