FIVE GOOD THINGS ABOUT LIFE IN BLOOMINGTON

The maze of slightly blurred nuance, that feeling of barely grasped meanings which had been my constant companion in Morocco overtook me once again. But now I was home. (Paul Rabinow, Reflections on Fieldwork in Morocco)

I was preparing my lecture for a class this week on reflexivity when I came across the quote above and had to stop and sigh. Though frequently guilty of taking myself much too seriously I do know how good I have it and try not to wallow excessively. Yet I find it difficult to square my big concerns with injustice, inequality, and ignorance with my small egotistical concerns about whether I am doing anything useful in the world or being recognized for such, and complaining that it’s soooooooo hard to be back in a town where I’ve never felt at home and am still so far away from friends etc et al doesn’t seem likely to tip things in the right direction. But it seems all right to acknowledge that the whole ethnographic enterprise does a real number on one’s brain; as much as I enjoy being constantly surprised and challenged when you set your mind on constant-observation-and-self-reflexive-analysis you’re bound to tumble down a rabbit hole from which you cannot easily escape. It also seems important to report that all is not ennui and lassitude here, there are some things I like quite a bit…

1. living in a house

In January I was lucky enough to replace an outgoing roommate in a well-established anthro-house a little way from campus where the deer frolic and the rabbits bound. My two roommates, Zarko and John, are some of the nicest fellows imaginable. They would also mock me ruthlessly (and rightly) if they heard me gushing about what a pleasure it is to have them sitting at the table talking about their day over beers while I bake scones, to cook and share Chinese/Serbian/Ethiopian meals together, or how nice it is that no one ever has to be reminded to clean up or take out the garbage – we all take responsibility and it all works out. It’s almost enough to make a lady believe in socialism.

I have the spacious master bedroom as well as an office of my own with two full walls of bookshelves and a dedicated tea corner and you can imagine the contentment that affords. Outside there’s even a deer-fenced garden where I will be doing some planting very soon.

2. teaching

I teach ethnographic methods twice a week on the second floor of this lovely limestone building and I love it. My students are a bright, earnest bunch, if a little sleepy sometimes, and I find it endlessly exciting to present them with ideas and techniques and see what they do with them. In my favorite class of the semester so far we discussed materialist and idealist approaches towards the history-making events in Egypt and Libya and I flattered myself that they left feeling more confident in their own abilities to understand and engage with their worlds. It’s nauseating really: I even like grading.

The course is structured by its service-learning aspect: each student has a site where they contribute volunteer hours while carrying out their research: a homeless shelter, the Boys & Girls Club, a high school LGBTQ club. It’s been a lot of work getting things set up but I’ve appreciated the opportunity to be a part of the community outside of the all-dominating university.

3. new friends

My ambivalence about my university and department does not need to be documented but I will say that it is swell to be back among compadres who follow when I reference an article about reciprocity or make a dumb joke about Strathern. I almost hugged someone once when I asked her what she was working on and it turned out to be assessing the literature on the flaneur as it spoke to the consumption of brand-name cosmetics in the Brazilian Amazon.

I am also enormously grateful to have gained a few new marvelous friends, friends I am indebted to for, among other things: art and food and comradery, roller skating dates, gifts of vintage wool and chiffon, and last but not least the opportunity to spend my afternoons “doing research” inside fraternity houses, a dream I thought would never materialize at this late date.

4. rediscovering American values

I don’t mean this ironically or facetiously. My memory holds on to random things, like a teacher I had in junior high who quoted Kipling’s “He who knows only England knows not England” and is thus to be blamed for providing a patriotic justification for all my later wanderings. Having been trained in anthropology I intended to be vigilant against the Orientalizing gaze, but I always expected I would understand American culture more deeply as a result of my attempts to understand Chinese culture. Instead I just got really confused. “Americans 爱打” (love war), taxi drivers would tell me, and though they probably weren’t looking for anything more than an opportunity to grumble aloud I would sometimes try to engage them, explaining our justifications for international actions, trying to connect all the bleating about freedom with the actions my country takes internationally. But there’s no getting around the hypocrisy embedded in much, if not most, of our foreign policy.

Lord knows the Chinese government does many detestable things; working on the paper on nationalism I’ll be presenting in London next month I have been reminded well and thoroughly of that. But it is the US that claims the moral high ground of democratic representation and yet while we citizens have the responsibility to call our government to task for favoring military might over the health and welfare of its people most of us don’t seem to care. About a month ago when I brought up Gaddafi (in an anecdote about development as the new imperialism which featured his son who was in the same program as I at the LSE), not ONE of my students had ever heard of him, despite the fact that our nation’s economy (read: energy demands) has a profound bearing on the plight of the Libyan people. Charlie Sheen though? He’s a household name and a hero.

None of this is new to you, I know, but it still makes me angry and it still makes me feel disillusioned with my nation and fellow citizens. Sadly I would have been hard pressed to provide a list of admirable American values had I been called to do so at immigration (a requirement which probably isn’t far away).

But here’s the punchline: circumstances (and my excellent friend Mindi) conspired to get me watching a TV series that’s been around for a few years, Friday Night Lights, and this show about high school football in a small town in Texas quite single-handedly restored my faith. The ever-reliable sports narrative doesn’t exist in China; their TV shows and movies are typically more about the burdens of history and filial duties versus the pressures of modern life. And they’re typically quite tragic. Friday Night Lights has hope and human kindness and inspirational speeches and people who acknowledge their failings and try to be better. And Bloomington has people who will offer strangers a ride when it’s snowing and bus drivers who stop and wait when they see you running. America is built on the idea of the equal value and potential of every individual and that is something I am proud of.

5. 把中国文化发扬光大了

I did learn a lot about China, though whether or not it is enough for a dissertation remains to be seen. I do believe that the profoundly relational quality of the culture (and incredible density of the population) means that for most people it’s fine, even necessary, to let someone who has nothing to do with you suffer harm without intervening; I’ve heard enough anecdotes from Chinese friends and interlocuters to know it’s not just some bullshit generalization about how Asian cultures are group-oriented and ignore the individual. But I also know that when you cross the line into becoming a part of any social entity, whether as guest or honorary family member, you are welcomed with genuine and limitless warmth and generosity. I’m typically someone who has treated food as a fuel issue, something I need in order to get more things done, but China won me over to the pleasures of sharing long meals with friends, and it is with love and gratitude for those who took care of me there that I try to do the same here. I wish I could hold a giant hot pot dinner to serve each and every one of you, to fill your bellies with warmth and fortify you with enough courage and affection to keep on fighting that good fight, whatever you believe it to be.