Passing Through

I’m in my last 30 or so hours here, and my sadness is increasing by the moment. Though it’s nice to head homeward before feeling “finished” with this place, I know I leave many a stone unturned. I’m also a bit haunted by an offhand comment made by a researcher during a presentation I attended here. She presented material from a project she is doing on black lesbians with HIV, the vast majority of whom contracted it as the result of rape. She discussed some of the challenges of doing “insider” research, particularly on such a heavy topic, becoming embedded in communities where there is such great need (emotional/psychological, but also material), forging bonds and friendships with women only to watch some of them die. She described the psychic toll such work took on her, her need to stop doing the interviews for six months at one point, to heal from what she’d already experienced.

Despite the heaviness of her material, she also has a congenial nature and seemed at ease in the front of a room. As she was discussing these things, she motioned to the front row, where I was sitting, and joked, “When you’re Tey from New York, you just come, take get you want and leave.” There was nervous laughter in the room- by that point, many in attendance knew me and the work I’ve been doing here. My stomach dropped. I felt both embarrassed and sad. Because, on some level, though I know the comment was made without anger or even ill feeling, (I know the speaker, have spoken with her many times,) I also know she’s right.

This is not unconnected to my thoughts on poverty tourism. What does it mean that I can come here, interview activists and lawyers, collect my “data” and escape to my comfortable liberal urban life in New York? How does that fact feel for the people I’ve met here? I admit to reassuring more than one person of my imminent return, as it has become increasingly clear that some of the resistance to my presence (or mild “hazing”) I endured toward the beginning of my time here, was a direct result of individual people’s experiences of western researchers coming here, extracting people’s stories and leaving, often to publish work in which people feel used or misrepresented, often never to return.

There are a few ways I’ve confronted some of these questions in my time here. For now, all of my interview subjects hold positions at regarded NGOs, and though they did speak autobiographically with me, they did so, for the most part, in their “official” capacities. I stayed clear of questions that seek to elicit traumatic personal memories, though I received such information in small bits through the stories I heard. In everything I’ve done here, I’ve tried to be open to forging relationships with whomever I can, but also constantly cognizant of my status as “outsider,” and outsider with rapidly emptying hourglass…

And so, in my last day and a half here, I’m really wishing I knew when I could return. Not just because my “work” remains very unfinished, but because, as I’ve interrogated my place here, as I’ve talked to dozens of people, and forged nascent friendships with a few, I’ve come to realize that I don’t want to be a “researcher” who visits this place, leaves, writes, moves on and never returns. Something about this place, its fragility, the people I’ve met, leaves a deep imprint on me- and I’m in no way finished engaging with it or them- or with these issues of who I am in this place and best I can negotiate that.

I’m unsure what to do with the blog once I return home. I may use it to help me formulate thoughts or observations on my experiences over the past six weeks. I may just save it for my next journey here, whenever that may be. Any suggestions?

Marx on Cell Phones?

First, an explanation why I’m not sharing details about my research itself: I’ve really only just begun, and it's hard to see any forest beyond the trees right now. But more than that, the research I’ve done so far has been pretty intense for me- both because of its content and because of the inevitable insecurities that accompany a first trip into “the field.” I’m not sure I really want to broadcast any of that at this point- though for those who are interested to receive a few small details privately, email me. Suffice it to say that the richness of my experience thus far proves difficult to articulate, even in my own reflective writing.

So, I’ll divert back to sharing the interesting tidbits of consumer culture here. First, absolutely everyone has a cell phone here. EVERYONE. Many people without much money buy very (by US standards) inexpensive phones (a baseline model can cost as little as $20.) The two main cell brands have pay-as-you-go plans, where if you have any money on your phone at all, incoming calls are free and sms messages (texts) cost very little if anything. So, not only are cell phones ubiquitous, but the culture around them is extremely permissive. First of all, it is typical for someone to either pick up their cell or answer an sms in the middle of dinner, an interview, a serious conversation, walking down the street- anytime. And I’ve had more than one person display annoyance when I wasn’t immediately available for consultation. (I am actually deeply ambivalent about cell phones and often ignore mine if I’m not anticipating a call.)

Shortly before coming here, I was reading an interesting series of online postings by friends who, for political reasons, have refused to purchase cell phones. It’s a pretty compelling Marxist argument- that the privatization of communication technology basically creates a situation where it becomes compulsory to own a cell phone. (For example, if all your friends ditch their land lines and you’re traveling and staying with them, nobody can reach you; if cities stop tending to public phones, that creates security risks for folks without their own phones.) My friend Dean has argued persuasively about how poor people really shoulder the burden of this new “need.” (For an old-ish version of his ideas about cellies, check this out.)

So, I’m trying to work through how/if South Africa fits into this model. I feel like one could argue it either way: We might say that the Marxist analysis maps neatly onto Africa- or anywhere for that matter. I suppose another way to look at it, however, is that now, in places with little or no electrical infrastructure, people can now communicate. And whatever deal the phone companies cut with Motorola produced inexpensive and widely available technology (expense, of course, always being relative to what one has). Some take this idea to the extreme and argue that cell phone technology actually itself helps people by creating new economic opportunities for people who might not otherwise have them. (See, for example, this article. I'm not sure I'm buying that, though.) What do you all think???

In the meantime, it hasn’t escaped me that the place where I’m staying has two land lines- one in the “landlord’s” house and one in the “cottage” I’m renting- and neither works well. (They both ring intermittently throughout the day and night, if they’re plugged in.) Apparently, the phone company needs to come replace much of the neighborhood wiring- but shockingly, they’re not doing it. Connection?

What is a "researcher" anyway?

So, I know I’ve already posted a about the scary discourse around violence in Johannesburg, but I feel I need to revisit the topic in light of my first few days actually being here. (Any, by the way, I’m certain my daily blogging will wane a bit in the coming days, as my course begins on Tuesday and I hope to actually start my interviewing shortly thereafter).

So, it isn’t only Americans who talk incessantly about safety issues. It feels like everyone here is in constant dialogue about what they have experienced, what they’ve heard has happened recently in their neighborhoods, in the neighborhoods of friends and colleagues, to people they know and people who know people they know. I feel as if I’ve spent my first two days here bearing witness to overwhelming anxiety about the risks people perceive to be a fact of everyday life here. At the same time, nobody talks explicitly about being frightened. It’s the proverbial elephant in the room. They certainly own their experience – talking about “my mugging” or “my smash and grab” (when someone breaks your car window to snatch a purse or bag lying on a seat). But the fear seems to get externalized in this really interesting series of warnings and observations.

For example, it seems like everyone here has a different theory about who are the most likely targets- and that theory is often based on their own location. South Africans will tell you you’re more likely to be targeted if you look foreign, if you stick out. Americans will tell you it is Africans who are more at risk. White people tell you it’s blacks. Lots of folks think it's about being the wrong sort of person in the wrong sort of neighborhood. It also seems to be one of two ready conversations with which to greet strangers- the other, of course, being Rugby. (Joburg itself almost shut down the other night, because there was a match on. Something tells me I'll know a lot more about the game by the time I leave!)

Anyway, my new IHRE colleague Tim made an interesting observation – this obsession about where not to go has become another version of the apartheid era idea of group areas. Though not solely structured by race now, there is this keen sense that certain people belong in certain parts of the city, and that there will be penalties for crossing over into the “wrong” territory.

So, tonight I feel confused about what it means to be a "researcher" in another culture. Does it mean maintaining this observant eye, which feels at times voyeuristic? In bearing witness to the fear of others, I'm also present, and attempting to negotiate my own feelings of anxiety over what I'm hearing. At moments, I feel hopelessly like a stupid American tourist, who just happens to have some sense she is here doing something work-like. As the NYLONers will no doubt perceive, I'm having little trouble "locating the researcher in the research;" perhaps, I'm still at work on locating the research outside the researcher...

An aside: I’m also experiencing the reality of my disability in a harsh, harsh way. For those of you who know me well, you know that the day-to-day reality of my life in NYC is quite navigable for me. Here, it’s a whole different ballgame. I’m utterly and completely dependent on others, because I can neither walk nor take public transport. And so, I’m in this constant state of confession about my vision, my limitations. And it feels burdensome, and people don’t understand. It has been a long while since I’ve felt this way…