thinking throughJuly 28, 2006 1:13 pm

Given in the lived order of creation, encounter, realization:

Time, like water, slips through the crevices without form, with movement that smoothens and erodes, leaving one to wonder not if s/he can step into the stream even once but if there is a stream at all. Pain does much the same thing because it works with that (non)stream time to erode the very hope it finds and smoothens.

The slippage between tenses is, during this bathing, the key locus of eroding hope. Between ‘can’ and ‘did’, between ‘have’ and ‘had’ is a crevice whose knowledge-power paralyzes through pictures of possibility lost in the stream. The impossible vastness between the ‘have’ and ‘had’ cripples a future that can only look at the ‘had’ to understand what it can ‘have.’ Why then this strange game? Why do I have epistemic access to the impossible chasm while the probable, the hopeful implodes in ocean depths?

From David Farrell Krell’s “General Introduction: The Question of Being”

Dasein involves itself in all kinds of projects and plans for the future. In a sense it is always ahead of itself. At the same time it must come to terms with certain matters over which it has no control, elements that loom behind it, as it were, appurtenances of the past out of which Dasien is projected or “thrown.” Dasein has a history. More, it is its own past. Finally, existence gets caught up in issues and affairs of the moment. It lives in the present. Heidegger calls these three constituents of Dasein, “existentiality,” “facticity,” and Verfallen––a kind of “ensnarement.” Each exhibits a special relation to time: I pursue various possibilities for my future, bear the weight of my own past, and act or drift in the present.


My biggest fear?

To live a forgotten life.

Peagogy Practicum, Smiles, me-performing-me, BooksJuly 26, 2006 4:06 pm

There is an uncanny pleasure in watching someone you admire fulfill your admiration, confirm their greatness and your ability to appreciate it; thus it is for me with Said.

“Texts are protean things, they are tied to circumstances and to politics large and small, they require attention and criticism. No one can take hold of everything, of course, just as no one theory can explain or account for the connection among texts and societies. But reading and writing texts are never neutral activities: there are interest, powers, passions, pleasures entailed no matter how aesthetic or entertaining the work. Media, political economy, mass institutions––in fine, the tracings of secular power and the influence of state––are part of what we call literature. And just as it is true that we cannot read literature by men without also reading literature by women—so transfigured has been the shape of literature—it is also true that we cannot deal with the literature of the periphery without attending to the literature of metropolitan centers.” –Said, Culture and Imperialism 318.

I am going to offer this quote at the beginning of every semester I teach from now on; it will be my own little pledge of allegiance, my pledge of politicization-subversion–deconstruction if you will.

Peagogy Practicum, Smiles, me-performing-meJuly 25, 2006 8:38 pm

At the very brink of pedagogical sanity, the loss of belief in students’ abilities, in my efforts to ‘teach’ anything, come the student comments that save me from myself. During a recent meeting, a student said that the class has politicized his worldview, giving him both an alternative narrative and a critical apparatus/ space form which to examine the world.

    Another student, a former Marine with four frontline tours in Iraq, whose presence drastically changed in-class dynamics, told me today that our class has significantly changed his perceptions about American foreign policy, the Iraq war and his roe within that frame. The student said that he often discusses ideas from our class with his military friends and (former) superiors: dehumanization, the (possible) complicity of language in that process, and (his favorite) the Derridian dictum “as soon as you have the concept of the One, you have violence” (thanks Ken).

    Complements such as these deserve more than my usual response to them; a smiling nod and “I’m glad to hear that.” Unfortunately, I am terrible at accepting emotional complements, at other human beings stating that I have/ or had an internal impact on them; the possibility is paradoxically what I live and strive to achieve but one that is impossible to face in the moment of manifestation. Complicating matters is a tiny tyrannical voice demanding spiritual perfection, complete humility, and the rejection of self-aggrandizement. Then, Thich Naht Hanh’s soothing grandfatherly voice reminds me not to do violence to the emotional upheavals but let them float on breath’s stream. He also tells me it is ok to post the complements on my blog as long as I perform the, now canonical, postmodern meta-self-reflexive gestures.

  

thinking throughJuly 22, 2006 7:33 pm

Q: Don’t you want me to be happy?

A: Of course I do; I just happen to be so arrogant as to think that no one else can make you as happy.

me-performing-me 2:47 pm

The ‘celebration,’ the moment comes during a period of strange collisions, departures and the anticipatory fear of/ for new life. My latest mode of self-mockery and release is to announce that I have given up hope on human beings, that I reject all human life out of hand, especially claims of sentience and educability. I only express these strange, scary thoughts to those who will laugh at me because they know these statements are entirely antithetical to my nature and work.

When a perceptive friend questioned the dismissal of all humanity, its logical fallacy, I simply stated that I am at the vanguard of existence; all experience and humanity save my own is to be thrown out like so many plagiarized papers.

The silent explosions of an inter-neuronal war ravage the essential foundations, the infrastructure of a ‘normal’ dialogue with Being, leaving only the infinitely disposable flexibility of rubble.

“..but you’re so nice though..”

Strange: this mass of exterior fleshy matter seems to have no epistemic access to the source of this voice: strangers

me-performing-me, thinking through, ArticlesJuly 13, 2006 11:10 pm

I have just finished reading an incredible article by Liisa H. Malkki, “Speechless Emissaries: Refugees, Humanitarianism, and Dehistoricization,” which does nothing less than point me back to the core of my scholarship, of (dare I say) my calling.

This article was brought to my attention through a network of connections but, more importantly and strangely, a day after I decided to do a project on Hotel Rwanda.

I can only give you excerpts because I have no words available to me.

“…the examination of the figure of the refugee as an object of concern and knowledge for the “international community,” and for a particular variety of humanism…The central purpose here is to examine some of the specific effects of the contemporary dehistoricizing constitution of the refugee as a singular category of humanity within the international order of things.”

“…the camp was a site of intense historicity, and to be a refugee was a historicizing and politicizing condition…”

“There was a pronounced tendency to try and fix the “real” refugee on extralegal grounds. And one key terrain where this took place was that of the visual image of the refugee, making it possible to claim that given people were not real refugees because they did not look (or conduct themselves) like real refugees. This suggests that refugees status was implicitly understood to involve a performative dimension.”

“In his or her case, wounds speak louder than words.”

“So the ideal construct, the “real refugee,” was imagined as a particular kind of person: a victim whose judgment and reason had been compromised by his or her experiences. This was a tragic, and sometimes repulsive, figure who could be deciphered and healed only by professionals, and who was opaque even (or perhaps especially) to himself or herself.”

“So, in a sense, they had to be cared for and understood obliquely, despite themselves.”

“[T]he political and moral history of displacement that most Hutu in Mishamo themselves insisted on constructing was generally rejected by their administrators as too messy, subjective, unmanageable, hysterical––as just “stories.” ”

“In this manner history tended to get leached out of the figure of the refugee, as imagined by their administrators. This active process of dehistoricization was inevitably also a project of depoliticization.”

“What emerges from this and other accounts is that the refugees were thought to be at their purest when they first arrived, and when their condition was visibly at its worst. So instead of refugee status imagined as a state of being attained gradually (as the Hutu camp refugees themselves saw it) or as a legal status that one has or has not, the administrators tended to imagine refugee status as a processual condition that was at its purest and most recognizable early in exile, and was thereafter subject to gradual adulteration over time. All this added up, in a subtle way, to the barely noticeable but nevertheless powerful constitution of the real or true refugee––an ideal figure of which any actual refugees were always imperfect instantiations.”

“The visual representations of refugees appears to have become a singularly translatable and mobile mode of knowledge about them.”

“This global visual field of often quite standardized representational practices is surprisingly important in its effects, for it is connected at many points to the de facto inability of particular refugees to represent themselves authoritatively in the inter- and transnational institutional domains where funds and resources circulate.”

“This vision of helplessness is vitally linked to the constitution of speechlessness among refugees: helpless victims need protection, need someone to speak for them. In a sense, the imagined sea of humanity assumes a similar helplessness and speechlessness.”

“One cannot help but feel horror and profound sadness, I think, in the face of such images or in the knowledge that such social circumstances do exist. But it is also possible and, indeed, useful to notice that in their overpowering philanthropic universalism, in their insistence on the secondariness and unknowability of details of specific histories and specific cultural or political contexts, such forms of representation deny the every particulars that make of people something other than anonymous bodies, merely human beings.”

“And yet the scene and the expert voice operate precisely to erase knowledge.”

“…I would like to make perfectly clear that….I am not thereby seeking to belittle the importance of the moral, ethical and political motivations that are clearly at the core of humanitarian interventions. It is necessary to state that these forms and practices of humanitarianism do not represent the best of all possible worlds…”

“It is a historicizing (and politicizing) humanism that would require us, politically and analytically, to examine our cherished notions of mankind and the human community, humanitarianism and humanitarian “crises,” human rights and international justice. For if humanism can only constitute itself on the bodies of dehistoricized, archetypal refugees and other similarly styled victims––if clinical and philanthropic modes of humanitarianism are the only options––then citizenship in this human community itself remains curiously, indecently, outside of history.”

I am moved to tears. 

Smiles, without a why, me-performing-me 5:08 pm

me: am I really?

friend: uh…are you seriously asking me?

 me: yeah. I never thought of myself as a metrosexual

 friend: (rolls eyes) yes. the answer is yes.

 me: well, I’m not as bad as some other Indian males; they get their eyebrows done.

 friend: yea, you’re not as metro as that.

insideme: Hmm…I’m strangely offended by this.

For more fun with metrosexuality, or if you are looking to burn a few brain cells, take a look at definitions of the term here, here and here.  

 

Smiles, without a why, me-performing-meJuly 7, 2006 7:46 pm

blog: Where have you been?

me: Ummm…not sure; it was this really gray place with perpetual guilt and frustration.

otherme: Oh please! You’re just scared that your profs will wonder where their papers are if you keep the blog up.

blog: But I need attention too.

otherme: Quiet you! You’re nothing more than another avenue that draws the world-conquering perfectionism away from its needed spaces.

me: are either of you real?

otherme: are you? now mush

me; why are you so hostile?

blog: yea; you’re what’s preventing new pictures and links to be posted

otherme: That’s it! Shut this computer off and go grade papers, and for pete’s sake, quit trying to think of an clever close to this schizophrenic conversation you have going…what a weirdo…