Last night many friends of mine dropped everything and went to airports to protest the ban on people from seven Muslim-majority countries entering the US. I wrote on Facebook that as an immigrant myself, I am proud of, and grateful for, everyone who did so.
Over the last few months, however, whenever I’ve expressed fear about the attacks on immigrants and positioned it in relation to myself and my own status, some smart-aleck has helpfully pointed out that I’ll be fine because I’m white/European. I’m beginning to lose patience with these comments. And not just because it implies I’m only scared for my own safety, rather than the safety of others.
Yes, as a white British person I have enormous privilege. I would not have been able to live in as many foreign countries as I have if I didn’t carry a British passport, and my reception would have been less welcoming if I had not been white. However, it is important to be precise about the threat that this restriction on individuals from certain countries poses, and to understand what it is stemming from. This is not just racism as usual.
The current situation in the US is racist, fascist, and misogynist. It is the latest and most threatening manifestation of deeply rooted traditions of white supremacy, Christofacism, and disaster capitalism. This new Republican Trump/Pence regime can be all these things at once, but it is important not to conflate them all into one. We need to know exactly what we are dealing with to avoid being blindsided by things like the totally predictable restriction on Green Card holders and citizens (through the ban on duel citizens).
Following on from my earlier post, this is a preliminary list of three ways we can utilize our existing expertise and institutional strengths as anthropologists, specifically our existing roles as researchers and teachers in universities and colleges. Importantly, these are extensions and tweakings of the work we already do, so are accessible to those who might not be able to engage in overtly political work. I’m thinking of people like myself who are non-citizens on visas, but equally can apply to those who are worried about a backlash from conservative employers.
I’m hoping to make these are accessible to anthropologists who are working in all kinds of positions: including administrative/support roles, contingent faculty, non-tenured faculty, postdocs, and grad students. The emphasis is on working with your institution, whether that be a liberal arts college, a public university, a private research university, a community college, etc., to make use of resources and expertise that might already exist.
In the last couple of weeks since the election, many of us have been talking, organizing, and planning what to do next. J and I have been focused on connecting with our three main networks of colleagues and friends: those in anthropology/academia, the Chicago-based theater community, and a group of friends who work in more traditional policy fields.
We’ve talked about dividing our efforts into three levels.
1. Engaging with existing democratic institutions and actions
Basically, being a citizen (or an approximation of one, if you are an alien…) and continuing to go through the normal channels, even when it feels hopeless, as a means of asserting the continued necessity of democracy.
Ok, I’m an anthropologist, and basically still an anarchist, so I certainly have plenty of critiques of our existing democratic institutions. But this is not the moment to undermine them, when they are so perilously in danger of collapsing. Therefore by engaging with existing democratic institutions I mean insisting on them doing their job as they are meant to, and challenging the normalization of any shift into fascism.
So: making phone calls to your political representatives on the one hand. And on the other, actively calling out centrist news organizations like NPR, the NYT, the Guardian etc. (i.e., the one’s who consider themselves to be on the left and therefore would be more amenable to pressure) on social media or through writing old fashioned letters to the editor, when they normalize explicit racism.
2. Engaging with local communities and organizations, and doing face-to-face work.
Finding local groups, joining up with them in person rather than just online, asking how we can help. Even if we can only commit to one day a month, doing something in real time where we can also build in-person solidarity and community.
3. Tackling the underlying culture of white supremacy, colonialism, and patriarchy.
Wow! That sounds like a lot for a single bullet point! But basically that means working on the bigger picture problems, which is actually something that anthropologists and artists both have the expertise to do. So creating art that challenges racism, educating students about the history of colonialism. This is the long-term project, but it’s actually one that we have the most expertise and ability to work on, if we put our minds to it.
I hope to be able to share discussions and ongoing work about each of these groups on this blog over the months that follow.But obviously the first group—anthropologists and academics—is the one I know most about, so I’m starting with that.
The AAA in Minneapolis this November was a much needed tonic: from the exhilarating and inspiring keynote address by Melissa Harris-Perry, to the many intense conversations I had with good friends and colleagues I get to see in person so rarely.
At the AAA, and in the weeks since, there have been several organizing efforts; in large part organized around local and national-level political work that we can engage in as anthropologists. These are important, and I hope the momentum continues over the coming weeks and years.
I’ve also, however, been thinking about the kind of work anthropologists and academics specifically can do, that a) draws on our existing expertise and institutional power; and b) is also accessible to those of us who are in less secure positions (e.g., anthropologists who are non-citizens, in non-tenure-track positions, working in conservative institutions that might be hostile to ostentatiously political work, or who are already over-stretched).
I’ve put some of those together in a separate blog post, and very much welcome any comments, discussion, or feedback anyone has, either in private or on this blog. I’ve got a couple of things cooking in my own institution, and will try to update as I make progress.
The funny thing is, I was actually looking forward to waking up on November 9th. And yet yesterday I discovered that I have lived for the past eleven years surrounded by people who hate me. They may not know it, but they do. And now I know it as well.
Back in September I was disappointed that the evening class I’m currently taking met Tuesdays from 6 to 9pm. It meant J and I wouldn’t be able to celebrate the election together at the Grafton Pub, as we had when Obama won in 2012. (We dared each other to drink a shot of Malört if he won. The barman warned us it tasted revolting, and it did.)
Back in May, I announced with some fanfare the Theater Reviews For People Who Are Afraid Of Bad Theater! But then, ironically, we didn’t see any theater, bad or otherwise, for the rest of the summer because J was in a show of his own and I had to stay home with the baby.*
Now we are back in the normal swing of things, and yesterday we finally managed to hire a babysitter, get ourselves into presentable adult clothes, and actually leave the house together to go the opening night of Stage Left’s production of The Bottle Tree by Beth Kander.
It was fantastic, so I’m excited to properly kick of this series with a play I can wholeheartedly recommend. It runs until Nov 20th, tickets cost $20/30, and a spoiler free Q&A is below!
Since Brexit, I’ve been asked a few times if I will now apply for US citizenship. Up until this point I had never even considered it. I have permanent residency, and as far as I could tell (although to be honest, I hadn’t even looked that far into it) the only advantage citizenship would give me is the right to vote.
That wasn’t enough to motivate me, especially when the whole idea just felt weird somehow. But these are strange times, and the current climate has challenged me to consider being more cautious. Continue reading
The vice provost dropped by again this morning. He asked how I was feeling. “Imagine how you are going to feel if Trump wins in November” I replied. “That’s how I’m feeling.”
Yesterday I wrote on this blog that I didn’t understand what was happening. But last night as I sat at home watching the results come in and drinking most of a bottle of cheap wine, I tried to figure it out. I have a better answer now to the question my US friends keep asking me.
Bear with me. This is going to be long and personal. Continue reading
One of the vice provosts dropped by my office today. It didn’t take long before he spun round to the topic of Brexit.
“So what’s going on in your country with this EU thing?” he asked.
“Pretty much the British version of Trump.” I replied.
And not for the first time this week, I found myself struggling to explain the inexplicable.
My sense is that people in the US have only caught on about how serious this is very recently: maybe only since the awful murder of the politician Jo Cox last week. But then to be completely honest, it was probably only a month ago that I realized myself there was going to be a referendum. And even then it took me a day or two to finally admit it was real. It was actually going to happen.
Because the whole idea makes absolutely no sense to me!
So Clinton has won the nomination, as everyone knew she would. If I could vote in US elections I would (of course) vote for her over the horror show that is Trump.
But still, I’m sad that Sanders, the candidate I would’ve supported based on his policies rather than his symbolism, won’t be on the ballot. Particularly as I think he would be the safer guard against Trump, as well as a more progressive President.
I’m one of the people who resents the idea that I ought to be excited by Hillary Clinton, on the basis of the fact she’ll be the first female president (although not the first female presidential candidate). But then I come from the UK, where we have the cautionary tale of Margaret Thatcher to prove that a female politician does not automatically mean a feminist politician. Continue reading