Honesty and Polanyi's Anonymous Market

Appointments and meetings to remember gathered in my head and I still had no diary to write them in, so I decided it was time to find another moleskine booklet on Oranienstrasse, where I also hoped to find the Habermas books I need to buy for my seminar. Oranienstrasse is a mix of turkish vegetable shops, cheap asian clothes shops, fancy sushi places, dupy-fancy Indian restaurants, dirty kebab cupboards and a few indi bookshops, with the mixed crowds one would expect from such varied buying opportunities - hip students, gangs of loud young boys, women with head scarves. In my new attempt at de-anonymising my consuming patterns, I wanted to buy my books in a small shop instead of heading for the Ominous Culture Shop that constantly swallows masses of happy buyers on Friedrichstrasse.
After nips inside various bookshops, I stepped into oh21. As in all previous shops, the Habermas I needed was not on the shelves, though they looked as though they would have everything I need. I decided I liked the place, very much like a book-freak's living room, and would order the book there, especially as I found probably the last moleskine 2006 diary available in the city, too massive to be convenient, but available all the same.
I grabbed it and asked for its price. The man at the counter was as clueless as me as we couldn't find the price tag. He eventually looked at other moleskine books with a similar size and decided the diary probably cost the same, 13,80.
After having walked outside in the cold and wet for a little while, I opened the diary and on the first page, saw, written in pencil, a squiggle indicating it actually cost 18. That's a lot of money. A lot of money for me, but also a fair amount the indi book shop was losing. I hesitated and eventually went back and stepped anew in the shop. As I explained why I was here again, the forty-something man stared at me with large eyes and started stuttering with surprise and disbelief. "Really? You've come back to pay the difference? But... really?" I put 4,20 on the table and walked out again while he repeatedly wished me a good weekend.

The Revolutionary Salad: A critique of neo-liberalist capitalism applied to the EU food production sector

I refuse to recognise the intrinsic value of four letter words. Passing judgments on the quality of words based on their quantitative aspects may be acceptable in certain fields of linguistics but not, I am afraid, in most areas of General Life.
It's like saying someone isn't American because he doesn't have broad jaws. Such aesthetics aspects have no connection to the true quality of the subject. And I'm picking this example as I am befriended with someone who uses jaw width to identify people's nationalities. Incidentally, very successfully.

First week back at uni. A good feeling for the most part. Sometimes panick gets me as I glance at groups of students socialising and looking very integrated and confident, and remember that I myself am supposed to be a mentor for a first semester student as of next week - and not always feeling all that self-assured myself, especially as I had to cancel my last paper. Fortunately, I know a bunch of other students who seem to be in similar phases, some of whom will also be mentors. After all this time, I'm still finding it difficult to accept my own uncertainties.

On the positive side, this semester will be a comfortable interesting research semester. I will be writing my project paper on exploited undocumented workers in the EU agricultural sector (or probably only in Almería, Spain), and writing another paper for another class on a similar issue, but in the States. The two will complement one another nicely. We will not go through desperate scenes of panick as we did in March. It's all planned out.
I will have to put money aside for a field trip to Spain though. I wonder if August or even September is the best time to go to an infernally hot region of the world.

In any case, the numerous issues that had been floating wildly around my head over the last month or so are now slowly falling into order, and I feel I can get to work. This research will combine environmental, economic, social and cultural issues, and link it all to Mr and Mrs Toutlemonde's salad ingredients. The madness of our society conveniently served in a plate.

European agricultural policy has been pushing for decades now for the elimination of small "unprofitable" farms in favour of large ones, encouraging a fast industrialisation process in the sector, leading to growing energy needs (petrol for tractors, wider roads for them, electricity for the milking machinery etc.), as well as unchecked environmental pollution of soils and groundwater. That we all know. In addition however, the growth in power of supermarkets and intermediary buyers forced industrial farmers to be increasingly flexible, to offer the necessary quantity of produce at short notice, preferrably ripe, and most of all cheap. In a situation like that, you can only save money on the back of your workers.
Industrial agriculture destroyed most of the cultural ties that existed between people and the land. Working on a farm is not considered valuable, and if on top of it, the pay is bad, there's really no chance of getting a local working force (thus further disintegrating the social thread in rural areas). So to produce our lettuce and tomatoes, we have to find a cheap, flexible labour force. And this is where the systemic need for undocumented workers comes in. No papers, no choice, easy to threat, and little possibilities to organise. At the same time though, society refuses to accept these "illegal" workers and officially acknowledge that there are an important backbone of our comfortable life.
Geiz macht impotent?

Catechizing myself

Most of last week, I've been telling various people about my student's block and how I thought I'd just discovered and learned too many interesting theories in the last semester for my brain to be able to process, and how I needed a break, and how I probably shouldn't try to squeeze my final seminars into one semester after all. All the while, naturally, the other side of my brain was muttering "cause toujours, tu m'intéresses". Slowly though, ever so slowly, I have managed to convince myself. The beauties of self brainwashing.
I had originally decided to finish my studies in the summer of 2007 for numerous reasons with varying degrees of rationality:

1. Summer 2007 is located, we expect, in the middle of the year 2007, i.e. a safe distance away from my 28th birthday in late December. Being done at 27 just sounds better to me.
2. Graduating in the summer also means that once I'm through with all the exams, I can directly walk outside and enjoy summerly weather. Instant gratification. Assuming that Berlin's two or three days of summer take place right after the exams.
3. I would be able to say I finished my studies in the official length while working part time and being a foreigner.

The potential advantages of taking a semester more include, but are probably not limited to:

1. Giving my brain more time to digest and learn and organise all it's ingurgitating.
2. Being able to take a break NOW instead of worrying about this paper I seem unable to write and jumping right back into the next stressful semester.
   
3. Making a trip to Latin America with ASA in the summer right before I'd have to write my thesis so as to conduct field research.
4. The winter would also potentially provide a more conducive weather for writing a thesis, as temptations to go out for walks and enjoy parks would tend towards null.

I'm still unsure of how I could label such a change of mind. I've always said "I'll try to finish by July 2007, and if it doesn't work, nevermind." when I meant "I'll finish by July 2007, and if it doesn't work, I'm a loser." I'm gradually trying to cover this change with positive names such as "Flexibility" and, hm, other names, but I'm still not convinced. Having half taken this decision does make me feel more relaxed though.

Adding Insult to Flattery

I walked to work on Thursday morning accompanied by an ego-shattering black hole. I had just seen a teacher to discuss an old paper and get my credits and grade. Her dryness when giving comments and remarks made me uncomfortable, and as I remembered some of the things I'd written, I wondered how I had stooped down so low. I suddenly felt incapable of writing brilliant papers, and though she'd given me a "Good" mark (B), I seemed to realise how ridiculous it was for me to attempt to get into an intellectual path. Analytical and abstract thinking appeared out of reach of my brain capacities, the black hole was getting bigger in my stomach, my legs were confused by the contradicting orders they were receiving.

"run away!" - "roll up in a little ball!" - "just walk to work, ok?"

I got to work and walked up and down the corridor with drooping shoulders, ignoring my co-workers. When I eventually went up to Coco and Messy M. in the reception area while the boss' secretary wasn't around, I told them with a flat voice about my despair, my inability to write a paper, come up with research questions, and be generally intellectually productive as well as my desire to just drop everything and run. I then droopily went back to my office to face a report I had felt unable to write for the past month. Expanding black hole.
Chatterbox N., my researcher, then came in, quickly glanced at what I'd done, changed a few minor points, told me a little more about what she felt needed to be in it, and emphatically expressed her satisfaction with my work. I felt a little better about the report.
Mister Big&Important replied to my depressed email at length and spared no efforts to convince me my mood was thoroughly unjustified, and that, in addition, I was loved. Contracting black hole. Later on, Coco walked to my desk with a pudding, soon after which Messy M., who has no money and is usually happy to nick food off people, stuck a large chocolate bar in my hands with a sympathetic smile, saying I had to be in a good mood now. He turned to Popular R., who had spent all his time playfully insulting me, and instructed him to be extra-nice to me today. All this attention and kindness was heart-warming, and at the same time I felt very ashamed of myself for emphasising my bad mood and feeling so low, basically because of a "Good" grade (as opposed to "Very good").
My ego received a further boost as Chatterbox N. told me that Authoritarian Boss had apparently asked her to try convince me to stay at the institute after my studies. Although I naturally feel very flattered by this, the compliment has its ironic side. I've spent the last four months criticising Authoritarian Boss, the way the institute was run, the quality and meaning of the work we do, and rejecting the technocrats' circles we evolve in, especially the European Union level ones. Having the possibility to start working there immediately after my studies looks more like a dangerous trap than a golden door. It's sort of sad to think I would fit in.