Tag Archives: by Erika Liu

Cooperation Not Co-optation – Why Valls’s Proposal Against Radicalism Will Fail

Op-Ed

France’s Prime Minister, Manuel Valls, appears in gossip rags almost as much as he does in serious political newspapers. After all, he is the young, upcoming star of the Socialist Party. However, his new plan for the education of imams – the religious leaders of Islamic congregations – is anything but progressive or innovative.

On March 2nd, Valls spoke at the University of Strasbourg about radicalism and secularism. He highlighted his continued concerns regarding these topics, “The rise of radical Islam and the rise of the extreme right” are “two major dangers [to France] that feed off one another.” In particular, he championed an education plan for imams as a solution to France’s burgeoning problem with radicalism. This program includes an assurance of increased dialogue between the Muslim community and the French government. However, the focus of the proposal is a curriculum for imams on the subject of French secularism, laïcité. In other words, the government is seeking to have an active hand in directing the religious doctrine of Islam in France.

Despite Valls’s best efforts to address radicalism, his “solution” will be ineffective and dangerous. This proposal is another step toward the increasing contamination of French laïcité policies by xenophobia. Given the January attacks in Paris, the definite and government-imposed training of imams will become another point of strife within the already tense population. His plan will motivate the very thing that Valls wishes to remedy – radicalism.

The resurgence of extremism in French society can be traced to pervasive xenophobia and the isolation of “foreign” cultures. This is not the first time that France has enacted laws to further the ideal of laïcité. In 2004, the government banned ostentatious religious symbols, such as hijabs or kippahs, in public schools. For some, this prevented religion from entering their child’s education. For many, this law further quarantined sub-cultures and intensified their desire to express their heritage freely. A growing population of young Muslims, many of whom are second-generation immigrants, have started to wear headscarves as a response to the restrictions. Hijabs are now a symbol of cultural expression in a country that tries so hard to suppress it. In its essence, fundamentalism reflects a longing to return to the literal interpretation – the roots – of a belief. Valls forgets that past laws, which limited religious expression, have actually given rise to more extreme schools of thought and practice. Instead of perpetuating the mistakes of the past, Valls should try to remedy them. Valls’s proposal will do nothing to ameliorate the situation, but will only further alienate the growing Muslim population.

Forced assimilation discourages collaborative tolerance.

That isn’t to say that secularism isn’t a worthy goal. At its core, separation of church and state is a noble pursuit, and one that is essential for effective democracy. Originally, laïcité was intended to counteract the dominance of Catholicism. Laïcité laws, mostly addressing public education, had protected freedom of thought from Catholic indoctrination.

Unfortunately, over the past fifteen years, xenophobia has distorted this ideal of secularism. Now, laws overtly favor the native French culture, which has pervasive Catholic roots. For instance, the Christian cross is exempt from the ban on religious symbols in public schools. When secularism is used to counter the dominant religious ethos, it promotes intellectual freedom. The minority perspective is heard and welcomed into the educational dialogue. However, when it is used to silence the minority, it becomes a tool for repression.

Instead of using laïcité to avoid addressing the real issues of an increasingly diverse France, Valls should take this opportunity to address France’s evolving culture. Islam and other sub-cultures are becoming as true to the French identity as baguettes or stinky fromage. A real solution to radicalism would challenge the entrenched notions of Frenchness. Valls’s current plan is symptomatic of the xenophobia that is polluting French policy. This plan reinforces the idea that minority cultures should be quashed and silenced. If Valls does not address France’s present diversity in an open dialogue, the intersection of xenophobia and secularism will ultimately result in a reckoning between France’s dominant and minority cultures. In 2004, the harassment directed at women in head coverings skyrocketed after the ban on hijabs had been enacted. No doubt, if Valls’s plan is enforced, further acts of Islamophobia will follow. Rather than targeting imams and the Muslim population in his ineffective proposal, Valls should seek a substantial cooperation – not co-optation.

Veritas through the Plexiglas

Report on a cultural event

In relation to the politics post-World War I, Winston Churchill said, “History is written by the victors.” This rings true in Harvard University’s Peabody Museum of Archeology and Ethnology. Even as you walk through the newly curated exhibits of the Hall of North American Indians, such as Digging Veritas: The Archeology and History of the Indian College and Student Life at Colonial Harvard, the feeling of inauthenticity lingers. As if only half the story is being told. Nonetheless, this museum – like many others – oozes authority with its ambient lighting and academic labels. Without even realizing it, we put our trust in the Peabody – trusting it to educate us with truths and not just “truthiness”.

In particular, the exhibits on the first floor serve as a crash course on native cultures. In many ways, they are meant to add striking visuals to what we learned in middle school. Numerous rare artifacts help illustrate Native American culture. Dioramas in one corner of the Peabody depict the everyday lives of the peoples.

Each glass case, barely two feet tall, is supposed to encapsulate the customs of an entire community of people. Cotton, painted green and brown, set the rustic scene. Clay, wax, or plastic figurines stand stagnantly in their customary activities. The oldest of these dioramas was made in 1906 – when it was possible to travel and see these cultures firsthand. It was as if the maker of these dioramas knew he had to preserve them in an airtight box before colonialism took it away. This “salvage anthropology” mistakenly tries to capture a culture as if it is static and can be objectively presented for the posterity. In fact, this diorama is only a narrow view of what Native Americans could have been and currently are like.

The Lakota, the Inuit, the Seminole cultures are all conveniently diluted through the plexiglas so that they are easier for us to consume. What the Peabody exhibits is not Native American culture, but an empty shell of it. These are merely artifacts preserved by the victor to be told to future generations. The exhibit’s labels attempt to both recognize and rectify our culpability in the marginalization of Native American culture. In nearly every section, one large plaque is titled “How were skin-working activities affected by European contact?” or “How did fishing activities change with Anglo-American contact?” Through highlighting particular sections of historical background – namely white influence – these plaques serve to admit the museum’s biases.

Even so, the recognition of bias is not the antidote for inauthenticity and misrepresentation. As you dip your toes in each culture of  the horseshoe-shaped exhibit hall, you will eventually come across a larger space. Here, the ceilings stretch up an extra story to accommodate the large totem poles that line the walls.

For many this would have been an impressive sight. But I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. Driving through the greater Seattle area, you can see totem poles at the local salmon chowder house or the park where you walk your dog. Although you probably learned about the Makah, the Tulalip, and the Chinook tribes with the rigidity of any other middle school curriculum, many of the cultures were experienced directly. Every now and then, pow wows occurred at the local high school gym – or whichever venue would suit the event. To say the least, we would not go to a museum to see totem poles.

The Peabody’s original set of totem poles were taken from a temporarily abandoned Tlingit village by white explorers. In accordance to the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 1990, the museum had repatriated the stolen artifacts in 2001. To replace the piece, the Peabody commissioned a new totem pole by a Tlingit carver. Even so, this “authentic” piece of Pacific Coast culture is displaced from its natural context. We have to be careful with the pretty words which wash away the true meaning of each piece. Despite its commendable actions to return the stolen totem poles, the museum still neglects to give true context or meaning to these cultural pieces. Nowhere in this exhibit does a label explain the spiritual meaning of the bear who sits at the bottom, or the fish which crowns the piece. We see so much of Native American culture secondhand that we often lose track of the fact that Native Americans are modern individuals who are more than a museum exhibit or a Hollywood caricature. These artifacts have meaning, a deep meaning that is poorly recognized at the Peabody.

Rounding out the Hall of North American Indians is a small exhibit, relatively new, and one rooted in Harvard’s own history. To no one’s surprise the oldest college in America has archeological relics sitting in the heart of its campus. Digging Veritas boasts a collection of artifacts gathered from a 2009 dig of Harvard Yard. Unlike other exhibits in the Peabody, it consists entirely of objects gathered from the institution’s own property.

The exhibit advertises itself as an archeological dig for the Indian College, an academic institution founded to educate Native Americans who were barred from the colonial ones. Photos of a local chief and students of Native American descent mark the walls closest to the entrance. However, the archaeological analysis barely includes anything about Native American life at the Indian College. Only a few bricks and knickknacks actually came from the Indian College. The curator’s labels candidly admit that many depictions of life at the Indian College are mere conjectures. The archeologists who presented Digging Veritas had tried so hard to reflect a truth that was ultimately inauthentic and decontextualized.

The lack of full-frontal truth in Digging Veritas is only one of the many disappointments in this hall filled with apologetic omissions of information and sweeping statements. Although it is clear that the Peabody Museum is modernizing to better suit the needs of education, we can only hope that it begins to adapt to its understandable inability to present an objective truth. The museum presents a reasonably good effort, but any attempt to depict a culture with plexiglas cases and limited labeling is a sad reification of Native American reality in past and present.

 

From Ceebu Jën to Spaghetti and Back Again

Blog post on a cultural experience

While studying abroad in Senegal, my most cherished activity was cutting tomatoes. I was given a dull knife – for my own safety – and only half the tomatoes – because I was so inefficient. But, I relished the chore. The family maid Adama ruled over the tiled corner room with efficiency and a terrifying orderliness. Only a year older than me, she was already a master of her craft and utterly confident in her domain. Not to be bothered by a clumsy American student. Plus, according to Senegalese tradition, men and guests were not allowed in the kitchen. Even when I had become more family than guest, I had the distinct feeling that Adama was only letting me help so I would stop pestering her. Nonetheless, someone had to cut the tomatoes – numerous tomatoes – which were crucial to the flavor of the quintessential Senegalese dish, ceebu jën (cheh-boo jen).

Ceebu jën literally means rice with fish in Wolof, the regional language. Although the meal sounds simple, it is actually a comprehensive dish that encompasses all the food groups. For casual dining, an entire Senegalese meal is one course, which consists of grain, vegetables, and a protein. This dish is served on a single large saucer, from which everyone eats. You have your own little tranche of the bowl. And, if you’re lucky, you have access to everything you want – some rice, cabbage, and fish – in your own sector. If you’re unlucky, a family member might have to push something over to your part, but you never grab from them.

Since my host family had shared so much of their culture and food with me, I wanted to share a bit of mine with them. Towards the end of my four-month stay, I gathered up the courage and Wolof vocabulary to convince Adama to give me free reign of the kitchen. I had decided to cook a “traditional” American meal, spaghetti and fried chicken. I was extremely proud of this slapdash dinner. For one thing, this gesture of cultural exchange had involved several expeditions to grocery stores and roadside vendors. I also had sheepishly asked Adama for help in bartering with the local halal butcher for the best cut of chicken. Even so, the challenge of gathering the ingredients gave way to a larger culinary adventure.

This was the first time I had cooked a meal from scratch in my host family’s kitchen. We cooked with a cast-iron pot sitting over an uncovered kerosene tank on the ground in one corner of the cubical kitchen. So, I had the pleasure of frying chicken in hot oil up close and personal. Inevitably, splatters burned my wrist. I endured this for an hour and half – a much longer cooking time than it would have been in my American kitchen. Even so, when I declared that dinner was ready, Adama and my host family were amazed.

“It’s done? Already?” My Senegalese family was equal parts surprised and indulgently amused, “That is truly an American meal and not an African one.”

During my four months in Dakar, I had learned that late dinners and a general indifference to timeliness were key Senegalese behaviors. The fastest food was at the school cantina. Even then, pre-prepared plates of maafe or yassa poulet required a ten to thirty minute wait. Nonetheless, I wasn’t sure what my host family meant by, “Already?” Martha Stewart would certainly say you were doing something wrong if cooking spaghetti and fried chicken took you ninety minutes. As I discovered much later, Adama had made a difficult and grueling task seem effortless.

I didn’t know how long African, or at least Senegalese, cooking actually took. That is, until a few weeks ago. I decided to make the classic ceebu jën to pass the experience of “eating around the bowl” to my American family. Just one plate of ceebu jën, how hard could it be?

Harder than convincing Adama to let me help in the kitchen. The dish naturally preserves all the flavors of each ingredient – meaning every piece of fried fish, carrot, or tomato had to be added and removed to ensure the essence of each element without overcooking it. I finally understood why Adama was so eager to have me out of the kitchen. Timing the addition and removal of ingredients was crucial – and difficult to execute with distractions. Channeling Adama’s gently assertive tone, I shooed my parents away from my kitchen whenever they asked me, “Is it done, yet?”

In the end, I spent five hours cooking ceebu jën. Five hours of adding and removing ingredients. Five hours of crumbling spices into the broth. Five hours of burning my fingertips. These were the same five hours Adama spent every day in the kitchen to cook for the family. The same five hours I never thought twice about while I cut those tomatoes. Cooking ceebu jën re-opened my eyes to the richness of a culture that is not as punctual as our own. Ceebu jën requires more time, but it is far more gratifying than a plate of spaghetti and fried chicken.