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[happymealhegemony-blog]

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If we allow ourselves a more flexible working definition of diaspora, perhaps an answer may come more clearly into focus, regarding the causes and effects of diaspora. In my last post I examined the nature of local borders—how they come about, and why, and where. And in light of the emphasis made in Teju Cole’s Open City on the city scape and its daunting effects, perhaps urban borders deserve a second examination. 

The audio attached above was recorded in New Orleans, Louisiana. Specifically, it was recorded as I walked one block down an alley street, one block down the infamous party-centered Bourbon Street, and then one block back down an alley.

The sonic border of amplitude is most notable when listening. There is quiet, and then there is not, and then it returns.  But beyond that, what other borders can be heard? As you listen, you will hear drums. There is an interesting law in New Orleans, specific to this street: you cannot beg, but you can perform for tips. And so what many of the homeless do (most of whom, notably, are kids), is beat on a paint bucket with a drum stick and put a jar for tips before them. The result is an endless racket. The moment they stop drumming, they can be arrested. Desperation bleeds into their rhythms. It is a tired beat, like that of a war drum. 

Second, bouncers at bars can be heard shouting, advertising what they have inside (drinks, women), and announcing who is allowed to enter (21+, those who can afford a cover charge). 

All of this made me think of a recent article by Allison Arieff for the NYTimes titled, “Designing a More Inclusive City”. 

It may be found here: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/20/opinion/designing-inclusive-cities.html?_r=0

In this article, Arieff describes the “weaponry” used in San Francisco’s war on the visible homeless population. In the 1990′s, for example, all of the benches in the Civic Center Plaza were removed. There is no longer any place for people to sit, or, more importantly, sleep. And of course there are the same amount of homeless people. So where do they go? Enter the rise of tent cities. Tent cities abound in San Francisco, with the largest containing around 350 residents of the 6700 total homeless. Their diaspora is that of safe-place to safe-place, anywhere they can pitch their tents. But these places are disappearing. Prop Q, which was recently passed, banned the pitching of sidewalks on tents… San Francisco borders are like boa constrictors, always tightening… 

Where then, is there left to run to? Can you be a refugee in your own city? When there’s no place to find quiet, or no place to make money, or no place to sleep, well, then my answer is yes. 

Thoughts? 

[bananasinmybag-blog]

 I really loved your approach to localized borders here, and the use of the aural scenery augments it so well. Of course, being from New York, it reminds me of the borders that I cross and hear every day while walking around (or don’t hear if I consolidate my own borders with headphones), and it is telling to get to hear what this is like in another city. In New York, the city has been steadily cracking down on the homeless population for decades, particularly since the reign of Mayor Rudy Giuliani. I grew up observing the seemingly impenetrable border between the homeless and the housed, as each population appears to live in parallel worlds, rarely interacting. The homeless population isn’t as visible anymore (though there is still a devastating number), which makes me wonder if their own diaspora is towards the city’s own outer borders -- farther into the Bronx, Queens, Staten Island and Brooklyn. For such a tightly condensed city, it feels as if its own borders are constantly expanding -- of course a large part of this is due to gentrification and the expansion of places considered “livable” by the middle class as they move into areas that have comfortably housed residential communities for decades. Yet this also points to, as you mention, the diaspora of less privileged groups further and further into safe-places, forcing them to continually recreate them, expand their own borders, and keep abreast of the rampant near-colonialist expansion of white middle class NYC newcomers “discovering” their neighborhood, a force largely fueled in itself by globalization.

Attached is Giuliani golfing at a charity event on Trump Golf Links in the Bronx.

[bananasinmybag-blog]

paper direction

I have really enjoyed the discussions of the connections between postmodernism and the internet that we’ve been having, and would like to continue this direction in my paper. I think this most closely ties to Gomez-Peña’s work, and his own experimentation in depicting this relationship. It seems like Gomez-Peña in particular believes in the depthlessness of Turkle’s surfaces -- what borders we’ve constructed are, in many ways, truthless in the wake of globalization, and serve as mere surfaces for our historical imaginings of what borders can do or what they’re supposed to indicate. I think that his emphasis on different mediums of media and mistranslations is meant to drive this home, as his frantic combinations of all of the above distance the audience from an emphasis on their individual truths. Instead, they communicate an emphasis on the shifting state of things, and how this shifting state creates a kind of groundlessness that works towards negating our current definitions of borders and nationalities.  

[bananasinmybag-blog]

internet as globalization?

The internet is a powerful tool for globalization that has arguably sped up the process of globalization in our lived reality itself. As travel became faster, easier, and cheaper, and internet access simultaneously experienced the same, people experienced what I would argue are almost correlative expectations for time-space compression. It’s sort of like how people might react now if someone still uses a flip phone -- smart phones have become so cheap, ubiquitous, and accessible, why would you choose to move at a “slower” pace in terms of technological access? Why are you choosing to make your availability via email confined to when you are around a laptop or desktop computer? Why are you being selfish about the new standards of technology and technological access by refusing to engage with them, and by extension, with other people at the speed and frequency they expect?

This translates to globalized expectations of time and place. If I need you to be in Singapore by tomorrow morning for a crucial meeting, why can’t you be? There is hardly any barrier anymore between geographical places -- you step from one airport into another and can be in another country across the ocean by that next morning. In cutthroat business situations like these, it seems almost like a lack of dedication or seriousness if you refuse or claim you can’t do that. Of course, this is complicated by the very real borders that are still highly enforced, in some places more dangerously and competitively than others. But in theory, the hybridization that Gomez-Peña talks about is very real, and already the standard or expectation for locality. 

The internet makes this seem even more present. Because there are no borders on the internet -- and very few barriers in terms of access (beyond paid subscriptions, or the dark web) -- our experience of media, information, and even intellectualism moves at lightning speed and zigzags across the globe without us even knowing. The internet can seemingly get us anywhere in a matter of seconds, and no matter where you are, it all sort of looks the same -- “Every city looks like Tijuana on a Saturday night.” Partially because of the inordinate amount of time most people spend on the internet, our lived reality seems to rise to meet the expectations of our virtual reality. The internet is almost like a constant interpellation -- at all times, it demands not only engagement, but also promotes expectations of globalization that demand people to consider them the standard for their lived experiences.  

[dailyminimal]

#AU17-995

A new geometric design every day

[bananasinmybag-blog]

even better:

-cena, leo, isabella, wolf -- zeno’s paradox

[bananasinmybag-blog]

-cena, leo, isabella, wolf -- zeno’s paradox (?)

[milosussman2020-blog]

What does globalization in Oberlin look like? There are many ways in which Oberlin rejects a kind of globalization, especially in its landscape. Unlike places like Los Angeles, the landscape is terribly consistent in its flatness and seemingly only evocative of itself; it looks like Ohio here, and that to me is a rejection of aesthetic globalization. An easy establishment to attack would be the new Oberlin hotel and its restaurant as they bring in a homogenized idea of a fancy small town hotel for people passing through to receive a contained experience of Oberlin. Walking further south down Main St., I’m reminded of my friends father asking me about Oberlin. This is only relevant to someone who’s familiar with Los Angeles. I remember him asking me, “Isn’t it just Larchmont?” Larchmont being a quaint shopping street is central LA with no literal similarities to downtown Oberlin besides the pattern in which cars park on the street. However, this idea of Oberlin implanted in my friend’s father’s mind is reflective of how outsiders may have a globalized understanding of Oberlin. It is thought of as a space totally dominated by and catered to the needs of the student body. Making my way further south I continue to see this less and less. The Floral Shoppe, Mickey Mart, MLK Park, our town loses my friend’s father’s understanding and takes on a whole new version of the global. The sights and sounds begin to become more and more reminiscent of Northeast Ohio. Thirsty, I walk into CVS for a water. Here, I begin to see a dominant regulating force that is the overhead light that functions as a teleportation device. I rely on this place as much as anyone else who needs their prescription meds; the money goes to the same place as it would if I were picking up these meds back home. The charm of generalized downtown Oberlin has a consistent individuality, it is not Larchmont. Yet the establishments here have the ability to suspend my space-time awareness.

[bananasinmybag-blog]

I hadn’t thought before about a sort of gradation of globalization, like you mentioned. It’s true, the part of town closer to the college -- say as far south as Vine Street, to put a marker on it -- definitely has more of a homogenized feeling than the rest of the town, partially because that’s exactly what business owners that are catering to college students as well as the college itself is trying to do. “Here in the small town of Oberlin, you can still get a taste of anything you might want in New York City, Los Angeles, or Chicago! Third wave coffee shops! Bikes! A Brooklyn-esque bar!” The goal is homogeneity -- forget that you’re so removed from the outside world, you’re still having the same experiences as everyone else, don’t worry. But this effort fades as we distance ourselves from the college, and the businesses catered towards it. Yet as you mention, this doesn’t detract from other homogenous markers like a CVS, which makes you feel like you could be just about anywhere, or a McDonalds. Yet beyond these hallmarks, the town of Oberlin inhabits a space that is at once non-specific and yet entirely specific. To me, small towns often look the same -- I’m not used to distinguishing between different styles of small wooden houses. Oberlin could be anywhere. Yet there is a distinctness in any small town’s seeming determination to make its residents and visitors feel comfortable with the amenities they could find anywhere -- your local diner, or farmers market, or yardsale. In this we can see distinct takes on homogeneity.

[humansizedshrimp-blog]

the first and last lines of my post are on this dang building

THE FINE ARTS A HERITAGE FROM THE PAST

We were all encouraged to get off campus, to explore how globalization relates to sections of Oberlin that aren’t inherently designed for the college’s current or prospective students. There are, however, a few places in Oberlin that aim to be both resources for undergraduates and serve the less transient population of this midwestern town. The Allen Memorial Art Museum is just such a place.

Constructed in 1917, the main wing of the Allen is designed to emulate the architectural styles of such places as the Palazzo Medici, while the 1976 extension was created to house more modern “neutral” gallery spaces. With this in mind, one can potentially read the Allen as removed from the history of its surroundings. To what degree is the museum a tool for the college to claim the cultural resources of globalized cities like New York or Los Angeles? Oberlin College tour guides make special mention of the museum’s many offerings to students, careful to highlight how it has been ranked by various publications as the second or third best college museum in the country. Above the front entrance of the museum, one can see inscribed “THE CAUSE OF ART IS THE CAUSE OF THE PEOPLE”. This is a statement that brings into focus a popular conception of arts spaces as transcendent in nature, reflections of collective interests and experiences rather than individual ones.

However, there are several pieces of information to take into account that highlight a commitment to maintaining a link between this college owned space and Oberlin. The museum itself is completely free to enter and often tries to engage Oberlin community members outside of the college in a variety of ways. In addition to offering public programs for Oberlin residents of all ages, the Allen curates its exhibitions with accessibility in mind. The placement of the building, raised and set back from the street, is easy to read as exclusionary and, for me at least, evokes notions of elitism. Yet when the Allen was built it was the only college owned building in its section of Oberlin. It was explicitly designed to be for both student and lifelong Oberlin resident.

In my opinion, both readings of the Allen are completely valid. It is both accessible and impenetrable.  How to understand the Allen’s relationship to its surroundings depends on how much one is struck by the museum as a reflection of globalization. I can’t help but see the museum and its many resources as clear demonstrations of the college’s desire to attract students from metropolitan cities as part of a larger effort to make a profit from wealthy families. That said, I want to say that my reaction to the Allen could certainly be rejected by many people in town who see the museum as a point of pride for their community and not an insidious reflection of the college’s desire to push a kind of globalization onto Oberlin.

THE FINE ARTS A GIFT TO THE FUTURE

[bananasinmybag-blog]

Viewing the Allen as a site of globalization is a really interesting thing, as I’ve previously always seen it as a sort of bubble in itself within the bubble that is Oberlin -- what is the backstory behind this great collection’s passage into Oberlin, and what forces (influenced by globalization, cosmopolitanism, capitalism re: baiting students and families, and pure artistic curiosity and appreciation) engendered their arrival here? It does seem almost anachronistic with the town -- the town, to me (when I walk around), seems like it never changes, like it has looked the same for many years with its chipped-paint houses and smallish lawns -- yet the Allen stands out as this highly architecturally distinct and culturally weighted thing, and whenever I approach it it looks almost untouched, like I couldn’t expect anyone to even be inside. Yet as you mentioned, it truly is as much a part of the town as it is the college. Can we see the Allen as any kind of border, or does it occupy a kind of borderless space? Is that the strange, almost displacing feeling I get when I walk up the steps or step inside? Is this similar to the feeling of cultural hybridity -- a kind of sense of placelessness?

[neoliberal-dog-blog]

The most interesting parts of a college town are the borderlands—the sites of contestation, the liminal spaces that harbor no clear distinction between town or college, public or private, local or global. They are the spaces that seem to exist in two separate spheres at once, somehow carving out a spatial imaginary all their own. It was a natural inclination to devote my walk to uncovering these spaces in Oberlin, for I am a lifelong resident of the borderlands. Spending twenty-one years three blocks from the campus of Southern Illinois University in Carbondale, Illinois has given me unique perspective on the ways in which academia can act as a vector for ever-expanding flows of global capital, as well as how I confront my own positionality as an object of relative permanence in an otherwise transitional collection of life-worlds.

My exploration of the Oberlin borderlands quickly became an exercise of self-reflection. I immediately began evaluating the borderland landscape in front of me in terms of the borderland landscape I left behind. Walking down the 100 blocks of Elm St., Forest St., College Ave., and even Morgan St. further south, I couldn’t help but question whether this was Oberlin, or Carbondale, or Bloomington, Indiana, or Ann Arbor, Michigan, or Champaign, Illinois. The bucolic tree-lined streets of stately older homes divvied up into rental properties have cars parked beside them with license plates that run the gamut from Massachusetts to South Carolina to Iowa to Washington, DC (as pictured in the second picture above). These license plates act as visible signs of liminality and infiltration of global capital. In both Oberlin and Carbondale, one can walk two or three blocks beyond a borderland and see nothing but “local” license plates and no evidence of student life-worlds (as apparent in the first photo above). The physical landscape can stay looking relatively constant, yet the ideological landscape may more closely resemble social spaces located outside of the bubble of cosmopolitanism conjured by academic institutions.

Throughout my walk, I couldn’t help also thinking about how globalization can become embodied in personhood. A person walking down the street visibly construed as a student is immediately assigned a set of loaded assumptions and social characteristics. Students operate in college towns as signs of temporality, signifiers for active flows of cultural, social, and financial capital. It is for this reason that I have always felt between worlds. In Carbondale, I am as much a townie as twenty-one years in one place can make me, yet am assumed to be a liminal instance of cosmopolitanism. In Oberlin, I am assumed to be one in a sea of wealthy coastal urbanites, yet come from a background that far more closely mirrors the experience of growing up low-income in rural Ohio. The borderlands are but another manifestation of the infinite messiness of globalization, always in the process of being disentangled.

[bananasinmybag-blog]

I find your comment on separate spatial imaginaries existing within the same place to be really interesting, and definitely how I would characterize the town of Oberlin. I frequently wonder (and sometimes ask bosses and community-member friends) what it’s like to live in a college town, specifically one in rural Ohio, surrounded by areas that are a significant ideological departure from Oberlin. One friend of mine, who grew up here and moved back here as an adult, described her decision to return to Oberlin as one of seeking sanctuary. She explored other places, and found the unique experience that this town provides to be a kind of protection from the rest of the world. This is particularly interesting in light of the inherently globalized nature of college towns that you mentioned, as well as in light of the dichotomy of spatial imaginaries between the college and town. Despite what I imagine as a likely disruptive intersection of grimy, loud college kids in a small town, she sees these spaces as wholly reconciled and part and parcel of one another. This makes me consider the ways in which borderlands, as you put it, can be almost comforting in their familiarity, and perhaps more so in such a confined space as Oberlin than in seeing how they exhibit themselves in larger, more metropolitan areas. 

[bananasinmybag-blog]

Reflection 1