Anthropologies #21: Climate Change Issue (Introduction)

For the latest issue of anthropologies, we're taking a look at the ever contentious subject of climate change. Over the next week or so, we will be posting individual essays from our contributors. At the end we will post the issue in its entirety. Please share, and feel free to post your thoughts and comments. Here's the introduction, written by Jeremy Trombley, the co-editor for this issue. You can contact him on Twitter here: @jmtrombley. Thanks Jeremy for all of your help putting this issue together! --R.A.

Photo by Flickr user Erik Jackson. Original caption: "The Act on Climate March in Quebec City, on April 11th, 2015, was led by First Nations to protest governmental inaction on the issue. Main concerns included oil exploitation and transportation by pipeline. My goal with this photograph is to ensure their voices are heard."

The climate is changing. Oceans are rising, glaciers melting, animals migrating to more hospitable environments, people struggling to understand, resist, and adapt. But solutions seem far off, and many seem reluctant to change their lives to prevent the worst-case scenarios. Even those who are aware and accepting of the science underlying climate change are often unwilling to look the realities in the face – the extent to which the world could be changed, the apparent inevitability of the process, the feedback loops that could escalate climate change beyond even our most dire predictions. Scientists who study the environmental effects of climate change – past, present, and future – struggle to comprehend the extent and intensity of its effects. It can be disheartening, even hopeless, but time moves on and ever-increasing amounts of CO2 are being pumped into the atmosphere on a daily basis. What can be done? What should be done? How do we even begin to answer these questions? This is what the essays in this issue explore from an anthropological lens.

Anthropologists are at the forefront of studying the “human dimensions” of climate and environmental change– although not always in the same form, it has been a major topic of ethnographic research since the early years of the discipline (Kroeber 1947; Steward 1972). Recently, with the release of the AAA statement on climate change (Fiske et al. 2014), it has become solidified as an important concern not just for a handful of anthropologists specializing in the topic, but for the discipline as a whole. And yet, despite this interest, everything about climate change goes against our disciplinary norms.

Where anthropologists tend to focus on specific peoples in specific places, the effects of climate change are global and universal. Although the effects on people will vary depending on geography, climate, subsistence, cultural perspectives, socio-economic status, racial and ethnic background, gender, and so on, we will all feel its effects and we will all need to contend with change. Whereas anthropologists tend to make use of qualitative methods and data, climate science is driven by some of the most complex quantitative machinery the world has ever seen in the form of Global Circulation Models and climate science (Edwards 2010). Finally, where anthropologists prefer long-term research allowing us to deeply understand the complexities of the communities with whom we work, climate change demands an immediate and rapid response. Nothing short of everything will do.

So how is an anthropologist to contend with such a significant topic? As is common in anthropology, and particularly with issues that are as complex and global as climate change, you will find no easy solutions, no firm answers here. However, we hope that the essays presented in this issue will stimulate discussion and debate, and provide important concepts and methods for understanding and dealing with the changed and changing world in which we live.

Understanding the local impacts of climate change has been an important aspect of anthropologists work on the issue. Sean Seary gives us a comprehensive review of Susan Crate's work on climate change, while Douglas Larose examines the social and political impacts of climate change in Ghana and South Sudan. Elena Burgos-Martinez uses climate change ethnography to elucidate the conflicting ontologies of change in Western development organizations and the Bajo of Indonesia. Meanwhile, Sanders and Hall critique ethnographies of climate change that focus on localized impacts, suggesting that they fail to develop a fully “anthropocene anthropology” because they do not break with the traditional dualisms of “Holocene” thought. 

Next we explore methods of communicating and educating future generations about the issues associated with climate change. Katherine Johnson examines the challenges of teaching climate change from an anthropological perspective, and overcoming the sense of resignation that students may develop when learning, for the first time, the effects that it has for people around the world. Similarly, Henderson and Long discuss climate change curricula and the potential for education to motivate students to change and take an active role in advocating for solutions to the problem.

In spite of the scientific consensus on climate change, it has been a politically and economically polarizing issue. Questions of how (and whether!) to manage climate change and the politics of the required socio-economic changes are of central concern for anthropologists. Mike Agar uses concepts drawn from complexity theory and adaptive management to shed some light on the role of ethnographic research in addressing climate change. Lee Drummond provides a counterpoint to the assumption that climate change represents a crisis, drawing on an anthropological understanding of human evolution and adaptability. Finally, we end the issue with Heid Jerstad's evocative essay about weather, change, and the socially- and politically-charged terms of debate that frame climate change discourse.

References

Edwards, Paul N. 2010. A Vast Machine: Computer Models, Climate Data, and the Politics of Global Warming. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press.

Fiske, S. J., S. A. Crate, C. L. Crumley, K. Galvin, H. Lazrus, L. Lucero, A. Oliver-Smith, B. Orlove, S. Strauss, and R. Wilk. 2014. “Changing the Atmosphere.” Anthropology and Climate Change. Report of the AAA Global Climate Change Task Force (American Anthropological Association, 2014).

Kroeber, Alfred Louis. 1947. Cultural and Natural Areas of Native North America. Vol. 38. Univ of California Press.

Steward, Julian Haynes. 1972. Theory of Culture Change: The Methodology of Multilinear Evolution. University of Illinois Press.

Introduction: Ideas that send people around the world

I used to work in this little restaurant in Oceanside, California.  I worked there for about 8 years, including those strange, terrible years right after 9/11.  If you haven't heard of Oceanside, California, it happens to be located right next to one of the biggest military bases in the United States: Camp Pendleton.  So we had our fair share of soldiers--men and women--who came into our place.  They were all so young.  That's what I remember thinking.  Especially considering where they were going and what they were doing.

We had a pretty unique mix of people coming into that restaurant.  The place had a bit of grit, and the customers ranged from hippies to surfers to former meth addicts all the way to the soldiers.  A lively mix, yes.  Most of the folks who came in there had liberal/left politics going on, which made things interesting considering the fact that Oceanside is a big military town.  I remember one 4th of July there was this huge military parade passing by right out in front and one of the employees was blaring "Fortunate Son" by Creedence Clearwater Revival on the restaurant sound system.  It was a place of contrasts.

The place definitely wasn't a bastion of support for the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.  It was basically the exact opposite.  So I always found it intriguing that folks from the military came in.  They weren't coming to our place in droves by any means, but we had more than a few who came in pretty regularly.  I always wondered what they thought about the reasons behind the war--or even what they thought about all the anti-war folks.  I remember a few of these young people very clearly.  Sharp, short memories.

I remember talking to this young married couple when they both had just gotten back from serving in Iraq.  Both of them kept telling me how much they hated it over there, how it was a shithole, hell.  They told me it was all sand and heat.  They kept telling me over and over how terrible it was and that they never wanted to go back.  I had a hard time imagining these two--they couldn't have been much older than 21--all the way over in Iraq taking part in all of that.  They just wanted to get home.

Another young guy came in all the time before he was deployed.  He was blond, and tall, and so incredibly polite every time he came in.  He'd often try to bus his own tables and help us out when we were busy.  Then he was deployed, and I didn't see him for a couple years.  Then one day he came back in.  I started an afternoon shift and I saw him sitting at one of the tables near the register.  I watched him for a second.  I was glad to see he was ok.  When I talked to him he was as polite and soft spoken as ever.  I was standing alongside the table and he just looked at me and said he was so incredibly glad to be home.  He didn't have to say it; you could see it on his face and in his demeanor.  He looked relieved and content, but he also looked like there was a lot more to tell than the sort of surface conversations you have in momentary restaurant conversations.  I didn't ask.  I just put in his order and let him be.  At the end of his meal he said he was being deployed again and he would be heading out soon.  That was the last time I saw him.  I have always wondered what happened and where he is now.

There was another guy.  He was one of the most physically-fit people I have ever known.  The guy looked like a personal trainer or something.  I think he was a Navy Seal.  I can't remember--but it was either that or Special Forces.  He was also gung ho and loud--but in a very happy, gregarious sort of way.  When he came in with his friends you knew he was there.  Before he was deployed he came in for dinner with some of his buddies, who were also heading out.  They drank, ate, had a good time.  I never knew what to say.  I mean, it all seemed like it was inevitable.  They were being shipped to this place, for all of these reasons, and that was that.  By processes, machinations, forces.  So it seemed.  None of them ever talked directly to me about going to Iraq.  Not the details--they would just mention where they were going and leave it at that.  To me it all seemed senseless.  I think the boss took care of their dinner that night.  Nobody seemed to know what to do or what to say.  And then they left. But a year or so later this guy came back and he was different.  He was a little harder, but still nice.  His hair was longer and he seemed a little less connected or attached to the military.  He was less clean cut, less formal, less...something.  He looked like he'd been through a lot.  But I never really asked him about any of it.  I usually just tried to leave people in peace.  If that was possible.

***

Parade, Oceanside, CA, circa 2003.  Photo by RA.

All of that sending young people around the world to engage in war and violence stemmed from what took place on that crisp morning on September 11, 2001.  That was the spark that really sent the USA over the line and led to two wars that lasted for years and years.  It was depressing to see--how people reacted.  I remember that morning.  I was living with some roommates in Northern San Diego County.  One of my roommates woke me up.  He was in his room yelling "WAR!!" at the top of his lungs.  The guy wasn't pro-war...I think he was screaming about the insanity of it all.  He'd heard the news on the radio and that was his way of sharing the madness with the rest of the household.  I remember the chaos of those first few hours when news networks were reporting that we were under attack and everyone was wondering what it all meant.  Were we at war--or what?

It didn't take long for people to start sliding off the edge.  Losing their grip.  Within days there were reports of attacks against anyone who looked even remotely like they had anything to do with the Middle East.  American flags suddenly appeared everywhere--they were even being distributed by local newspapers in all the latest editions.  People I knew well talked about turning the Middle East into a "glass parking lot."  That's a quote.  AM radio stations ramped up the rhetoric.  I was 26 years old, and to me it looked like my country had gone completely insane.  With fear, mostly.  And this fear translated to hatred, violence, racism, you name it.  The next thing I knew we were dropping bombs on Afghanistan, and then invading Iraq.  None of the justifications made any sense.

Ground Zero, NY, 2004.  Photo by RA.

What was most striking was how a massive region full of people became stigmatized, essentialized as the epitome of evil.  I can't count the number of times I got into arguments with people, basically trying to argue that you can't judge millions and millions of people based upon the actions of 19 young men.  These conversations rarely went anywhere.  The ideas were set in place.  And it was those ideas--based in a particular knowledge of the world--that drove the whole machine.  The machine that sent billions of dollars of weapons across the world...and legions of young people with them.  War--the all-encompassing social, material, and physical violence of it--is a lot more than just guns and weapons and tanks.  It starts with ideas--about people.  Others.  The ideas people have about others are the basis for rationalizations, justifications, politics.  For war, and violence.

Anti-war protest, Santa Cruz, CA, 2005.  Photo by RA.

There are a few key life experiences that led me to anthropology, and 9/11 was definitely one of them.  I went back to school in 2002, in part motivated to find some answers to what was then a very vague sort of "what the hell happened" question that I had about everything that was going on.  It was a good path, I think.  Anthropology definitely provided a lot of insight into the racism, prejudice, and ethnocentrism that was running rampant back in those years.  That's a start.  It's something, right?

But then, look at where we are today.  Syria.  Libya.  And on and on.  Insight matters.  Perspective matters.  But we also clearly need something more.  And I think anthropology can be a crucial part of that something that we need to break the cycles of violence that plagued the entire 20th century, and which are certainly bleeding their way well into the 21st.  Perhaps a renewed anthropology could help transform the reasons why so many young people are sent around the world, year after year, decade after decade.  Maybe someday all those young people will be traveling for entirely different reasons.  Maybe.

***

This issue is about anthropology and war in a broad sense.  Perspectives about war, relationships between anthropology and war, personal memories, and more.  We have contributions from Spencer Gavin Smith, John McCreery, Emily Sogn, John Lunsford, David Price, and Steven Tran-Creque.  Thanks everyone for taking part in this project.  As always, feel free to post comments, responses, complaints, thoughts.  Whatever.  Or links.  Something.  Pass this around.  Let us know what you think.

Until next time.

RA

Introduction: Racism, hidden away

I think a lot of people in the US want to forget about racism.  They don't want to talk about it, bring it up, deal with it, think about it.  They want to tell themselves that racism was something that happened in the distant past.  Racism is a problem for history books.  Racism was a serious problem in the early days, back when the nation was first formed and slavery was an acceptable, rampant institution.  Or maybe back in the days of the civil war, when the US was literally torn apart amidst a time of deep racial inequalities.  Sure, that's when it was a problem.  And perhaps the problems of racism lingered until the 1930s or maybe the 1950s.  Yes, those were the days when things were really bad.  People want to tell themselves that today things are different.  Racism is history.

After all, since the days of the Civil Rights reforms, and the election of the first black president, clearly racism can't be a problem anymore.*  It's over and done with, right?  

Wrong.

A few short stories:

1. It's the mid 1980s.  I am driving through Los Angeles with an older family member.  I am about 8 eight years old.  This family member was part of the "white flight" out of some parts of LA that took place in the 1950s and 1960s.  This family member would often talk about "how things used to be" before all of "those people" started to arrive.  On this particular day this family member told me about a game called "Find The White Person" as we were driving through Los Angeles.  The game was supposed to be funny.  I'm not sure what I thought about it at the time, since I was a kid.  This is one of the subtle ways that certain ideas about "others" get passed down. 

2. Late 1980s, San Diego County, California.  I live in a small suburban neighborhood, not far from the beach.  I am about 12 years old.  A young man, exhausted, walks into our driveway.  He is wearing multiple layers of clothes and two jackets.  It's not cold outside.  He asks me, in quiet Spanish, if I have a can opener.  He's hungry.  Years later I understand things a bit more--this was a young man in his early 20s who had crossed the US-Mexico border in search of work.  A refugee from devastated economies and things like NAFTA.  But back then I was only about 12 and I just knew he was a desperate person.  He looked so tired.  One of the neighbors decided to help him out and let him stay with them for a while.  I thought this was a really kind gesture.  The neighbor across the street, however, was not happy about this.  Not because this migrant had done anything wrong, but because of how he looked.  It was a purely chromatic judgment she made, based more on her own ideas about people from "Mexico" than anything else.  She made some comment about turning the neighborhood into the "United Nations" or something like that.  I don't remember exactly what she said, but I do remember thinking that her anger didn't make any sense.  How could you hate someone you didn't even know?  But, again, I was 12.

3.  Late 1990s.  San Diego.  I am doing some research about family history.  I have some documents that provide little snippets of information about certain members of the family.  One of the stories talks about a person who used to tie his slaves' feet to trees while they were sleeping, put cotton between their toes, and then light them on fire.  They would jump up to run away, but they were bound to the tree.  He thought this was funny.  A joke.  Abusing people for fun and pleasure.  I don't want to see this story in my family history, but it's there, in print.  Undeniable.  I find another document during my search.  It's from the 1860 census.  The record identifies one of my distant relatives from Texas, and the dozen or so slaves he treated as property.  I wonder about the children this person raised, what he taught them.  I think about how these things, these realities, shaped the subsequent generations of my family.  These histories don't just disappear.  They affect.  They literally color realities with the stupidities and brutalities of racism.

4. 2007, Oaxaca, Mexico.  My wife and I are at a minor league baseball game in Oaxaca City.  The visiting team's pitcher starts to lose steam, so they call in a reliever.  He comes in from the bullpen.  He's from the Dominican Republic.  He takes the mound, and starts mowing down home team batters one after another.  The guy is good.  He's clocked at 97 more than once.  I am amazed.  But the drunken home team crowd is not happy.  They belch out vicious racist insults.  This is just one small sliver of the deep racism that pervades Mexico.  It's also when I start to learn that racism has different histories and characteristics in various places.  Racism in the US isn't the same as racism in Mexico.

5. 2009, Kentucky.  We just moved into a new house.  We've been there about a week.  We are the new people in town.  One day I am outside cleaning up after mowing the lawn.  It's late afternoon.  There's a guy walking, and he comes over to talk.  He likes to talk, a lot.  I nod my head, answer his questions.  When he finds out we're new, he starts telling me about "how things are here."  He tells me that certain kinds of people live in this part of the neighborhood, and others live over by the train tracks.  Then he says, "You know, everyone is racist in some way."  I understand this as an invitation to say something he is hoping to hear.  I don't bite.  For the rest of the time I live there I avoid him at all costs.

6. 2013, San Jose del Cabo, Mexico.  This was just a few days ago.  I had just arrived at the airport, and was standing at the car rental counter.  There's an American guy standing there too.  I say hello and engage in a bit of small talk about how hot it is there.  Then he asks me: "Do you like Obama?"  I say: "I don't really know who I like these days."  I'll admit, I wasn't quite ready for what came next.  The guy then proceeds to tell me a ridiculously offensive, racist joke about "people from Africa."  I then realize that his question about Obama was another one of those subtle tests to see where I stood.  I make it clear to him that I don't think his joke is anywhere near funny.  He doesn't say much and goes about his business, turns in his car, and goes on his way to the US.  I can't help but think about how many people like him are out there.  And I also wonder: did I say enough?  Should I have done something more?  Sometimes these things happen so quickly it's hard to know how to react.

Racism is out there.  Some people experience it in more subtle ways, and others, obviously, in more brutal ways.  More violent ways.  More relentless ways.  But the issue of racism--despite what so many Americans want to tell themselves--is anything but resolved.  It persists.  It plagues us.  And it's something that corrodes on a very deep, very personal, and daily level.

This issue is about anthropology and confronting racism.  It's not enough.  There needs to be more.  More education, more confrontation, more conversation.  But then, I don't think that education and conversation and dialog and all of that is enough.  It's not.  I don't think nice Powerpoint lectures about race are going to make the problems go away.  There needs to be something more, something deeper.  One thing is for sure though: racism surely isn't going away if we pretend that it's some historical artifact.  And that's what we've been doing here in the US for far too long: lying to ourselves, telling ourselves that race was a problem.  Ending that pattern, that lie, would be a start.  Then we can move on to the fact that race is about a lot more than just skin color, it's also about power.

***

Thanks to Agustin Fuentes, Nicole Truesdell, Francine Barone, Douglas La Rose, Candace Moore, Steven Bunce, and Jonathan Marks for taking part in this issue.  As always, I encourage reader comments, questions, concerns, and thoughts.  If you don't want to post on here, you can always email us at anthropologies project at gmail dot com.  Thanks for reading.

RA

*This is an argument that I hear among pundits (and others) fairly often.  The argument goes like this: since the Civil Rights era, all kinds of changes have happened, and racism is all but gone.  The election of Barack Obama is somehow proof of this.  This sort of argument often goes hand in hand with the "you're just pulling the race card" charge, which is sometimes used against anyone who tries to bring up the subject of racism.

Introduction: Yes, your health matters--now please get in line

It's easy: if you don't have money and you need health care services, you wait.  You just wait.  Yout sit in waiting rooms, you stand in lines, you fill out forms.  Then you fill out some more forms.  And you wait.  It's all about lines, and waiting, and patience, and hoping that your number or name gets called next.  Or soon.  Or at least sometime today.

Lines.  Health care is all about standing in lines.

I have heard some people joke about health care in Mexico: Sure, they say, everyone can get health care in Mexico--as long as they don't die in line waiting to actually see a doctor.  This problem is by no means isolated to Mexico.  Far from it.  One of my first experiences with this sort of thing was back when I was 17.  I ended up with a sinus infection that managed to gravitate to my eye, resulting in something called orbital cellulitis.  It was seriously painful, and I went to the ER.  But I ended up sitting in the waiting room as the clock ticked away because the hospital could not verify my insurance.  I had insurance, but they just had to make sure before they could actually start doing the health care thing.  There was a room available, yes, and everyone knew that the situation was not good.  But what mattered most was making sure the dollars and cents were taken care of first and foremost.  So I waited.  I will never forget what one of the doctors said about my waiting room experience when the surgery was over: "Ya, that could have killed you."

My experience with health care comes from life in the United States, and fieldwork/travel to various parts of Mexico (Baja California Sur, Oaxaca, Quintana Roo).  One way or another, when you travel or end up doing fieldwork somewhere you end up having to seek medical attention.  And this provides an opportunity to learn how things work (or, sometimes, how they don't work).

I remember one time my wife and I tried to go to a public clinic in San Jose del Cabo.  It was about 95, maybe 100 degrees.  Hot.  The clinic was ridiculously packed...and there was really no place to wait.  A long line of people, no chairs to sit, and the hot sun pounding down on us all.  We stood around for a while, then finally decided we could do without seeing a doctor.  But we were lucky we weren't dealing with an emergency.  We could afford to walk away, unlike the people who were there for more serious issues.  We have experienced similar situations in other parts of Mexico--crowded waiting rooms, overworked medical staff, long days of waiting and waiting for many people.  In some cases, people aren't even sure if they will get to see a doctor that day (this is the case in a lot of rural clinics that do not have enough staff).  They just have to wait, and hope that they can eventually get some sort of attention.  I have seen the same issue in county clinics and public hospitals in the US as well.  Waiting.  Lines.  Forms.

But I need to make something clear: health care is about waiting, and standing in line, for some people.  Not for everyone.  Many people in the US, Mexico, and all around the world can get quick, good medical care.  As long as they satisfy certain requirements.  Like having the right medical insurance plan.  Or a credit card with a deep line of credit.  Or cash.  You see, it's often just a matter of money.  Just like I learned a long time ago in that hospital waiting room.  Sure, excellent health care is technically available--in the US and in Mexico--but it's a matter of getting access to that care.

So "Whose health matters?"  Well, one answer to that question is this: The people who have the dollars or pesos or Euros, that's who.  Because they're the ones who get in the door, while the rest seem to wait endlessly in the lobby of a county clinic, a rural hospital, or some ER in downtown Los Angeles.  For the people who don't have the right health insurance, or financial resources, there's the old saying: "All in good time."  Right?  Sure, as long as you have enough time to wait around until that person with the white coat and clipboard appears and finally calls your name.  In the meantime, just keep waiting.  We will be with you shortly...

***

This issue is all about the politics of health care--the contradictions, promises, discrepancies and inequalities that run rampant in health caree systems in the US and abroad.  We have contributions from Tazin Karim, Jennifer Wies, Will Robertson, Anne Pfister, Lesly-Marie Buer, Gregory Williams, Monica Casper, Carla Pezzia, Emily Noonan, Sean Tango, Erik Hendrickson & Samuel Spevak, and Veronica Miranda.  Thanks everyone for sending in your essays and taking part in this project.  I hope you enjoy this issue, and more than that I hope it can help create a little conversation, or dialog--or at least make us think a little more about the politics, shortcomings, problems--and possibilities--of our health care systems.  As always, please feel free to post your comments, or email us at anthropologiesproject at gmail dot com.

Thanks,

RA


Update: Edited for clarity on 3/16/13

Introduction: Speaking of the neoliberal university

I recently watched a piece on PBS's Frontline called "College,Inc." It's all about for-profit universities. And, considering how things are going in many of our colleges here in the US, I couldn't help but wonder if this is a glimpse of things to come for our educational system. For-profit institutions are, after all, the "fastest-growing sector in higher education" (Delbanco 2012).

The Frontline piece is mainly about for-profit universities like the University of Phoenix and Devry and others of that nature (like Grand Canyon University). In theory, the basic mantra of for-profits sounds pretty reasonable, if not outright noble: They claim to serve all of the people who, for some reason or another, cannot get themselves into the traditional university/college system. In practice, however, the for-profit system is laden with all sorts of problems, discrepancies, and false promises. One of the main issues being the foregrounding of marketing and recruiting over education (this is explained pretty well by Frontline). When constant growth and enrollments become the primary goal, obviously education is going to suffer. And when it comes to many of these universities, it has.

Institutions like the University of Phoenix are basically run like a corporation. If we're wondering where the neoliberalization of the universities is taking us, this is a good place to get a good glimpse of the future. On the plus side, this means that they are able to make quicker decisions, focus on innovation, and achieve a sort of nimbleness that we won't usually find in the traditional university systems (with their thick bureaucracies). But the downside of running a university like a corporation is, well, that you're running it like a corporation. This means that making money is the ultimate goal, despite the fact that education is supposed to be the primary mission.

They key part of that sentence is "supposed to be." Education you ask?  What?  Sorry, the for-profit folks can't hear you over the barrage of noise coming from their overworked (and very friendly) telephone recruiters.

Here's a basic rundown of some of the characteristics of for-profit education. First, they are not held back by the brick and mortar mentality of traditional universities. These universities still have buildings and campuses, but not in the way that many four year universities are set up. Many of the University of Phoenix campuses, for example, are conveniently located near major freeways. Second, there is no tenure system. If teachers aren't performing, they aren't going to get another contract. Third, the administration makes a lot of money (this was openly admitted on Frontline). Fourth, tuition at these universities is VERY expensive (about twice what students pay at traditional universities). Fifth, from a business and marketing perspective, these universities are incredibly successful. They are making money, no doubt about that. And finally, as is clearly stated on Frontline, the Federal financial aid system is the "lifeblood" of these universities, and accreditation is key to getting those funds.

The problem? Well, the problem is that all of the marketing and moneymaking does not necessarily translate to a good education, and this has lead to numerous lawsuits, including this one. And more recently, this one.

Many of these for-profit universities make a lot of promises, and, despite all of the glitz, aren't really fulfilling them. Well, not to the students who pay them for education, but I am sure the shareholders aren't complaining. These institutions might be the epitome of the neoliberalization of education, in which all value hinges upon finance and money, rather than education. But the troubling practices are surely not limited to the for-profits of the world: similar philosophies are clearly finding their way into more "traditional" universities, especially since the economic meltdown of 2008-09. Traditional universities are certainly "for-profit" in their own right, depending on who you ask.  

I suppose University of Phoenix and its ilk give us a nice picture of what life will be like if and when we continue to head all the way down the neoliberal path. At least we know where we're going...to a place laden with tremendous debt, empty degrees, and plenty of litigation. Oh, and lots of profit, for some. So there's one option: we can take the university system full bore down the for-profit, privatized trail blazed so willingly by the U of Phoenix folks. We'll be in the hands of administrators like the former director of the University of Phoenix who, when asked about the purpose of education, said: 

I'm happy that there are places in the world where people sit down and think.  We need that.  But that's very expensive.  And not everybody can do that.  So for the vast majority of folks who don't get that privilege, then I think it's a business [cited in Delbanco 2012 and the Frontline episode].

And there you have it.  The choice is ours.  What side will you pick?

***

For this issue we have contributions from Francine Barone, Erin Taylor, Keith Hart, Tazin Karim, Patrick Bigger & Victor Kappeler, and Greg Downey.  I think Francine sums up the underlying theme of the issue quite well in her essay when she writes: "There are a few competing perspectives, but mostly everyone is on the same page: A lot of things suck in our professional lives and we should really figure out a way to do something about it."  Nailed it.

Please read, pass this around, comment, and find your own way to keep the conversation going.  That's a good first step toward eradicating the "suck" from academia.

R.A.

References

Delbanco, Andrew.  2012.  College: What it Was, Is, and Should Be.  Princeton University Press.  Kindle e-book version.

Introduction: The not so forgotten peninsula

The above image is an aerial of the coastline of San Jose del Cabo in Baja California Sur.  Look closely at the parcel of land in the middle of the image.  To me, it is one of the most interesting, and emblematic, pieces of land in the whole Los Cabos Corridor.  It is a public access point, surrounded by an ever-growing jungle of coastline-blocking tourism resorts.  Notice the informal pathways that weave throughout.  And the two lines of palapas on the beach.  They were created for public use, unlike the large swaths of privatized coastal land, which has been cordoned off to create "exclusive" spaces.  And then there's this small bit of land, just sitting there: informal and open.  At least, in practice.  

I don't really know the official histories of this piece of land.  What I know of this place comes from experience.  You can enter on the south side.  The entrance itself is rough--you have to choose just the right path so you don't bounce around too much in your vehicle.  Of course, you can always walk in as well.  Many people park on the small access road that runs parallel to the adjacent hotel (on the left side).  If you look closely you can see vehicles parked near the entrance (at the top) and down by the beach (looks like there are 3-4 cars there).  In the central part of this piece of land, someone runs a business renting horses for tourists to ride on the beach.  The first time I saw this place, I was fascinated.  And it left me wondering: How did this fragment of the past somehow escape the fate of so much of the surrounding coastal land?

What's hard to see in the above image is the dramatic contrast between this parcel of land and the surrounding resorts.  The hotel on the left (to the south) is a massive u-shaped structure that swallows up the viewshed in its effort to capture the coastline for guests.  So many little rooms, all facing the ultimate commodity in this area: an ocean view.  This is what has transformed the formerly worthless coastlines of Baja California Sur into prime real estate.  Thinking about things this way, it's easy to understand why hotels are built the way they are, like massive amphitheaters that open themselves to the blue sea and white sand.  These factories of tourism experience are literally built to squeeze every possible dollar out of each bit of land.

Maybe this is why I find that open piece of land so fascinating: it persists.  I don't know how or why, but it has survived the geographic, economic, and architectural overlay of large-scale tourism development.  Its a remnant, a holdover of the days when the coast of Baja California Sur was part of the "forgotten peninsula" that Joseph Wood Krutch famously wrote about so long ago.  Clearly, this place is anything but forgotten these days, as the expanding tourism network attests.  The Baja Peninsula is no longer some backwater, some distant place, some geographic unknown.  It's on the radar, and year after year more and more people are coming here to live, work, vacation, invest, develop, and shape the landscape.  The irony of course is that many travelers found their way to Baja to escape the overdevelopment, crowds, and pollution of places like Las Vegas and Los Angeles.  What remains to be seen, however, is whether the forces of development will simply remake the peninsula into another overdeveloped urban blight, or if there's still time--and the political will--to forge another path.

This issue of anthropologies explores some of the many facets of the Baja California peninsula--past and present--through our latest selection of essays.  This month we have contributions from Don Laylander, Dawn Pier, Pamela Weiant, Shane Macfarlan, Marissa Shaver, and George Bergin (who has contributed a non-fiction essay and a short fiction story).  Since my research is in Baja California Sur, I included one of my recent essays as well. Thanks everyone for taking part.  Enjoy, and as always please feel free to post any reactions, thoughts, or comments.

R.A.

Introduction: Page 17 and then some

What is political ecology? Anyone who has read about the formation of this thing we call “political ecology” has undoubtedly seen more than one reference to Blaikie and Brookfield’s oft-cited passage on the seventeenth page of the groundbreaking text Land Degradation and Society. They write: “The phrase ‘political ecology’ combines the concerns of ecology and a broadly defined political economy. Together this encompasses the constantly shifting dialectic between society and land-based resources, and also within classes and groups within society itself” (1987:17).

That passage captures some of the key components of political ecology research: the attempt to merge ecological and political-economic concerns, along with a focus on the dialectical tensions between nature and society. It’s a pretty good place to begin the search for understanding what political ecology is all about. But where to continue? Where to go from here?

In November 2011, the University of Kentucky Political Ecology Working Group posed the question I ask above on their website: What is political ecology? They received a number of answers. I want to share a couple of examples here, just to get the definitional ball rolling. Graham Pickren (University of Georgia Department of Geography) writes:

For me, political ecology is an epistemology that builds on the environmental justice focus on the relationship between social inequality and environmental harm, but broadens that focus to examine environmental injustices not as discrete events, but as historical and geographical processes shaped by asymmetrical relationships of power.

Pryanka Ghosh from the University of Kentucky writes that political ecology “is a story (could be coherent or could be fragmented) which should be talked by maintaining the words or voices of people on whom we researchers are largely dependent for our writing.” Lisa Marika Jokivirta, from the University of Jyväskylä in Finland, makes a similar case, with a critical addendum. “[T]he real potential of political ecology” she writes, “ lies not only in critically engaging with the many unequal power relations in this world, but also in actively helping to give voice to those who have previously been left unheard. But, the crucial question remains: in whose language, on whose terms?”

Eric Nost (U of Kentucky, geography) compares political ecology to “King Kong” - romping, as it does, through the halls of academia to take on enemies such as neo-Malthusianism. The UC Santa Cruz Political Ecology Working Group compares PE to crème broulé, of all things: “Initially, it is challenging to break the shell of it, but once you do, it is filled with rich possibilities…and a growing tool-kit from which to exegetically explore and conceptualize the human-nature nexus.”

I really like this tool analogy. For me, political ecology is not some movement, theory, or “camp” to follow. I personally don’t “believe” in political ecology any more than I do political economy, actor network theory, or a hammer for that matter. As the UC Santa Cruz folks argue, it is indeed a took-kit: something to be put to use. Political ecology is not a church, or a club, or some group that meets every Wednesday night to talk about “the environment” and then goes home to regularly scheduled programming. It’s not a slogan, that’s what I’m saying. It is a set of ideas, practices, methods and, yes, tools that can be brought to bear upon serious contemporary issues.

We need tools, ideas, and frameworks for addressing complex, if not ridiculously recurrent, human-environment problems and conflicts. For me, at least, it’s a tool that has been forged, refined, and employed by various craftspeople that have come before us—from Wolf and the late Alexander Cockburn to more recent smiths such as Lisa Gezon and Paul Robbins. It’s a tool that I want to pick up and use to smash some things (like certain arguments about “objective” views of nature or development). So I see where Nost was going with the whole King Kong thing. But it’s also tool for tuning up, for adjustments, recalibrations. Political ecology is good for smashing, but yes, also for building, documenting, collaborating, and moving forward. This is what Paul Robbins called the “Hatchet and the seed” approach to political ecology (see Robbins 2004:1-16). The question, in the end is this: What we are going to do with these tools we have at hand? When do we swing the hatchet, and when do we sow some seeds?

***

This collection of essays is yet another foray into the world of political ecology: what it means to different practitioners, where it has been, and where they want to take it. We have contributions from Brian Grabbatin & Patrick Bigger, Cat Nelson, Thomas Loder, Douglas Larose, Janna Lafferty, Jerry Zee, and finally Jairus Rossi. Thanks to all of the editors for helping to put this issue together—and welcome Lydia Roll and Jeremy Trombley as the newest members of the anthropologies editorial team. Thanks everyone for all of your editing, suggestions, and ideas for this issue!  We also have some scheduling announcements for the anthropologies project: Starting with this issue, we have decided to publish issues bi-monthly, which will give us a chance to devote more time to each issue.  We think this change will help us to push this little project in some new--and better--directions.  I hope you enjoy these essays, and as always: don’t be shy about posting your comments, thoughts, reflections, disagreements, and opinions. Feedback and dialogue are what this is all about, so don’t hesitate to join in the fray. Thanks for checking out anthropologies.*

R.A.

*Updated on 9/10/12 to add Jairus Rossi's essay, which was omitted due to an editorial error.

References

Blaikie, Piers, and Harold Brookfield.  1987.  Land Degradation and Society.  London: Methuen.

Robbins, Paul.  2004.  Political Ecology. Malden: Blackwell Publishing.

Introduction: Kinship in these times

Discarded backpack and photographs, Anza-Borrego desert, 2006.

Closeup of photographs from above, 2006.

I took these two photographs during the summer of 2006.  Back then I was working on a large Cultural Resource Management archaeological project in the deserts east of San Diego, California.  On this particular day it was brutally hot and we were doing some survey work just a few miles from the US-Mexico border.  It's a corridor where thousands of people risk their lives to cross those harsh deserts in search of economic stability for themselves and their families back home (in Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, etc).  Take a close look at the two images above.  When I walked up, there was this backpack sitting out in the middle of nowhere.  There were no other people around beside the crew I was working with.  No signs of what happened.  Just these personal items strewn on the desert pavement. 

The discarded backpack is suggestive enough, but the plastic sleeved photographs laying alongside are particularly disheartening.  What happened here?  The fact that the photos were not yet faded by the desert sun and heat means whatever took place here had not happened long before.  It was a faily recent event.  Someone crossed that massive border, shouldering this small backpack with these images of children as reminders of family back home.  Why were these things left behind?  Were they simply forgotten?  Did the person suddenly have to run?  Were they apprehended by officials whose job it is to protect the political line in the sand known as the United States border?

It was six years ago that I took these photographs, while I was out looking for evidence of human occupation from much earlier time periods.  These two images still have a sad, haunting feel about them...mostly because of the implications of the abandoned images of loved ones.  Someone took a terrible risk because of limited socio-economic options, and all they had to remind them of the most important things in life--like family--were a few two dimensional photographic approximations of kin relations back home.  For people who find themselves trapped in the grist mill of the global economy, family and kinship ties are often what motivate people to take incredible risks...and also what they hold on to when they are far from home.  And whenever I look at these images I always wonder what happened, and if the person who once wore this backpack ever found a way back to the faces depicted in those photographs.

This issue is about kinship in the 21st century, a theme that has been around in anthropology from the start.  It's a classic component of anthropology, true, but also something that is every bit as relevant today as it was 100 years ago--especially considering the current global economy, debates over cultural norms, and the politics of reproduction and sex.  This month we have essays by Shannon Perry, Diana Patterson, Veronica Miranda, and yours truly.  Thanks for having a look, and feel free to post your comments and thoughts.

R.A.

Introduction: Anthropologies of Access

Open Access is by no means a new issue in academia, let alone anthropology.  Just take some time to peruse the archives of Savage Minds if you have any doubts that it's been a subject of debate and contention for quite a while.  So what's this Open Access (OA) thing all about?  Why does it matter?  For starters, check here.  Then, have a look at this.  For some reason, OA seems to drift in and out of the collective attention span of the anthropological crowd...but it is once again creeping its way into more and more conversations lately.  In many ways, anthropology is fairly behind the times when it comes to OA, and we could pick up a thing or two from others (like the mathematicians; see this for example).  We just have to be open to learning, listening, and thinking creatively when it comes to writing, publishing, and sharing  anthropology.  At heart, this whole OA issue is about how we communicate anthropology, and who we want to let in on the conversation.  Are we only interested in talking to ourselves?  Then, rest assured, nothing needs to change.  But if we are truly vested in making our ideas accessible to wider audiences--including our anthropological colleagues who happen to find themselves outside of the system--it might indeed be time to rethink a few things.

***

Back in 2009 Tom Boellstorff, Editor in Chief of the American Anthropological Association's flagship journal American Anthropologist, penned a short introductory piece called "Access."  It's a pithy piece that gets to the heart of some of the key issues that we face if we are going to really think about moving more toward OA anytime soon.  Boellstorff brings up some really critical points, so I am going to quickly summarize his argument.  He basically raises three major points.  Here are my paraphrased versions of those points:

1) OA is something that everyone can agree on

2) Let's not oversimplify the issues

3) Seriously folks, we need to cooperate and collaborate to make this happen

Boellstorff's first main point is basically that we're all in the same boat with this whole OA/publishing issue.  He argues that "the philosophy of making anthropological content as widely read and accessible as possible is supported by all anthropologists" (2009:1).  He also makes the case that most anthropologists will more than likely agree that we have an "ethical imperative" to find a way to make our research accessible to as many people as possible.  I am not sure what the vast majority of anthropologists out there think, but it seems reasonable to assume they would be on board with OA in principle.  Boellstorff does, however, point out that while the internet is a great tool for fostering access, there are still serious gaps in access even in places where the internet is pervasive (i.e. in the so-called developed world).  So establishing OA isn't simply about making the internet global.  He rightly points out that there are many people in the "developed" world who are left out of the scholarly access loop, and this includes researchers who don't have a university affiliation, institutions that cannot afford to pay for access to expensive journals, and of course members of the broader public (2009:1).

The second key point Boellstorff brings up: Don't oversimplify the issues and pretend that it's a simple fix.  This is the pragmatists point, and it's worth keeping in mind.  There is a lot of idealism floating around out there when it comes to OA, so sometimes a good serving of reality helps ground things a bit.  Reality is good.  The main point of this section of Boellstorff's essay is that publishing isn't free, and that OA isn't free either.  So any shift to OA policies is going to have to actually account for costs in order to be a viable and sustainable system.  The OA pixies aren't going to come wandering out of the magical forest and make this happen...it's going to take some work.  Boellstorff is definitely correct when he says that the costs issues should "give us pause" (2009:2).  But he also includes a great quote by Peter Suber, and I am going to share the last part of that quote right here and right now:

The question is not whether scholarly literature can be made costless, but whether there are better ways to pay the bills than by charging readers and creating access barriers (Suber 2007 in Boellstorff 2009:2).

Which brings us to Boellstorff's last point about OA: Let's work together.  His position is this: "because of all these complexities, it will prove crucial in the next years to foster greater collaborative engagement between associations, publishers, and anthropologists" (2009:2).  I agree, but the fact that this was written back in 2009 makes me wonder: What happened?  Also, what happens if one of these three groups isn't willing to work to find a solution?  Then what?  Still, I think that Boellstorff is right in principle about the idea of collaboration and cooperation, although it's obviously easier said than done.  He also makes an excellent point about the AAA itself when he reminds readers that it's certainly not a faceless, monstrous, Kafka-esque bureaucracy (my words); it's actually a "small group of hard-working staff" (2009:2).  Good to keep in mind--let's not dehumanize the process, folks.  Boellstorff ends his piece on a pretty collegial, positive, and encouraging note.  He says that it was a good step for the AAA to work to push the older content of American Anthropologist and Anthropology News into Open Access (he's right), but that people basically need to find ways to work together and take the next step.  I agree, especially about the "next step" part.  He was right then, in 2009, and the point stands today.  Part of the issue, I suppose, is the fact that his point still stands...three years later.  So what are we going to do about it?   

***

In a broad sense, this issue is about the question of access--to public space, and to what might be called the academic commons (which we all work to create).  When the editorial team of anthropologies came up with the idea of doing a combined issue on the Occupy movements and Open Access, I have to admit that I was wondering how I could relate those two issues in a short introduction.  But, the connections are there.  What is the whole Occupy movement really all about?  What were people trying to do?  At heart, I'd say that those movements and protests were about voicing frustrations.  Frustrations with not only the big, abstract global economy--but also the local economies and politics that affect people in their day to day lives.  People knew--especially after the market crash of 2008--that something was definitely amiss.  The "system" wasn't exactly working for them, and they wanted to do something about it.  Inequality is one of the key issues--as is power.  What concerned people, in essence, is that while they spend their lives working hard, they don't necessarily have access to the benefits of the massive political economy they are a part of.  Wall Street--and places like Washington, D.C.--were symbols of those power inequalities.  So what better way to stake your claim in the global financial system than to grab your tent and literally, well, occupy Wall Street?  

When it comes to academia, then, what's the equivalent of pitching a tent and making claims about the direction of our academic commons?  Do we need a protest?  Or some anthropological version of a General Assembly that will wake people up to make them realize that we might want to rethink the current state of affairs?  Maybe a website that focuses on Open Access in Anthropology (like this perhaps)?  A new organization?  A way to link existing organizations?  What, after all, can pull us all away from our laptops, grant proposals, articles, syllabi, and endless committees?  Anything?  There are issues to be dealt with: Who should have the right to access scholarly research?  Who owns it?  Who should control it?  No doubt, these questions matter--or they should matter to anyone who's paying attention.  So now what?  Do we all just go back to our routines and accept the status quo as some unchangeable reality?  Do we wait another three years?  What do you think about all this?  Ideas welcome.

***

By focusing on both the Occupy movement and the question of Open Access, this issue of anthropologies seeks to address some of these questions, to explore some of the relationships between these two broad themes, and (hopefully) to create a space for continued dialog and reflection.  The comments sections, as always, are there for you (the readers) to fill in the blanks that we missed.  Don't be shy--participation and feedback are what really make this online thing interesting.

In this issue we have essays by Barbara Fister, Daniel Lende, Laurence Cuelenaere (a photo essay), Kim Fortun and Mike Fortun, Jason Baird Jackson, Doug Rocks-Macqueen, and Kyle Schmidlin.  There's also an extra piece in here from me that attempts to do a kind of quick review of some of the anthropological responses to the Occupy Wall Street movement.  Thanks everyone for taking part!  I also want to sent out a quick thanks to Tom Boellstorff for pointing me to his 2009 piece on Access.  As usual, thanks to all the editors for your continued help and support with this sometimes daunting project.

R.A.

References

Boellstorff, Tom.  2009.  Access.  American Anthropologist Vol 111(1):1-4.

Suber, Peter.  2007.  Open Access Overview: Focusing on Open Access to Peer-Reviewed Research Articles and Their Preprints.

Introduction: Development and other stories

I recently drove the entire length of the Baja California peninsula in two days. The main highway, which was completed in the early 1970s, is like an incredibly complicated, sometimes tragic, and sometimes beautiful plot line that weaves its way through numerous stories of “development.” Starting in Tijuana, and ending up in a place like Cabo San Lucas, well, there’s a lot happening in between those two positions on the geographic map. A lot of money, a lot of conflict, and a lot of different ideas about what development is supposed to mean.  Memories, histories, hopes, desires.  All branching out along this one, long, asphalt medium of ideas and actions.  Development efforts--from the worst laid plans of Donald Trump to the ecotourism projects all around the peninsula--are deeply connected with this one road.  Development runs a wide gamut, and it means many things.

What are we supposed to do, after all, with a term that can refer to anything from conservation and supposed “sustainable development” all the way to the creation of an insane water sucking desert city like Las Vegas? I have read my fair share of anthropological theory about development, but I will still admit that I find the whole concept quite elusive, if not outright confusing. It means everything—and of course that translates to it meaning almost nothing at all. Some people want development because it promises things like jobs, new roads, better water management, better communication systems—a whole range of possibilities. But then, some people want development because they are in a good position to make a quick buck, peso, Euro or two. Nothing wrong with that on the surface—it all depends.

That’s why the study of development is such a massive and seemingly impossible endeavor. Although some people find it easy to line up on either the “pro-development” or the “anti-development” or even the “beyond development” front, I don’t see any clear territorial position to really hold on to. As anthropologists such as Keith Hart make pretty clear, there are people all around the world who are actively seeking many of the benefits that come along with that ubiquitous process known as development. In my own fieldwork, which is about the politics of development in Baja California Sur, people have some pretty complex views about development. It's not just some simple for or against proposition. Some of the same people who are fighting hard for certain conservation movements will also readily tell you that they do indeed want jobs and opportunities. They want development, but a particular kind. Mostly, they want a say in how everything plays out.

Many people have asked me about my research, and one of the first questions is whether or not I am for or against development. I think this is an impossible question—if not a complete red herring. What I am interested in—whether we are talking about impending development in my home town, Mexico, or anywhere else in the world—is learning about the specific stories of the people who are dealing with these changes, and how their desires, rights, and hopes are being affected by the those massive social, political, economic, and cultural networks we like to subsume under the seemingly simple moniker, “development."  Anthropology, it turns out, is pretty well placed to just that.  We just have to get to it--and then communicate what we learn broadly, effectively, and creatively.  Because none of it matters if nobody every hears what we have to say.  Another obscure article in another BIG IMPORTANT JOURNAL locked behind a ridiculous paywall isn't going to get us anywhere.  You know where I'm going with this.  Communication and dialog matter.

This issue takes on the complex beast that is development through another selection of unique essays. We have contributions from Hsain Ilahiane & John Sherry, Chad Huddleston, Agustin Diz, Fred Radenbach & Sabina Rossignoli, Jason Roberts, and Eric Nost. We are also grateful to have a selection of photographs from photographer Elizabeth Moreno, who I want to thank for letting us share her work on anthropologies. Another great issue. Thanks everyone for taking part—and thanks to all the anthropologies editors for putting up with all my emails, questions, and updates. As ever, don’t be shy about commenting, sharing links, or even sending us an email if you’re interested in taking part in future issues. We are open to ideas and suggestions. Thanks!

R.A.

PS: Next’s month’s edition is going to be a double issue that takes on the behemoth of the Occupy movements/protests AND the whole fiasco over open access and publishing that’s going down with SOPA, PIPA, and the RWA. Considering the American Anthropological Association’s latest statement about these matters, well, I’m hoping next month’s issue will spark some interest. If you want to take part, send me an email: anthropologiesproject [at] gmail DOT com. Over and out.

Introduction: Beyond Words

Anthropologist photographing tourist photographing the spring equinox at Chichen Itza.  March 2010.

I have this thing about taking pictures of people who are taking pictures.  This goes back to the days before I ever called myself an anthropologist.  It's not a really unique habit--I think I may have picked it up from looking at the work of people like Eliot Erwitt, or maybe Garry Winogrand.  It could have been Lee Friedlander.  I'm not sure.

What I am sure about, however, is that I find the whole process of taking pictures fascinating.  Why do people take cameras with them...seemingly everywhere?  What do they get from the whole process of making small reproductions of people, places, and events?  These kinds of questions apply to tourists like the one pictured above, of course.  That image reminds me of a passage in Don Delillo's book White Noise, in which he talks about the most photographed barn in America.  Do we go to these places to actually see and experience those places?  Or to make photographs of them and paste them into albums--or onto sites like Facebook and Flickr?  Do we see the actual place, or do we just see the cameras in front of our faces?  Have cameras (whether SLR's or iPhones) become a key medium for experiencing, documenting, and remembering people and places?

Anthropologists use cameras as well, and many of the same questions that apply to tourists apply to them as well.  Remember how Vine Deloria famously painted that infamous picture of the anthropologist and all of the gear they carry around?  One of the key items, of course, was the camera strapped around the anthropological neck.  The relationship between anthropology and photography goes way back..and so does the relationship between anthropology and film.  Despite certain practitioners who spend most of their time thinking about the importance of WORDS in the disciplinary canon, it's pretty clear that visual media has always been a fundamental element of the anthropological enterprise.  

Interestingly, however, while many theory and methods books spend a lot of time talking about participant observation, writing fieldnotes, coding, interviews, and a whole slew of other methods, there isn't always a lot of talk about visual methods as a core part of doing anthropology.  Well, there isn't enough, if you ask me.  Thankfully, people like Jay Ruby, Sarah Pink, Fadwa El Guindi, Paul Hockings, Elizabeth Edwards and many, many others have laid tremendously important foundations that others can build upon.  Because, if you ask me, anthropologists--more anthropologists--should start thinking as much about visual media as they do about writing fieldnotes.  Why?  Well, because communication of ideas should be a crucial element of anthropology, and if visual methods and theory and methods become a more prominent part of anthropological training this will undoubtedly be a boon to the field.  For more than one reason.

Photography matters.  Film matters.  And this is why I have really been looking forward to this issue that seeks to talk about anthropology "Beyond Words" (to make a nice allusion to something that Margaret Mead said long ago).  As it turns out, this issue is packed with contributions that cover a wide swath of visual territory.  We have contributions from Colleen Morgan, Reuben Ross, David Picard, Katie Englert, Sara Perry, Kerim Friedman, Charlotte Noble, Rian Davis, and Leah McCurdy.  We also have a fantastic photo essay by a photographer that I really admire: w robert angell.  He is not an anthropologist, but I have found his work immensely fascinating and anthropological on many levels (his "contents" image, included in this essay, always has a kind of archaeological feel to it for me).  I am also really pleased to have his work in this issue because I think that anthropologists can learn a lot from photographers, journalists, and filmmakers--and vice versa.  There is something good about looking around and seeing how different people use, think about, and approach the world around us.  That's what I think.  Let me know what you think--and thanks for checking out this latest issue of anthropologies.  Thanks also to the anthropologies editorial crew for all of their continued help, and of course to all of the contributors who took part in this collaborative effort.  Thanks everyone.

R.A.

PS: Check out the "Best of 2011" page as well!!

Introduction: Anthropologies of the Middle East

There are many reasons why anthropological perspectives on the Middle East matter.  One of those reasons is simply the fact that people like the late Samuel Huntington have managed to influence quite a lot of people, who buy into the whole idea that the problems that exist between "the west" and some countries in the Middle East stem from some sort of deep, ingrained cultural difference between the respective people who inhabit these massive regions (and never mind the fact that many people from both places cross these boundaries all the time).  The whole clash of cultures idea is based upon so many assumptions and stereotypes it's almost mind-numbing.  What's even more amazing is how many politicians (and their respective followers) accept--and eagerly promote--broad stereotypes about people in the Middle East, often for political reasons.  This was all too apparent in the United States after 9/11, and the trend continues.  

Far too many people think about the Middle East as this massive block of people who all act and think alike.  This was one of the reasons why I wanted to have an issue dedicated to the Middle East.  Anthropology can challenge some of the dominant narratives about places like the Middle East, and help to contribute to a deeper understanding of current events in the region.  Anthropologists can also help to provide some perspectives that differ from the 20 second clip news depictions of the Middle East that tend to dominate many networks.  There is, after all, much more to the Middle East than the latest (limited) news about the ongoing war in Afghanistan.  

Of course, anthropologists aren't the end all be all when it comes to the Middle East.  All of this is more about encouraging more investigation and conversation--and any good conversation will have it's share of disagreements.  When it comes to the Middle East, there is certainly disagreement among anthropologists...but that's part of what makes things interesting.  In some cases, anthropologists end up combating the ideas that came from their own ranks (see this link for a good example).  In others, they are deeply divided about their role in contemporary politics (check this link for starters).  Overall, though, I think that anthropologists have a tremendous amount of knowledge and experience to bring to the table when it comes to trying to understand the contemporary Middle East.  This latest issue of anthropologies is one small selection.

This issue features articles from Diane King, Mark Allen Peterson, Lydia Roll, Emily McKee, Gabriella Djerrahian, Christine Smith, Tim Frank, and Nomi Stone.  Thanks to everyone for taking part in this project, and in helping to put this issue together.  An extra thanks goes out to Veronica Miranda and Sarah Williams, whose help has been invaluable in keeping this whole online project rolling along!  Especially this month!