The Meaning of Cholera: Social Pressure in the Middle East

In the US, if you ask someone to point to their soul, they go for the chest—somewhere inside the body.  If you ask someone here, they will wave their hand around and say, “It’s the space between people.”

I am not one to succumb to peer pressure and never have been.

Anyone who knows me knows I have never smoked a cigarette, never tried smoking pot, never had a beer…  I usually have no problem offending just about anyone.

So it’s hard to believe that sheer social pressure dictated my actions as directly as it did last week.

There was a moment, just after the glass touched my lips, that it hit me: This glass is not clean. It has been used before, was rinsed with unfiltered tap water, and will be used again after me.

Not only that, I was in Syria, a country with endemic Cholera: you know, Cholera– the one where you have diarrhea until you die of dehydration?

So there I was drinking from a communal glass, “cleaned” with Cholera-water.  And there was our new companion, beaming with pride over this special date juice that had been made in his own country, in his own streets.

“It’s just very, very good!  A very special drink!” he explained as he paid for three drinks despite my mother’s attempts to pay first.

The moment my mom and I realized what we had gotten into, we made eye contact, acknowledged the risks, and kept drinking.  What were we to do?

Well, stop.

Well, how?  If you have been in the Middle East, you might understand how incredibly powerful social constraints are.  Social graces determine the prices you pay at the grocery store, the chances someone will save you if you are screaming for help, the degree of love and trust you receive from friends, the quality of your neighborhood safety net, etc.

Dr. Ziad (name changed) comes to our apartment almost daily.  I would never offend him by handing him a glass that was less-than-overflowing, a full glass is a sign of respect.

I would also never smile at the grocer in our supermarket, lest he think I am flirtatious.

I would never show someone the bottom of my foot–even by accident, I would never point with my index finger, I would never refuse offered food, I eat with my left hand (almost never)…

Symbols matter.  If I point at you with my index finger, I will cast the Evil Eye.  If I refuse your food, I might be holding a grudge against your race and consider you an unclean person.  In other words, I can communicate a lot more without words than with them.

A world with such powerful, communicative symbols indicates such a well-structured social system that the most subtle cues mean the beginning or end of a relationship.  And in this world, relationship is everything.

In the US, if you ask someone to point to their soul, they go for the chest—somewhere inside the body.

If you ask someone here, they will wave their hand around and say, “It’s the space between people.”

If the soul exists in the space between people, then the interactions between people must be designed to sustain a holy space, worthy of the soul. Social graciousness is the mechanism for carving out a soul-bearing vessel from this space, and thus social pressure becomes integral to existence itself.

Where biological pressure or physical need may seem like the bottom line to my friends at home, social pressure and spiritual need are by far more pressing issues among my friends and neighbors here.

There is evidence of this everywhere.  An example: I interviewed the project head of International Medical Corp in Amman.  He said, “We came in with a budget for meeting medical needs, but now psycho-social support and community building are our biggest projects.  People were just more interested in having those needs met first.”

Biological and physical needs are not the bottom line here.  That space between two people, the space that cocoons the soul… that is the bottom line, and the social graces to sustain this space are as necessary as they are intricate.

The point of all this is that, now that I am sitting in my bed with Cholera, 20 pounds lighter and very weak, I can honestly say I had no choice.

It was simply not an option to do anything but take the glass, thank our friend, and swallow the most delicious juice I ever tasted in the most gracious company I ever known.

(Note: Cholera is treatable with antibiotics, which I am taking.)

Era of Distrust

I watched the film Duplicity yesterday.  The movie revolves around a tenuous trust between two spies—actually a tenuous lack of trust.

I began to think of the few T.V. shows I have seen lately.  House; about a diagnostician who diagnoses patients in spite of their constant lies.  Lie to Me; about a team of Emotion Experts who can read faces to tell the truth.  Medium; about a woman who’s prophetic dreams can solve murders (In the last episode she had a buzzer in her head that went off every time someone lied).  The film Frost/Nixon, about the final reckoning of Nixon, also carries with it a trust motif.

If I have learned anything from studying culture, it’s that film and television are excellent indicators of what the public is feeling.  Today our modern heroes seem to be detectives, diagnosticians, prophets, and “experts.”

So what is it about this particular historical moment that has us feeling so worried about Trust?

I am constantly checking my bank account because there is so much identity theft and online scamming.  The Patriot Act has some of our most basic rights under question; we can’t trust the government and they don’t trust us.  Anti-union efforts by distrusting employers seek to keep employees from gathering.

The US (The REAL ID Act) and many other countries have tightened their immigration policies, denying residency, to asylum seekers because of security concerns.  50 percent of divorces in England involved the hiring of personal investigators.  We seem to be living in a moment of paranoia.

Societal distrust is not new—credit card scams are not new and neither are immigration regulations or anti-union efforts.  But this rising popularity of truth-seeking media and distrustful policy is indicative of a new trend.  But who exactly has been lying to us?

And if our fictional heroes are prophets and Emotion Experts, who in real life will find the truth for us?

The answer to that one is, I think, ourselves.

I have been personally frustrated by mainstream coverage of one particular issue: Iraqis lives in their mass displacement from and within Iraq.  Hopefully you are too.  I am leaving for Jordan on Monday, and I hope that my blog will provide some truth about the Iraqi Refugee Crisis.

I also encourage you to explore other blogs, like Standing Firm (immigration),  ElectronicIraq (Iraq), BBC World (general global), Roosevelt Institution (Policy) for other sources of truth.

Word Inflation: “refugee” means “violence”

According to a report by the UNCHR, “Compared to the size of its national population… the United States had only one asylum seeker per 1,000 inhabitants, while the average in the European Union countries was 2.4 asylum seekers per 1,000 inhabitants.”

“In 2004, for example, Iraqis applied for asylum in only seven industrialized nations… in 2008 they applied for asylum in 14 countries. This suggests that people seeking international protection are searching for it in a larger number of countries, possibly as a result of the introduction of stricter asylum policies in traditional asylum states.”

Frankly I am I little ashamed.  Why is it getting harder and harder for people to find basic safety in the international community?  Asylum seeking refugees are not looking for greater economic opportunity.  They are not looking for education.  They aren’t even looking to live above anybody’s poverty line.  (although they probably want all of these).  The word refugee applies to only one kind of person: someone in a state of emergency, someone who is fleeing violence.

We toss the word “refugee” around as much as we do “terrorist” or “economy.”  But just like the letter grade “A” or dollar bills, words must contend with inflation.  The more a word is reproduced and circulated, the less emotional meaning it imparts.  That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk about “refugees,” but it does mean we should remind ourselves who we are referring to when we do.

Liisa Malkki has written a lot about this in her book Purity and Exile.  Refugees have been portrayed by governments, fundraisers, NGOs, etc. as passive, impuissant victims, all generally harmless.  Thus they have been generalized, or as Liisa Malkki puts it, “dehistoricized and depoliticized.”  Note: even as I discuss this as a problem, I refer to refugees in the passive voice (“They have been portrayed…”).

This generalizing approach to refugees, the use of their nameless photographs, references to them as a “flood” of people “flowing” across borders, references to them as vulnerable creatures, (note the images) almost sub-human…  This is all very damaging, because it makes the word refugee “harmless.”  And while refugees themselves may be harmless, the fact there are refugees at all is evidence of a great deal of harm.

Refugees are politically and historically unique.  An Iraqi refugee has almost nothing in common with a Somalian refugee.  One might have an apartment in the city, one might have a tent.  One might look well-fed and clean, and one might “look” like a refugee.  What is their common denominator?

Harm.  Violence, to be more precise.  Violence is probably not the first image that crosses your mind when you hear the word refugee.  But it should be, so let’s re-frame the inflated word right now: refugee status is not a state of poverty, it is not an ocean of tents, it is not an anonymous, hungry face, although it can look like all or none of those.  Refugee status is the fallout of violence, and the very existence of the word “refugee” is evidence of great deal of harm.

Whether immediate or past, whether it leaves scars or trauma, whether the result of ethnic conflict or foreign invasion, violence, the kind that drives you out of your home and out of your own life… that is what makes a refugee a refugee. Violence alone.

When I re-frame the meaning of “refugee” in my own mind, when I remember who I am talking about and the violence they have experienced, I feel very much ashamed that for every 1,000 inhabitants, our country only allows one asylum-seeking refugee across her border.

Development, The Word

Most students I know have very big and very good intentions. We all want to do our part to save the world. But anyone who looks very closely at big moves to eradicate poverty or boycott sweatshops notices that these motions come at great costs. So where do we place our good intentions and how do we use our educations for good and not gain, if we cannot know the cost of our actions? We have to place a lot of faith in certain words to give us cues about the institutions and projects we work for; “non-profit,” “UN,” and “human rights” are words we trust. But I want to look at one word I hear a lot, and decide once and for all if it should be trusted: Development. Can we trust it the same way we trust the word “Human Rights”?

De-vel-op-ment is just a word. In my childhood it was compared to the word “blooming,” something that was inevitable and self-generated. In high school photography classes it meant something one did to draw out the inchoate image on the paper. In college, development was what happened when buildings went up and trees went down. The point is that words mean different things at different moments in time, just as the term development means different things to different people at different moments in history.

If we have learned anything about history, it is that every word has its own historical legacy. It is our strong awareness of this legacy that has us so carefully choosing our words. Development, which might be described as a Western, linear, impoverishing power, can be viewed two ways. Either it is an old word for a new thing, or it is a new word for an old thing. The very fact that it can be viewed these two opposite ways, indicates to me that the word is meaningless and that we cannot trust it.

Let us assume that development is a new word for an old thing that has been bad overall. There is plenty of evidence for this. In The Cost of Living, Arundhati Roy describes India’s dam building project as the world’s largest development project ever. It will displace more people than it will help, the World Bank retracted its loan for the project for being inefficient, but the project was backed by many development enthusiasts and continues today. Roy’s claim is that “as long as we have faith [in Development] we have no hope.” In other words, real development is hopeless.

In Economic Hitman, John Perkins describes developers as “economic hitmen,” who imperialize nations through debt rather than force. By intentionally indebting countries, governments, or firms (there is an unclear and suspicious connection between them) can “own” states that were previously recognized colonies. This indebting takes place under the banner of Development, but Perkins makes it clear that development is just a new word for an old thing. In Perkins narrative, development is the newest weapon of the global north in subduing and re-colonizing the global south. For Perkins, development is theft, an intentional personal gain at the price of others, a destructive force. In other words, real development is witchcraft.

James Scott contributes to a dismal view of development in Seeing Like a State. Scott refers to development as an “administrative convenience” (235) that missed the mark. The state-implemented villagization did generate aesthetic order for those in offices and airplanes, but it destroyed a more intricate social and economic order for people actually living in these villages. Complex, circular systems of trade, culture, farming and other forms of social organization were made linear and “developed,” but at the cost of functioning local systems that could not and were not replaced. Ultimately development has undone more than it has created, and resulted in poverty and dysfunction. In other words, real development is a spider that spins a square web.

Frederick Cooper illustrates the failures of development when he quotes a governor from French Equatorial Africa. “On the whole the masses are not yet socially ready to adapt to the norms of renovated life” (73). Whether this is because the masses have not evolved to do so or because the masses see no purpose in renovation is unclear. Regardless, “renovating life” seems to have failed miserably, and the masses’ unreadiness to “adapted” has made the unfinished renovation look more like straightforward destruction. In other words, real development is renovation, the recreation and re-imaging of a house that is already standing.

The reason these example of de-vel-op-ment, among so many others, were “failures” is because they were not Development. De-vel-op-ment was simply the new word used for old things. Perkin’s development has taken on many names in the past: witchcraft, imperialism, theft, capitalism, colonialism, salvation, crusade… Scott’s development has, too, taken other names: mechanization, militarization, “sweeping,” cleaning, order, civilization… And Cooper’s “renovation” has also been called demolition, as well as rebirth.

Failed development is the de-vel-op-ment that stands in as a new word for an old thing. It is this naming of a thing that has left us unable or unwilling to identify de-vel-op-ment’s real underlying meaning, and thus to anticipate its costs. If one mistakes a flower for film, one might apply the wrong kind of de-vel-op-ment to it, and instead of generating a photograph image, one will simply poison the flower, which required the de-vel-op-ment that is self-derived, rather than the kind that is done to something. This de-vel-op-ment should not be trusted.

Perhaps, though, de-vel-op-ment is not only a word applied to old things, but is also now a truly new thing. If this is the case, we cannot assume that this development means the same thing as it has in the past: Perhaps development is a common word for a new thing. Then it is the beginning of something that is evolving over time, and we must respect the lessons we have learned from its flaws: progress is not linear and we cannot expect development, as a new thing, to declare itself good or bad in one linear stroke. If development is a new thing, then we should begin to trust it as we gradually understand the impact and legacy of each action or non-action we take.

If development is a new thing, then it is emerging as something like what Simone noted in For a City Yet to Come. It is inevitable, natural, and self-perpetuating. It is unconscious and spontaneous, and most importantly, it is driven by desperation and survival. Like a new thing just born, its growth and development (blooming) is the innate struggle of innovative people to survive. What looks like a beautiful, willed unfolding is actually the product of an internal chaos and desperation… to push through the dirt, to reach the light in time, to reproduce before death. It is “invisible” in its processes, structureless, moving, and “of great immediacy and meaning” (11). In other words, real development is just a good-looking form of survival. And survival can be trusted.

Call it growing pains, call it “informal,” call it a “self-constructed multistory apartment block” (Simone, 30) in the city, call it De-vel-op-ment. Whatever the name, this is a new thing. It is not a linear apparatus, it is not teleological, it is not directed, and it is not even, really, begun.

I return to Cooper’s quote: “On the whole the masses are not yet socially ready to adapt to the norms of renovated life” (73). If we remove our previous assumption that de-vel-op-ment refers to an old, mostly bad thing, we can see this quote in a completely different context. We have mistaken the masses for film rather than flowers, and have mistaken their behavior for responses rather than preemptive actions. They are not ready to adapt to renovated life because they are the renovators; they should never be ready. They should be trusted.

It seems, then, that De-vel-op-ment is a just a word, and that it contradicts itself: development is all at once the exploitive process and its resistance; it is the witch and the witch hunter. Therefore it is quite clear that real development does not exist, that de-vel-op-ment is a word we should mistrust, or simply do away with. The word de-vel-op-ment is used for too many things. Its meaning is lost, or hollowed out somehow, so that any meaning can make residence in its emptied core. If development means equality among many people, then that is real development. If development means the theft of resource by duplicitous means, then that is real development. If development is something a child’s body does, then that is what is real. De-vel-op-ment has meant all of these things at certain moments, even at the same moment.

If “Love” meant hate, indifference, like, and kindness all at once, or at different times, we would say that its meaning has been lost. I make the same claim for Development, that it’s meaning is empty and that, whether consciously or not, we know this. Knowing this, we exploit it. Development is a sophisticated-sounding, three syllable word used by academics, critics, and economic hitmen alike to sound legitimate. Perhaps, we are all on the same team and our true purpose is to take the word development and make it as meaningless as possible, so that we may use it to mask our true purposes, whether to exploit, or build, or criticize.

Movement and Uprootedness

Movement, in our primordial minds, represents those nomadic hunter-gatherers that most of today’s agrarians are no longer.  Our use of the term “rootedness” is symbolic of this agrarian stillness, the fact that we have planted roots in the ground and thus intend to stay put.  Because stasis is a necessary part of agrarian life, movement feels like a kind of slipping backwards, it is out of control and desperate in a hand-to-mouth sort of way. 

Yet movement is equally a bi-product of globalization and modern progress.  Money moves, pilgrims move, jet setting businessmen move.  The very act of movement is a demonstration of opportunity.  While movement may make us uncomfortable, we also see it as a sign of global interconnectedness, financial opportunity, and an honor. 

It seems that one kind of movement is “good” and the other “bad.”  But what is the actual difference?  

When one moves from something, like poverty or violence or overcrowding, it means something different from one’s movement towards something, like Mecca or a bank or college.  Movement from something implies that one will never return, that the dot-to-dot picture movement draws will never come full circle to the original dot but will leave an incoherent line on the page.  There is a lack of control or choice, a move of desperation and urgency. 

Movement towards something, on the other hand, implies that one will return home eventually.  Money moves away from home to return in greater quantity.  Pilgrims return home.  Travelers and businessmen return home— and usually with more than they had when they left, whether it be religious prowess, more money, or set of good pictures.  Movement itself carries no particular stigma or praise, but the direction of movement means everything to cultures and people.  

Sri Lankan civilians have been on the move lately…  and now they are trapped, according to a UN News article posted February 27th.  Moving away from the violent clash between Government forces and the LTTE rebels in Sri Lanka, more and more civilians are crowding into 14 square-kilometers of relatively safe space.  

Sri Lankans are living in a moment of immobility not because they are rooted to a place, but because they “have been uprooted repeatedly.” They may be trapped, but their entrapment is the product of quite a bit of movement.  

Even as they are trapped, they cannot be still, since they are not only uprooted but also ready to be on the move again at any moment.  The uncertainty of involuntary movement is one of the most lasting affects of violent conflict.

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