Toward a Common Humanity

"Being an anthropologist means that when a natural disaster occurs somewhere in the world, a friend may be there."

I could not have expressed this sentiment any better myself, so I am borrowing the words of a member of my former UNC cohort. The recent catastrophic earthquake in Haiti has turned my thoughts to our global levels of connectivity. Anthropologists develop unique relationships with the world at large, both through ethnographic subjects who come to be friends, and even extended family, and through their colleagues who create links to other neighborhoods, cities, and regions. When natural disaster strikes, many people are forced to wonder whether and how people they know may be affected, and some are surprised at the answers.

[Above: Earthquake destroys much of Haiti, Jan 2010. Photo from the BBC.]

With thousands feared dead and most of Haiti in physical ruin, international support has been widely pledged. President Obama has promised the "unwavering support" of the United States in a press release today, and while he has not committed to a specific monetary pledge, he has urged Americans to donate "despite the fact that we are all experiencing tough economic times here at home." Global financial challenges lurk ominously in the background, and I have to wonder how aid pledges will be affected by the economic crises that have swept the world. From what I've been able to dig up on the web, some of the offers of help are as follows:

• Aid agencies in Haiti are opening up storehouses of food and water.

• The World Food Program is flying in 100 tons of emergency food.

• The UN hopes to provide $10 million in emergency funds.

• The European Union has offered $4.4 million.

• Doctors Without Borders is offering to set up service stations throughout Haiti (providing they can get into the country).

• The International Red Cross can supply emergency funds for 3000 families.

The BBC also details additional international aid efforts in an article on their news site. Given the devastation that has wracked Haiti, will this be enough? President Obama has stressed that support to Haiti must be an international effort if it is to be an effective effort. If financial aid is not possible, then perhaps nations can offer services and much needed resources to assist. But still, will it be enough? For a country that has long been steeped in man-made woes, including poverty and poor political infrastructure, perhaps this is an opportunity to rebuild from the very core—but to do so will require more than a gift of of a few million dollars, pounds, or euros. It will require a conscious investment in the country, and more importantly, the people.

But perhaps these are thoughts for the long term when attention to immediate needs of those who are buried under rubble or sleeping in the space where their homes formerly stood is needed. President Obama has also invoked a sense of global community:

"(T)his is a time when we are reminded of the common humanity that we all share.  With just a few hundred miles of ocean between us and a long history that binds us together, Haitians are neighbors of the Americas and here at home.  So we have to be there for them in their hour of need." [From Press Release: Remarks by the President on Rescue Efforts in Haiti.]

Certainly, local Haitian communities both here in New York and elsewhere, have mobilized to send supplies and provide physical assistance in this time of need. For others interested in providing support, social media technologies have been helpful. For example, people have been text messaging donations. Social media has also played a larger role in disseminating information and keeping family members and friends connected and informed. CNN featured a page called What We Are Hearing Via Social Media, providing eye-witness information collected from Twitter. And as I poured over the various news sites, it seemed that many of the images shown were from non-news personnel. These technologies are becoming crucial to the survival of our ever-growing and geographically-expanding networks. Web 2.0 technologies have been activated to create impromptu support networks  and share what little information people may have heard. They are proving integral to the management of disasters. And perhaps creating a global community so that when natural disasters strike, anthropologists aren't the only ones wondering and worrying about the fate of friends.

[Above: Screenshot of CNN's Haiti Twitter feed.]

I'm interested in knowing if any of you donated money via text messaging, and if so how you learned about the opportunity. I'm also interested in learning about how you are following the news about Haiti—through social media, news websites, etc.

I hope that relief efforts are swift, so that Haitians can find some comfort before they begin the process of rebuilding.

Growing Up Digital

Technology propels us ever-forward, shaping us even as we strive to create new, faster, and more stylish gadgets and processes to assist with our daily life needs. Researchers are beginning to ask how these technologies will change our relationships to each other, and are finding that the continuous march of technological advancement is building a digital divide between generations. As the author of the linked article says of his toddler:

My daughter’s worldview and life will be shaped in very deliberate ways by technologies like the Kindle and the new magical high-tech gadgets coming out this year — Google's Nexus One phone and Apple’s impending tablet among them. She’ll know nothing other than a world with digital books, Skype video chats with faraway relatives, and toddler-friendly video games on the iPhone. She’ll see the world a lot differently from her parents.

I have spent some time on this blog belaboring the point that technology has an isolating effect—that our ability to make and manage one-to-one connections is limited by our need to always be connected to everyone. (Do you really know all 500 people who are your "friends" on Facebook? Do you really need to Tweet about your Starbucks order—and why are there a hundred strangers who care?) I've spent some time wondering how the dynamics of our networks will change as we begin to manage them digitally, and recently, I've wondered how social pressure and the social order are manifested digitally. I think these are important questions to ask because like it or not, technology is integrated with our lifestyles, and we're constantly making accommodations to encourage it to infiltrate even deeper.

The article marks a contrast between the Net Generation (born in the 1980s) and the iGeneration (born in the 1990s and the past decade), citing their preferred method of communication: the latter spends more time using text messaging and instant messaging programs to connect with one another instantly, while the former still demonstrate a preference for email, which does not necessarily guarantee instantaneous responses. The point here, according to Cal State professor Larry Rosen, is that the iGeneration will grow up expecting instant responses and constant connection to one another, and will lack the patience for anything less.

But this is also a generation that will group up more primed to process information than any other. They will know how to mine the web, how to glean relevant information from different sources, how to synthesize a story out of the assorted bytes of data they have collected. And they'll be able to do all of this while multitasking at levels not previously employed by even their older siblings. This is also a generation that will have a head start on networking. They're born connected—they probably have Facebook groups for their playgroups! Networking will be second nature to these kids who will retain friendships from elementary school and kindergarten with ease. What the Net Generation has merely tapped will be unleashed by the iGeneration and subsequent web users. While some may worry about the caliber of congition with this group, I think we'll find that the world is rapidly becoming a different place, one that accommodates their relationship with technology and information.

I'm no fan of the Kindle. I feel that books should be held and experienced as much as they are read. But an entire generation may grow up knowing only digital books. My heart breaks a little at this notion, but it's the way they will come to process information. It's progress—just another step in growing up digital.

What are your thoughts about the digital divide? What is your relationship to technology? How does that differ from that of your own parents? And new parents, what have you noticed about the ways your children interact with technology?

Just the Essentials

Happy New Year! Question: What do you need to get you through the day?

Take a second and look through your bag or pockets and take an inventory of the things you carry with you every day. A quick survey of my handbag revealed the following (in no particular order):

• Cell phone
• Cell phone charger
• Check book
• Small wallet with travel passes, ID, library card, and bank card
  
• Eye glass repair kit
• USB stick
• Makeup case
• Sunglasses
• House keys
• Car keys 
• A bill
• Some coupons
• A comb
• Hand sanitizer
• Key card for my office
  

I also carry a small tote which holds my umbrella and a book for my commute, as well as my lunch, if I'm bringing it from home for the day. Looking at all of these things spread across my desk, I wondered if I really needed it all—the New Year presents the perfect opportunity for such reflection. I made two piles. The items in bold in the list above represent the things I believe I absolutely must have on me to see me through the day from the moment I leave the house to my return in the evening. It wasn't too bad, I thought—it seemed that I was carrying mostly essential items. The coupons I probably would never use, and the bill would be thrown away once I paid it. I don't really need my check book all the time since I rarely ever pay for anything with a check—in fact, I could probably get away with tucking an emergency check into my wallet and leaving the book at home. And since I don't drive everyday, I could theoretically leave my car key at home. [Image Right: The contents of my handbag, minus the cell phone which was used to take this picture.]

So what caused this imposed inspection? After reading about the Hadza in National Geographic's December issue, I began to think about what we consider necessary to daily life. Though it tends to wax poetic at points, the article is a fairly good piece of travel writing (delivering an entertaining account of a baboon hunt in the process), the following statement caught my attention:

There are things I envy about the Hadza—mostly, how free they appear to be. Free from possessions. Free of most social duties. Free from religious strictures. Free of many family responsibilities. Free from schedules, jobs, bosses, bills, traffic, taxes, laws, news, and money. Free from worry. Free to burp and fart without apology, to grab food and smoke and run shirtless through the thorns.

A life free of worry, responsibility, taxes, a commute, the need for money ...? Where do I sign up? It sounds appealing, but like the author, I also decided that perhaps the cost for these types of freedoms is a bit high for me:

Their entire life, it appears to me, is one insanely committed camping trip. It's incredibly risky. Medical help is far away. One bad fall from a tree, one bite from a black mamba snake, one lunge from a lion, and you're dead. Women give birth in the bush, squatting. About a fifth of all babies die within their first year, and nearly half of all children do not make it to age 15. They have to cope with extreme heat and frequent thirst and swarming tsetse flies and malaria-­laced mosquitoes.

Hm. Between the lions and the squatting in the bush, I don't know how long I'd survive. And I think the majority of my fellow commuters might agree. The Hadza are one of the world's last remaining hunter-gatherers. They live in the Great Rift Valley, one of the most inhospitable environments on earth. They grow no crops, own no livestock, and build no permanent shelters. They set up camps, and move as needed to be closer to herds and other resources. They eat everything—birds, wildebeest, zebras, buffalo, warthog, bush pig, hyrax, baboon, plus berries, baobab fruit, tubers, and honey. Their possessions are minimal: a cooking pot, a water container, an ax, and perhaps a pipe—which can be wrapped in a small bundle for easy transport. But if they can manage to subsist on so little, why can't we? Why do I feel lost without my cell phone to remind me of the date?

Of course, our lives are remarkably different. The Hadza are adapted for hunting baboons in the middle of the night. I am built to survive commuting. (Who has the tougher job there I wonder?) The need to be connected at all times is the reason I feel at a loss without my cell phone. It's essential because my world, which is not the hunter-gatherer experience, makes it so. Still it made me wonder what else people might consider as essential. In addition to my essentials, a quick office poll added iPod and headphones (because some phones allow you to listen to music), a pen, and a snack (hmm, good idea for those long subway rides). Others mentioned hand cream—for those moisturizing emergencies—and sanitizer. I am a big fan of the latter having had someone sneeze on me on the subway and then pretend nothing had happened. [Image Left: The popularity and presence of cell phones indicates their necessity.]

In transit, cells phones seem to be the most essential item, with 9-out-of-10 people carrying them in hand at all times. I also spotted a portable video game system. Riders also have mp3 players or reading materials—a small percentage of the population read while using mp3 players, and a smaller segment have replaced their reading material with a Kindle. I've spotted guitars, several ceremonial staffs (on different occasions, carried by different people), small dogs in shoulder bags, and who knows what wonders lurk in close duffels, backpacks, and totes. I am not these people—I don't know if they truly consider the items and animals I noted as essential. Nonetheless, the variety gives you pause. [Image Right: A portable game system is a necessity for this traveler.]

If anything, the disparity between our view on necessities and the Hadza's view, encourages you to think about the ways in which our lives and the meaning in our lives are manufactured—we determine what is important, creating a context-specific experience, which arguably gives us culture. It's interesting to note the ways in which these ideas spread and become a part of the mainstream. For example, in the early nineties, cell phones were not a necessity. I wonder to what degree network proliferation helped make them so. I think we're currently witnessing the spread of the next wave of necessities: elements to establish our digital presence. From Facebook to Twitter to LinkedIn to online portfolios, it's growing important to represent yourself in the digital world. Those who live "off the grid" are diminishing in numbers rapidly. I currently know of only one holdout, and he isn't holding out on any particular principle, but because he doesn't want to take the time to set up the accounts.

Okay, it's time to put those cards on the table. What essentials do you lug everywhere with you—and will you be carrying them with you this year? Share your list below.

Also, see the faces of the Hadza here in some remarkable photos by Martin Schoeller.

An Ugg By Any Other Name ...

Looking for examples of globalization? What kind of shoes are you wearing?

A few weeks ago, I dragged—er, convinced  my husband, Steve, to accompany me to the American Indian Museum. (He was actually a pretty willing companion, in all fairness.) The featured exhibit was A Song for the Horse Nation, a look at horses in Native American cultures, which was truly spectacular. However, a side comment from Steve drew our attention to Identity By Design, which focused on Native women's dresses. While I was examining elaborate beadwork on a Sioux dress, I heard Steve exclaim over a pair of moccasin boots, "They look like those shoes!" He was referring to ugg boots from Australia—and with good reason. [Image Right: Beaded moccasin boots on display at the American Indian Museum.]

The word moccasin is Algonquin for shoe. The Algonquins were likely the first tribe early settlers encountered, and the word became generally applied. Moccasins were made from soft leather and sewn together by sinew. They were actually common to all Native American tribes, but were also adopted by hunters, traders, and European settlers for their durability, comfort, and adaptability. Like all clothing, moccasins offered an opportunity for cultural expression: though similarly constructed, the designs on the shoes could reveal tribal affiliation. Moccasin boots were developed by Native women as a way to preserve their modesty. Originally, they wore moccasins with high tops or leggings. The leggings were eventually sewn into the moccasins for a seamless look, and thus moccasin boots were introduced to fashion. As a testament to their design and beauty, moccasins remain popular today both among Native people and fashionistas. [Image Left: Moccasins with built-in leggings.]

To understand the possible connection between ugg boots and moccasins, we need to journey to Australia from whence the famous brand hails. Sheep shearers wear a type of moccasin which helps minimize slips and falls. One manufacturer of ugg boots credits sheep shearers with creating the name given to the popular boots:

(T)he word “ugg” is short for ‘ugly’, and dates back to the 1920’s when shearers used to wrap sheepskin around their feet to keep warm in the sheds. In fact the humble ugg boot, now a popular fashion item, was traditionally considered dowdy.

Dowdy, huh? Don't let the fashion industry hear you. (I like shoes. Okay, really, I love shoes. But even I have a hard time with these boots.) Anyway, history tells us that uggs were worn by pilots in WWI to keep their feet warm and by surfers in the 1960s for the same reason (after they got out of the water, of course). How could this type of footwear have traveled to Australia? It's not really such a stretch of the imagination to envision these comfy new shoes leaving the New World with hunters and traders in the 18th- and 19th-centuries. Australia is an environmentally diverse continent, with both deserts and rain forests, so it seems to make sense that this type of shoe would be an asset in this environment. The Native Americans lined them with different furs to increase their warmth and substituted different materials for the soles to increase durability—these shoes were very versatile.

Uggs became a sensation in the United States when they garnered press from fashion magazines following the latest trends mandated by celebrities. Many though don't quite see the appeal of these lined boots. I spotted a fellow LIRR commuter wearing a pair recently. After the obligatory exchange of good mornings, I complimented her on her boots and asked if they were really as comfortable as I had heard others claim. Her enthusiasm nearly blew me onto the tracks. Seriously. "They're so warm! I don't know how I got along without them! You have to get a pair!" [Image Left: Pair of moccasins gifted to President Ulysses S. Grant © Smithsonian Institute Press.]

Hmm. It seems that the basic appeal of moccasins survived the transition to ugg mass production—even if the beauty seemed to have been left behind. And it gives us a little bit of trade history along the way.

Love 'em or hate 'em, uggs are one way to investigate global trade and the survival of traditional attire (that has been re-appropriated). I've investigated globalism at the supermarket, now it's your turn: Have you seen any "exotic" products around lately? Or surprised to find an article from your culture/tradition in the mainstream? Share below. [Image Right: Child-sized Uggs.]

Encounters With Hostility

As an anthropologist, my interest is people. Some may even say that my business is people. And truly, I want to talk to others (most of the time), and have them explain their world to me. I want to see things as they see them. Unfortunately, it's not quite as simple as walking up to someone and saying, "Hello, my name is Krystal. I'm an anthropologist. I see you're eating an orange. I don't like oranges. Why do you?"

At least not all of the time. Interactions are dynamic. Any number of factors can color the situation—the social context, the person's mood, your clothing, etc. can all alter the interaction and the person's willingness to relate to you. Any number of things can put someone off. My earliest forays into fieldwork were frustrating until I accepted that while you can do everything in your power to make an encounter or interview go smoothly, it can still go wrong. There are just too many factors beyond your control. If your informant has a stomach ache, she may be shorter with you than she might otherwise be, causing you to think that she is unhappy or uncomfortable with you and the situation. Think about how this could color your relationship: She may in fact be embarrassed at how she is treating you, but unable to correct it, and you, the anthropologist, thinking you have offended her in some way, may leave her out of the ethnographic record for fear of imposing on her.

Things can and will go wrong. I thought at this point in my life I had truly accepted this lesson, and then I started writing this blog and had an encounter that showed me that this is a lesson we can learn over and over again.

My earliest forays into fieldwork had me working with a adult immigrants of West Indian descent I quickly learned to say I was a student collecting information or a researcher. I was never anything as fancy as an "anthropologist"—primarily because none of my would-be informants knew what that meant. They were convinced that I was in league with immigration officials and would have them deported. Interviews would be canceled when I called to confirm the appointment after informants had time to think about the meeting. I could feel the tension on their end just as they could likely feel my discomfort. Some would be hostile if I bumped into them on the street, keeping their responses to my greetings curt or avoiding me entirely. What could I possibly want to talk to any of them for? I was an American-educated girl who spoke with no trace of her native accent. I couldn't be there to help them, or even harmless for that matter. I survived the process though, and I did it by simply getting over it. I learned to see myself through the eyes of my "other" and how to break the ice gradually, how to restrain my energy and how to wait. Essentially, working with this group helped me build up a pretty extensive toolbox of disarming techniques that I have relied on time and time again to get different people to talk to me—until that it, I crossed paths with her.

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I use photos in my posts to help place my reader in the context of my words. You can't be there, unfortunately, readers, so I try and help you see what I have seen. Maybe you'll have a different analysis—which would be exciting! In any case, I'm careful in my photo-taking though I don't ask permission unless it's a sensitive issue. And I try and leave identifying characteristics, such as addresses, names, etc. out of the photo. If I'm caught in the act of photographing a subject, I always introduce myself and talk a little about the work I'm doing. (E.g., "You have a great bag! I'm looking at the different types of bags people are using to transport items for a piece I'm writing for my blog.") And for the most part, people open up. Some want to know more. Some just want to know what I'm doing. And some could care less once they know I'm harmless, and we part ways without causing too much stress to each other.

A few weeks ago, I went to take some pictures of a street near my home at dusk for this blog. I walked about 20 feet from my driveway to a T-intersection and began to take some shots. I was standing in the street, probably 3 feet from the curb trying to get the last glimmers of sunlight through some impressive trees. Presently, a woman emerged from one of the houses midway up the block, and got into her car. She sat there, and I continued to take photos. She was not in my shot, and even if she was there was no way you could see her in her car from where I was positioned.

Suddenly, the car's lights came on and the engine roared to life. The car sped to my location, causing my to beat a hasty retreat back to the sidewalk. The car and driver stopped suddenly at the spot where I had been standing. She looked at me. I waved. Though we don't know each other personally, this woman is my neighbor. She lives up the block from me—surely she has seen me before just as I have seen her. She didn't wave back. Instead she growled, "What are you doing?" Still friendly and upbeat, I said "Well, I'm a writer. I'm just trying to get some shots of the street for my blog." For whatever reason, I think she chose not to hear me. "Why don't you go take your pictures somewhere else?" "I'm taking a picture of this tree. It isn't anywhere near you or your home." "I wonder what the police would think if I called them and told them about your little photo shoot," she continued. At this point, I was a little shocked. This was my block, and as far as I was concerned I had a right to take photos there. I was not however going to point out my house to someone who was clearly being hostile. I was livid. I had done nothing wrong, but I held on to my composure and tried to channel everything I had learned from my initial attempts at fieldwork. Thinking that she thought she was the subject of the photographs, I tried an apology. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you," I said, trying to dispel her hostility. "I'm taking pictures of the street. You aren't in any of them." I tried my explanation again.

"Apology not accepted!" she snapped and gunned her engine. I stepped off the curb back onto the street, now convinced that this was woman was not going to bully me. "It's not a crime," I said, "to take photos of my street." "Yeah, well we'll see what the police have to say!" "So call them! I've done nothing wrong. I'll wait right here." At that point she put the car in reverse and backed up to her house with a fair amount of speed. I refused to leave the scene. I continued to take photos even though the shot had long disappeared. When I finally returned to the house, I was furious. S suggested that I should have pointed out our house as it might have calmed her down. I felt that she had already decided not to hear me, so that it wouldn't have made a difference—and I don't think I wanted her knowing where I lived anyway.

I don't know this woman personally. Perhaps I should have apologized and put the camera away. I think I expected more from her—as both a neighbor and as a resident of the community, which reveals something of my own bias, I know. In this instance, my tools failed me—reminding me that my toolbox is not concrete. But it also confirmed my ability to see myself in the eyes of my "other" because believe it or not, I can understand her: A perceived stranger standing on the street in pajamas near dusk is weird! I get it. We're all worried about anything out of the ordinary. The problem is that this anxiety clouds people ability to hear. If she had been anything but bent on being angry and telling me to get off of her street, she would have seen me what I was: a young woman who has walked by her home on many a summer night, in her pajamas, trying to take pictures of a row of trees. In her mind, she was probably doing her block a favor, but it still left me angry.

I've played this scenario over in my mind a few times, trying to understand what caused her reaction: What was it in my manner that put her off? Was it the fact that I was in my pajamas? Was it the color of my skin? Was it my glasses? Does she have contempt for writers? Has she never heard of a blog? Why didn't she recognize me?

But I also have questions for myself: Why did I expect her not to care that I was taking photos? Why did I instinctively identify myself as a writer to her? Why did I expect her to recognize me? And why didn't I hold on to that lesson: things can and will go wrong when interacting with others?

I wanted to share this story to show that ethnographic work isn't predefined.The social context colors all of our interactions and it's not something that can be easily read. She could have been having a bad day, perhaps her home had been recently broken into, or it could have been something darker that any of these explanations. I haven't seen her since in person though I have seen her driving by in her car from time to time. I was tempted to follow-up with her, but thought it best to let it go. I am interested in hearing your take on this encounter—as well as any of your own difficult encounters with your "others." What particular techniques do you have in your toolbox? Share below.