Enter the Tina Zone

Being in the Parisian banlieue brings in a violent contrast to the experiences I've had over the previous weeks. I spent most of my time in collective, self-organised, non-hierarchical structures before arriving here - with and by people who want to create as much freedom as possible for themselves, but (necessarily) have a sense of responsibility for the community they live in.

Here, I look out on the street and see one standardised little house after another filled with a standardised four-people family, one standardised street among millions in the region, where life is spent working from Monday to Friday, taking the bins in and going shopping on Saturday, working on the garden on Sundays. Repeat. Work, consume, forget; work, consume, forget. Theses houses propagate and ingrain the image of the accepted social ideal - buying a house, having a family, getting a job, making money to get a fancy car, or a flat screen TV, eventually both, fly for one-week holidays to exotic places one will never get to know. And then die. The reproduction of the life pattern is taken for granted. The knowledge that all around, there are streets after streets of family living according to the same pattern secures the impression that There Is No Alternative, incorporates the Tina-principle. The banlieue is one vast, self-reproducing Tina-zone. A Tina-zone that encourages fear and mistrust. The family-house is the only bubble where people feel at home. Everything beyond that, perhaps with the exception of the immediate neighbours, is at best suspicious, at worst dangerous, thus destroying part of the social fabric.

In this zone it is hard to think that people could actually choose NOT to spend their life working to get money - but perhaps work for some ideal, or for one's personal development - and have a fulfilling life without all the pre-packed goods that supermarkets have to offer, with little dependence on money. Hard to think that people could want to not live in exclusive family structures but with people who share their ideals and with whom they can organise their lives.

Being here, I was remembered why I left this place, although back when I left I didn't necessarily find small-family structures socially destructive. There is no room for alternatives, no room for self-organisation here. I was thinking it's a shame and "we" (someone...) should actually do something against it, instead of fleeing. What a challenge that would be, considering how all exchanges are based on money, how there is no land to secure some food-independence, how there is absolutely nothing - no alternative book shop or centre of any kind - to create a network, a web with. It would all have to start from scratch, in an area where people wouldn't see the point of self-organisation. They find modern capitalism comfortable, and accept the fact that their comfort is based on social and environmental exploitation - if they ever think about it.

This and texts that I have been reading lately (among others on Trapese) make me more and more interested in popular education - also in theatre of the oppressed - as a way to reach out beyond the movement and initiate critical thinking, politicisation, and, modestly, step by step, cultural change and activism. It's taken me a long time to reach the door-step of activism. There's still a lovely way to go. And plenty of escapes from Tina-zones...

Meaning of Life

Last Thursday was one of those Panic Days at work. A fresh new co-worker was supposed to finalise and send off a proposal to the European Commission, and I was meant to help out. At the same time, London-boy M who had worked at the institute last summer was in Berlin and planned to have beers with the Popular Chilean and me before catching his plane back to London. He had to leave for the airport at half past seven.

The proposal was disastrous, the content weak, nothing was going right, and at half past seven I was still trying to correct the English, not get too depressed by the obvious lack of credibility of the proposal, copy the necessary number of copies and bind them up with our broken binding device, find envelopes that are big enough (there were none) and answer Popular Chilean's pressing phone calls from the bar across the block.

Eventually I decided that this project proposal to the European Commission was too shitty to waste my time on, so I told the poor new co-worker how to use the binding machine for the last copy that needed to be bound, wished her good luck, and sprinted out of the building and towards the bar. I ran and ran, London Boy should already have been on his way to the airport and I didn't know whether I would still get to see him at all. While I was rushing up the street, a candid looking young man who obviously lacked all ability to read people's states of mind tried to stop me.
- Sorry? Entschuldigung?
- no, I'm sorry, I've no time

He looked like a fervent mormon or any other religious type who would want to talk to me about the bible, talk to everybody about the bible, and how God is Great, and how wonderful it is to feel the Love of God guide his life in his heart. I squeezed past him and threw myself on the door of the bar - the worst bar imagineable, for sports' fans - but lost time pushing the door instead of pulling. The guy behind me didn't give up.

- excuse me? What do you think the meaning of life is?
- ... no, really, no time.. what?? the meaning of life?

I was struggling with the door, with short time, with all the thoughts that come up to me when I think of the meaning of life. I had to answer his question, but there was London Boy, his plane, my lateness... I had to find the short version. Was this guy really asking passers by for the meaning of life? He looked like he'd arrived in Berlin that day, and so boringly innocent.

- The meaning of life? It's, it's... to be happy, I tentatively threw in his direction as I hushed inside the sports' fan bar.
With "Happy" I meant: be strong, live according to what you think is right, emancipate yourself from any form of authority, question, be nomadic, communicate, have close ties with humans, take time to reflect, be indenpendent, look for your utopia, be good, learn what you want to learn...
Before the door closed, I heard him utter a "thank you, that's what I think too". He probably came to the conclusion that my understanding of happiness was to rush into sports' fans' bars to get totally pissed after work.

London Boy was still there. We accompanied him on part of his trip to the airport. An hour later, he called to say he'd missed his plane. We made him come back to the city and went out until I remembered shortly after 3am that I was meant to be at work at 9am. Three hours of sleep, alcohol mix, work at 9 - followed by six or seven hours spent at my place with my learning group discussing democracy theories. I was exhausted, but it was all worth it, as they say.

Project 07

Before I lose track of it, here's my list of projects for this year:

• Repair bike
• Found food-coop
  
• Prepare and give seminar on theoretical and empirical political utopia
• Prepare a research concept for my final thesis
• Read and learn more about qualitative research/ Grounded theory
• Get back into photography
• Work with Project Class professors on the publication of some of the Project papers
• Get butter and milk
• Organise and enjoy Four Months of Liberty (June - September)
• Decide on meaning and purpose of the solidarity economy working group

I need to make a time line which I'd hang on the wall and then plan all sorts of Smaller Tasks to get these projects started. Action.

Turn left

I went to a podium discussion tonight at the Latin America Institute with extra-parliamentary German academic idole Uli Brand and a woman I'd never heard of before, Juliana Ströbele-Gregor. She is more into details, he's into concepts. The discussion was on "left" wing movements in Latin America between State and emancipation. There were all sorts of thoughts and ideas that I found interesting, but one question suddenly jumped up to the front of my continuous string of questions floating in my head:

How do people become left wing?

And by left wing, I don't mean institution-loving socialdemocrats, nor do I mean pessimist frustrated authoritarian revolution-loving left intellectuals. I mean experimentierfreudige people geared towards emancipation, solidarity, openness, and generally believing in the creative potential of humans to build an alternative, a better society.
Another one of those biographical socio-psychological political questions I keep having. Suggestions welcome.

Looking down on freedom

But what exactly would you like to do?, Grandmama asked, insisting on the would.
I don't understand why it is so difficult to frame the desire to live according to one's rhythm and to create as much freedom for one's self in a way that doesn't immediately get associated with the negatively connotated "Drop Out". The familiar status provided by a salary (regardless of the level of happiness the job and/or money provide) will continue to seem much more acceptable and comprehensible to her. Not that she expressed any disaproval of my description of the community that I find so inspiring - she actually fell asleep. B. asked a few questions and, being a lone antisocial at heart, found the aspects touching upon independance and self-sufficiency appealing. The whole "community" aspect, less, I guess.
Obviously, knowing only people who follow the path of job-founding family-get house has an influence on the ability to imagine other forms of life styles. Most of all, on the ability to believe that these can actually be successful. "Everybody does it that way. If there were other ways, we'd know about it." It's a normal reaction, and I shouldn't be too surprised about it, because I had similar thoughts before I actually experienced and saw what alternatives could be.
I think a good documentary on other forms of life organisation would be in order. We need some manipulation of feelings a la Rorty...

We are family

I tend to forget I'm not invisible when I'm with more than one member of my family at a time. It happens in other social circumstances as well - I often am too uninterested or unopinionated to even consider getting out of the observer role and add a sentence here or a comment there. With family, it's probably more intense than in other gatherings. I come as a visitor, an outsider, and observe the family subjects in their natural environment. I assume that the way they interact during my observations is their usual way of interacting. That their dialogues are their usual dialogues. This is reinforced by my strong suspicion that in England more than anywhere else, dialogues between two people will follow a set pattern, rules laid out years ago and only slightly changed by time. And me in the middle, or on the back seat of the car, or somewhere at the dinner table - thinking I'm invisible.

What particularly strikes me is the simple materialist filter with which a lot of the people gathered around the family table interpret their world. The term "success" is conceded as a prize to define somebody's life if theirs can be describe in simple terms - married, bought a house, is now a doctor/ works in a lawyer's office. People become ecstatic because they get a designer handbag for Christmas. People have "dream cars" or "dream phones". The meaning of their lives and their emotions revolve around material goods. There's no wondering whence these goods come from, how they were produced, and what function, both personal and social, they fulfil. They are there, or they could be there if there was money, and that's all that matters.

In keeping with this materialism, political positions expressed casually have a definite conservative touch, often even a hint of easy fascism. Is it the Brits, is it just these people, is it rural northern England that has a higher degree of socially acceptable fascism than I'm used to? Migrants are criminals, the borders should be closed, strong unions are bad for the economy, and there are enough muslims in this country as it is. What do I do? I try to show the weakness of the argument, but I know I'm not eloquent enough for the fight, so I go back to invisible mode. These are the "normal" people. They have their own priorities for their lives. And yes, they are comforting. They comfort me in my decision not to aim for anything they have. House, Family, Salary.

I do have the feeling I'm in a particularly radical phase of rejection. It might change and milden with time, but considering I've been entering this phase for the last three years, I have the feeling it won't. Meaning: I will eventually be comfortable with people having unidealistic life priorities. But that hopefully won't stop me from attempting not to compromise with my ideals of a more open, more equal and more "sustainable"* society.

*terrible word, that is. Lost all its meaning. I need to find another one.

Blessed little angels

The space under the Christmas tree was covered with presents, as was the space above it - a hamock was snuggling twice as many presents as were on the floor. We arrived a little late, at about half past ten, and the little ones had been waiting all along to be allowed to open the presents. "Grandad K", a.k.a. Humbug the Grumpy, walked in half awake and said "right, this year, you're each going to have one present, and we'll send the rest to people in Uganda." Little 6-year old goldilock refused ("NO!") but covered up her lack of human solidarity with a more restricted solidarity, if only a political one ("but we'll share with everyone in this house"). And then the butchering feasts started: Grumpy prepared the goose, pheasant and duck for his Bird in a Bird in a Bird in the kitchen, while Goldilock and her little brother grabbed packet after packet and orgasmically released them of their wrapping, and, without looking who it came from or what it contained, moved on to the next. My stomach grew queasy as masses of unnecessary plastic consumer goods piled up on the floor, while a mountain of frivolously wasted paper formed in another corner of the room. Instincts of property and selfishness swelled up ("No it's MINE", "Look Dady, it's mine! It's MY car!"). Goldilocks seemed perfectly happy with her pile of presents until her little brother was given his first bike.

The last Christmas I experienced with a little child covered with presents was at Ex Boyfriend's brother's house. Ex Boyfriend's niece, then 4 or 5, turned over the course of one day from a spontaneous, charming little girl, into a sickening, superficial, image-aware starlet. At that point, I already silently swore to myself that I would never do that to my own children. Giving and sharing is beautiful, but orgiac consumerist debauchery has no appeal. I didn't even really see any joy in the kids' eyes that would make it worth it. Ggh.

Deconstructing my identity, reconstructing the meaning of life

I find it disturbing that I can be so attracted to the language of constructivist sociology and at the same time despise its total abstractness. I despise first, enjoy second. I read and feel something vibrating in me with excitement, some little voice squeaking "yeeha, that's the truth of it all!" while the rest of my body struggles to scrape any meaning from the texts. Could it be that my sub-brain is cleverer than the rest?
It resonates in part because I admire the skills with which social scientists juggle with language in order to give the impression of meaning. The skill to meaningfullly express and thus effectively hide vacuousness.
I also relate to it because it is connected to my first academic interest, linguistics, and one theory of linguistics in particular - the first theory to get me excited for academic research - that regarded language as a filter through which we perceive (part of) the world. The Sapir-Wolf hypothesis has long been discredited - I was sorry to find that out during my first year at uni - but continues to play a role in shaping the questions which guide my learning process. Perceptions, interpretations - and ultimately their impact on political action.

As my interests move further away from institutions as a subject matter of political science, so do my ideas of my future. Closed-off institutions, be they State or other, repulse me. I drift away from the urban concept of career, life and happiness. I am repelled by words like Leistung and Zielstrebigkeit. Or even work.
To put it in this lovely identity-theory jargon: I have deconstructed my identity as a potential member of Europe's protected urban elite and am gradually consciously defining myself anew to give my life meaning, guided by conceptual categories (for the most part rough dichotomies along the lines of city/countryside, meaningless/meaningful, illusions/reality, delusion/ clarity) that help me interpret and respond to the world. (I'm still not very good at naturally juggling with social science talk.)

I recently read about the Travelling School of Life and find the concept appealing. I have developped a need for grounded, concrete knowledge, skills that can enhance a community. I was amazed by the many people at the Longo Mai commune in Forcalquier learning from others throughout the region, or even Europe, e.g. the skills to make goat's cheese, or special honey, grow certain seeds, build houses from natural material or according to traditional techniques etc. The commune was a node in a lively network of knowledge, a thriving place of life learning, learning that could be put to productive use for the good of the community, keeping knowledge alive and ready for diffusion.

Although I do not necessarily think I would feel good in this already tight community, life in such settings appeared to me more meaningful than in the city.