The Big Truck That Went By was a nice addendum to the foreign aid politics that we began last week in The Rise and Fall of Hunan Rights. Katz does an amazing job with revealing the truth about organizations like The Red Cross. For me, there has always been a hesitancy when it came to donating money through organizations. The reason for my hesitancy was because I questioned where exactly my money would be going. Does it go directly into the communities of Haiti? Does my money even reach the hands of the citizens I am supposedly funding? All of my inquiries prove to be valid as Katz dissects the expenditures of these organizations.
It turns out that most of the money doesn't even reach Haiti's communities, but goes into the hands of the rich and powerful so that they can help Haiti spend it "correctly." With this whole idea that Haiti is poor, and the reason they are poor is because they are lazy, and because they're extreme poverty can be fixed if they make the decision not to be lazy, they are unable handle money on their own, causes several questionable "charitable" acts that the west cause "aid" or "volunteer" work. It is sad that one of the biggest countries in the world is also the biggest bully. There is no doubt in my mind that of The U.S was to really help with disaster relief, without I'll intentions, they would be able to restore devastated communities.
Why is it that the oppression of smaller countries is a part of U.S's underlying main political tactic? If we are one of the most powerful nations, why do we have to continually keep small countries under our control? It is sad that the U.S. has the ability to truly help with countries who experienced a disaster, but, instead, they use it to further reinforce the stereotypes on people of color, nationally and transnationally. We heard about all of the "pledged" money and the successful fundraisers for the cause of the earthquake in Haiti; so, it seemed as if Haiti had a substantial amount of money to begin the rebuilding process. When nothing began to change, however, people began to ask if Haiti knows what it is doing and if they were truly able to run their own country. People didn't know that it was the U.S. that stopped them from being able to rebuild. Half of the money that was pledged was not actually given. There is a difference between a donation and a pledge. Also, the donations that were received weren't going into the community. It was being used to keep the volunteer foundations running.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
The Big Truck that Went By
When the news broke about the Haitian earthquake in January 2010, there were two things that struck me as odd. First was, if I'm not mistaken, the new technological phenomenon of being able to text the American Red Cross, etc. your $10 donation from your couch and that $10 would be added to your next phone bill. Suspicious, but I'll get to that later. Second was the media announcement that people should not be sending food, water, clothing, or other essential items (things that are essential for human survival), nor should they be trying to travel to Haiti to help. Also suspicious.
Jonathan Katz paints a vivid picture of what it was like to be working as an American journalist in Haiti during the catastrophe. His layout of Haiti's history represents its geographic and topographic location--it's tumultuous. It seems to have the unfortunate legacy of the constant threat of erasure--natural or otherwise. Western powers have forced themselves upon a struggling (to become an) autonomous country, by trying to bleed from it the wealth of resources and cheap human labor. Haiti has served more as a facilitator for Western societies (read: the United States) to grow and develop their wealth and prosperity, while getting nothing but violence and political/economic upheaval and sanctions in return.
I find great irony in the fact that former presidents that levied oppressive economic sanctions and military occupation were the same people who were seen on the ground, "helping" in Haiti in the aftermath of the earthquake. However, in that moment, the United States was seen as the "good guy"--progressive and quick to come to the "aid" of its neighboring country. In the construction of this narrative, the Haitian voices, bodies and lives are erased or ignored. They become a "thing" to be fixed--again reinforcing the image of the white savior. However, just as we saw with the readings from last week, what are NGOs and volunteer organizations and nation-states really doing to help out these areas that are ravaged by political upheaval/violence? We, as Americans, think that because we don't hear about Haiti anymore that somehow Haitians' troubles are over. But, as Katz elucidates, we Americans have done more harm than good.
What we end up seeing is something more or less like a new age or new form of occupation, in which foreign diplomats, former presidents, and NGO workers occupied the disaster site, while living lavishly off of the donations from their home countries. It was disparaging to read about this. While I find it extremely problematic that we Americans figure that we can fix anything by throwing money at it, people were expecting that their funds would be going to help people. (This obviously doesn't absolve us Americans of the detached forms of charity that we conduct.) Reading about this made me recall a news clip after the Newtown, CT shootings that showed the outpouring of material donations that could fill a large classroom, floor to ceiling. The rhetoric that was spun was that it was almost a bad thing that people were sending so much stuff. This was the similar rhetoric that I referred to at the beginning of my post. "Don't send staple supplies and clothing--those things are of no use here."
What the US and friends' occupation after the earthquake amounted to was nothing more than another occupation. Rather than "fixing" the country and reorganizing the government institutions and economic structure (as the story goes), occupation leaves the country in deeper turmoil and reinforces structural violence. This recent occupation is casted as a relief and rebuilding effort, but as Katz shows, it ended up causing deeper problems for Haiti when they left.
Jonathan Katz paints a vivid picture of what it was like to be working as an American journalist in Haiti during the catastrophe. His layout of Haiti's history represents its geographic and topographic location--it's tumultuous. It seems to have the unfortunate legacy of the constant threat of erasure--natural or otherwise. Western powers have forced themselves upon a struggling (to become an) autonomous country, by trying to bleed from it the wealth of resources and cheap human labor. Haiti has served more as a facilitator for Western societies (read: the United States) to grow and develop their wealth and prosperity, while getting nothing but violence and political/economic upheaval and sanctions in return.
I find great irony in the fact that former presidents that levied oppressive economic sanctions and military occupation were the same people who were seen on the ground, "helping" in Haiti in the aftermath of the earthquake. However, in that moment, the United States was seen as the "good guy"--progressive and quick to come to the "aid" of its neighboring country. In the construction of this narrative, the Haitian voices, bodies and lives are erased or ignored. They become a "thing" to be fixed--again reinforcing the image of the white savior. However, just as we saw with the readings from last week, what are NGOs and volunteer organizations and nation-states really doing to help out these areas that are ravaged by political upheaval/violence? We, as Americans, think that because we don't hear about Haiti anymore that somehow Haitians' troubles are over. But, as Katz elucidates, we Americans have done more harm than good.
What we end up seeing is something more or less like a new age or new form of occupation, in which foreign diplomats, former presidents, and NGO workers occupied the disaster site, while living lavishly off of the donations from their home countries. It was disparaging to read about this. While I find it extremely problematic that we Americans figure that we can fix anything by throwing money at it, people were expecting that their funds would be going to help people. (This obviously doesn't absolve us Americans of the detached forms of charity that we conduct.) Reading about this made me recall a news clip after the Newtown, CT shootings that showed the outpouring of material donations that could fill a large classroom, floor to ceiling. The rhetoric that was spun was that it was almost a bad thing that people were sending so much stuff. This was the similar rhetoric that I referred to at the beginning of my post. "Don't send staple supplies and clothing--those things are of no use here."
What the US and friends' occupation after the earthquake amounted to was nothing more than another occupation. Rather than "fixing" the country and reorganizing the government institutions and economic structure (as the story goes), occupation leaves the country in deeper turmoil and reinforces structural violence. This recent occupation is casted as a relief and rebuilding effort, but as Katz shows, it ended up causing deeper problems for Haiti when they left.
Disaster Politics
Catastrophes like the earthquake in Haiti make incomparably interesting case studies, for reasons Katz picks up on throughout his book. The effects of and responses to a disaster "came down to one's means, which were inevitably bound up with family status, nationality and race...But this time, great government ministries and posh hotels had crumbled alongside the meanest cinder-block homes...Whether you had been in Haiti for fifty years or an hour, whether you were in the most broken-down slum or the best hotel, survival came down to the strength and flexibility of the columns, ceilings, and walls surrounding you at the instant the fault gave way," (55). There's an interesting disparity between this assertion that the earthquake in Haiti did not discriminate against its victims and the reality of how different victims survived, or didn't. This is not a unique assertion though. Katz claims that earthquakes are particular because there's no warning before they come, and anyone's house can fall. It's a common claim in any natural disaster, including those which do have warnings such as hurricanes, that nature doesn't discriminate; that part comes in the response and recovery. Katz recognized that how you fared after the earthquake depended on whether you were a blan or a neg. At the same time, he deals with the common idea that in disasters, natural or not, victims are forced to show their true natures in the face of survival. It's a similar logic to the leveling effects of the disaster itself, a mythology that we've adhered to since Noah's ark.
The Big Truck That Went By contributes to the dismantling of that myth by exposing the flaws and failures of the international aid regime. But the truth is that disasters don't expose the true nature of everyday people, they expose the nature of the world we live in and how it works when lives are on the line. I found it helpful as I read to compare The Big Truck That Went By to hurricane Katrina, a comparison that is not lost on Katz either. The comparison he makes is regarding the misperceptions about looting with which we are familiar after reading Social Death. I was more struck by the resemblances between the two on a larger scale. New Orleanians were warned that the hurricane was going to hit, but that did little to predict how it would affect the city. The population of New Orleans is not split into blan and neg in same way Haiti is, but the relief was still split and ineffective in almost the exact same way. New Orleans and Haiti are different places with different kinds of people of course, New Orleans lacking the foreign/native division that Haiti has, but that doesn't seem to matter much when you're dealing with black and white, rich and poor bodies. Katz spoke with some Haitians after the earthquake who felt that they would be better off if Haiti was part of the United States, if they were in charge and had preexisting channels through which to distribute aid more quickly. Katrina showed, years before the earthquake hit, how wrong they were. In my opinion, a transnational feminist investigation to these disasters and what they expose would take a close look at what disaster response worldwide has in common, and who it consistently affects. Perhaps great disasters can be revelatory.
The Big Truck That Went By contributes to the dismantling of that myth by exposing the flaws and failures of the international aid regime. But the truth is that disasters don't expose the true nature of everyday people, they expose the nature of the world we live in and how it works when lives are on the line. I found it helpful as I read to compare The Big Truck That Went By to hurricane Katrina, a comparison that is not lost on Katz either. The comparison he makes is regarding the misperceptions about looting with which we are familiar after reading Social Death. I was more struck by the resemblances between the two on a larger scale. New Orleanians were warned that the hurricane was going to hit, but that did little to predict how it would affect the city. The population of New Orleans is not split into blan and neg in same way Haiti is, but the relief was still split and ineffective in almost the exact same way. New Orleans and Haiti are different places with different kinds of people of course, New Orleans lacking the foreign/native division that Haiti has, but that doesn't seem to matter much when you're dealing with black and white, rich and poor bodies. Katz spoke with some Haitians after the earthquake who felt that they would be better off if Haiti was part of the United States, if they were in charge and had preexisting channels through which to distribute aid more quickly. Katrina showed, years before the earthquake hit, how wrong they were. In my opinion, a transnational feminist investigation to these disasters and what they expose would take a close look at what disaster response worldwide has in common, and who it consistently affects. Perhaps great disasters can be revelatory.
Katz/Farmer
Both of Katz and Farmer's work really tear at your heartstrings. Often times reading Katz work I had to stop and take a break from the stories and statistics, must be nice for me to be able to take a break, unlike those living those stories and statistics. Both Katz and Farmer present the hardships of the people of Haiti, through the stories they have experienced and stories as told by friends. Through these stories, I as a reader am able to grasp what sort of turmoil Haitians are going through on a day to day basis because of the people of the United States.
I say that Haitians are suffering because of the American because of Katz numerous stories of rescue workers putting forth the effort to the people of Haiti after the earthquake but in a way that tremendously frustrating for a reader. I wanted to yell at the book, why is no one going to the rural areas of Haiti, why are rescuers only helping the guest in the hotels, non citizens of Haiti. Farmer writes, "When in 1991 international health and population experts devised a "human suffering index" by examining several examples of human welfare ranging from life expectancy to political freedom, 27 of 141 countries were characterized by "extreme human suffering" (369). Extreme human suffering seems to be happening at the hands of the American people. We sit here and can donate money that accumulates to millions of dollars, but in reality have no idea where that money actually goes.
Katz also mentioned numerous times that government people were constantly worried about social unrest. Katz writes, "The aid response's greatest concern after the quake was social unrest. But the episode was a reminder that the threat came not from some instinctive panic, but the age-old machinations of political struggle" (Katz 159). In great crisis the people of the place affected look to the people in charge. After the tornado in Tuscaloosa a few years ago, students looked to the administration for help, while the citizens of Tuscaloosa looked to their mayor and higher. The city of Tuscaloosa answered by cleaning up and making the areas affected by the tornado better but also impossible for those who once lived their to return. With plans to totally redo the parts destroyed by the disaster, also came plans to "clean up" the once problem areas. So for officials of Tuscaloosa, this was their way to wipe out any problems once had in some of the areas.
While this may not be the exact situation in Haiti, it is sad to see that Katz heard people talk about dropping an atomic bomb on Haiti to just start over. Katz explained that people who had been working in the country for awhile didn't think this idea was that bad, out of frustration and hardship. I don't know the solution to the problem of something like this but I do know, just as we talked about last week, that now that I have this information, I have a duty to spread the knowledge and educate people on these problems.
I say that Haitians are suffering because of the American because of Katz numerous stories of rescue workers putting forth the effort to the people of Haiti after the earthquake but in a way that tremendously frustrating for a reader. I wanted to yell at the book, why is no one going to the rural areas of Haiti, why are rescuers only helping the guest in the hotels, non citizens of Haiti. Farmer writes, "When in 1991 international health and population experts devised a "human suffering index" by examining several examples of human welfare ranging from life expectancy to political freedom, 27 of 141 countries were characterized by "extreme human suffering" (369). Extreme human suffering seems to be happening at the hands of the American people. We sit here and can donate money that accumulates to millions of dollars, but in reality have no idea where that money actually goes.
Katz also mentioned numerous times that government people were constantly worried about social unrest. Katz writes, "The aid response's greatest concern after the quake was social unrest. But the episode was a reminder that the threat came not from some instinctive panic, but the age-old machinations of political struggle" (Katz 159). In great crisis the people of the place affected look to the people in charge. After the tornado in Tuscaloosa a few years ago, students looked to the administration for help, while the citizens of Tuscaloosa looked to their mayor and higher. The city of Tuscaloosa answered by cleaning up and making the areas affected by the tornado better but also impossible for those who once lived their to return. With plans to totally redo the parts destroyed by the disaster, also came plans to "clean up" the once problem areas. So for officials of Tuscaloosa, this was their way to wipe out any problems once had in some of the areas.
While this may not be the exact situation in Haiti, it is sad to see that Katz heard people talk about dropping an atomic bomb on Haiti to just start over. Katz explained that people who had been working in the country for awhile didn't think this idea was that bad, out of frustration and hardship. I don't know the solution to the problem of something like this but I do know, just as we talked about last week, that now that I have this information, I have a duty to spread the knowledge and educate people on these problems.
Response
The attempts to
send aid to Haiti sound like a confused, misguided mess. In some ways, the
recovery efforts were an even bigger disaster than the earthquake itself. Katz’s
observations while in Haiti combined with the background he gives, further illustrates
the point made in last week’s reading: aid and human rights work is a business.
The fact that so many countries were able to pledge billions of dollars, that
people in the U.S. were able to send money “for Haiti”, that celebrities were
involved in the fundraising process, and yet very little of the promised/raised
money seems to have actually needed it—and to whom it was promised. It wasn’t
even given directly to the Haitian government because they weren’t trusted to
handle it correctly. Fears about Haitian officials’ “corruption” is the reason
given, but are they really more corrupt than other government officials, or is
it just a perception? Katz seems to be saying it’s just a perception, and why
does that perception exist? How much of it is about race and class? Katz points
out that large sums of money were spent in the U.S., and still more went to
just keeping NGOs running. Wouldn’t it make sense to just eliminate the NGOs completely,
since giving aid money directly to the government reduces waste and gets things
done faster?
No-one in Haiti, aside from American
celebrities, journalists, or government officials, seems to have been taken
seriously at all. Rather than trying to find representatives for Haiti from
within the country itself, to let Haitians speak for themselves, coverage of
the relief efforts was dominated by people like Sean Penn and Bill Clinton. While
they may have had good intentions, doesn’t focusing on them reinforce the image
of Haiti as a country and Haitians as people who need help, as being incapable
of thinking for it/themselves. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it
certainly seems that way. If Haiti wasn’t generally thought of as a country in
need of help anyway, would so much money have been pledged so quickly? If a
disaster of that magnitude had hit a Western/First World country, would the
response have been the same? And if it had, would the pledged money actually
have gotten to where it needed to go, and would the people of that country
actually have been consulted about their needs/priorities? And would long-term
rebuilding efforts that benefited the country itself more than other, wealthier
countries have been implemented?
Where does trans-national feminism
fit into this story? Is it going back to Mohanty’s discussion of the Third
World Woman? Women occupy a very small space in Katz’s book, but his goal was
to give an overall picture of the relief effort and how it went wrong. And yet,
I think that could have been done with a broader focus. How did the earthquake
and its aftermath affect women differently? How did gendered expectations play
a role? Aid workers aren’t tourists, but there’s a similarity between them
because both arrive with their expectations already in place. Yes, aid was
needed, but how were the attitudes and expectations of aid workers influenced
by already seeing Haiti was a place that needed help long before the earthquake?
Katz and Farmer
Even in the wake of catastrophe, when human beings are expected to display their most empathetic attitudes, social and monetary hierarchies will always take precedence over those who have suffered the most extensive loss. This is the stark reality presented in Katz’s and Farmer’s texts. Katz’s vivid description of the devastation wrought by the earthquake evokes a palpable sense of dread and hopelessness, exacerbated by the prior knowledge that this disaster will be commodified in the same way as so many others have been. In many cases, we can predict how the situation will turn out before it even begins. This point of view brought to mind the work of Lori Allen which we studied last week, in terms of her analysis of the truth behind NGOs and other aid organizations. As Katz points out in the very beginning of the text, specifically on page 3, if nothing else he intends for his audience to ask themselves, in whose hands did the donations actually end up?
Katz offers up the following observation on page 95: “The major aid groups had spent very little of the emergency money they had raised, but people overseas were still pumping in more at the behest of celebrities and CNN.” His description of celebrity endorsement and the quotes he includes by George Clooney reek of paternalistic attitudes. The narrative of the white savior makes an appearance here, implying that the only way for Americans to quell their guilt is to donate to these organizations (which non-coincidentally happen to also raise the power and status of those who already have plenty of it). Additionally, I was floored by the pre-earthquake “nuclear bomb rebuilding joke” Katz describes at the start of chapter six regarding the attitudes of foreigners who had spent some time residing in Haiti. How sincere can the motivations of these Western individuals actually be in the wake of a crisis? Overall, Katz reveals throughout the text that the misguided intentions of those who came to “save Haiti” ultimately prevail over any false pretense of helpfulness.
Farmer’s stories featuring Acephie and Chouchou are specific examples of broader issues resulting from what Farmer describes as “emblematic suffering”. He analyzes that “the ‘exoticization’ of suffering as lurid as that endured by Acephie and Chouchou distances it. The suffering of individuals whose lives and struggles recall our own tends to move us” (377). This phenomenon is specifically relevant not only to Katz’s analysis of the disaster in Haiti, but in how Western society attempts to distance itself from the idea of structural violence on a daily basis. When considering the intersectionality of violence, Farmer calls for “more honest discussions of who is likely to suffer and in what ways.” (383)
"Us" vs. "Them"
Within the first couple of chapters of The Big Truck that Went By, Katz gave
three terms that conceptualized the significance of the book; Blan which means foreigner, Neg the opposite of Blan, and kleptocrat
which can be defined as a ruler who uses political power to steal his or her
country’s resources. As I continued reading, I couldn’t help but wonder why the
text fomented such a visceral reaction inside of me. It wasn’t until I finished
reading that I understood why.
The “relief” efforts in post-quake Haiti perpetuated a narrative of us vs. them, blan vs. neg, diplomat vs. kleptocrat, or any dichotomous model reflecting “good” and “bad”. Just being an American placed me on the “good” side, and if you’re negligent in interrogating what that really entails, some would say that should be enough. Why? Because as Americans we did our part to help our poor and pitiful Haitian neighbors. The neighbors who just can’t seem to catch a break with their corrupt government and all. The neighbors who always need rescuing because they are susceptible to natural disasters. The AIDS infested neighbors who can’t remember to wear condoms long enough to prevent killing each other off with sexually transmitted diseases. The neighbors who continue to populate without the resources to take care of themselves. Those discinct Haitians who continue worshiping the devil with their voodoo and witchcraft despite it being the reason the earthquake occurred in the first place, at least according to Pat Robertson. Sure, with just a simple text to the red cross, or a donation to a celebrity telethon, I as an American am now absolved from any guilt that I had watching the aftermath of the travesty in Haiti because I did my part. Besides, why should I care? The government stepped in and took care of it like they usually do. Hell, American NGOs raised over 2.5 billion dollars in aid alone, so that should be more than enough. Not to mention the U.S. government contracted over 1 billion dollars to help rebuild the impoverished country.
Unfortunately, these are the sentiments a lot of Americans shared whether they have the balls to admit it or not. As a matter of fact, once it could no longer be classified as “news”, many of us forgot, and never followed up. I’m sure we would be surprised to know that in addition to having inadequate living spaces, sanitation and food, the Haitian population suffered immensely from a cholera outbreak. A disease brought to Haiti by Nepalese UN peacekeepers. A disease no one wanted to be held accountable for despite the evidence presented. Or that a lot of the money pledged to help Haiti never left any of its donor states. Or that even though there were people who were sleeping in the streets next to dead bodies, and camps filled with debilitated elderly women and children, the diplomats, former presidents and ambassadors were in luxury hotels outside of Haiti. Despite the narrative America intended to perpetuate in regards to rebuilding Haiti, what was really being conveyed is that impoverished Haitians don’t matter. This is why we don’t trust them with money, and this is why they don’t deserve to live. We know what’s best for them, and what’s best for them is to allow others to make the decisions for them, even when it is at their expense. We won’t acknowledge the structural violence they endure on the regular basis, nor do we care, because after all “we” are on the good side. “We” are the competent Americans, with a thriving political system, and “they” are the contemptible people with a corrupt government. We are “blans” and they are “negs”, and unfortunately the “negs” are never on the “good” side.
The “relief” efforts in post-quake Haiti perpetuated a narrative of us vs. them, blan vs. neg, diplomat vs. kleptocrat, or any dichotomous model reflecting “good” and “bad”. Just being an American placed me on the “good” side, and if you’re negligent in interrogating what that really entails, some would say that should be enough. Why? Because as Americans we did our part to help our poor and pitiful Haitian neighbors. The neighbors who just can’t seem to catch a break with their corrupt government and all. The neighbors who always need rescuing because they are susceptible to natural disasters. The AIDS infested neighbors who can’t remember to wear condoms long enough to prevent killing each other off with sexually transmitted diseases. The neighbors who continue to populate without the resources to take care of themselves. Those discinct Haitians who continue worshiping the devil with their voodoo and witchcraft despite it being the reason the earthquake occurred in the first place, at least according to Pat Robertson. Sure, with just a simple text to the red cross, or a donation to a celebrity telethon, I as an American am now absolved from any guilt that I had watching the aftermath of the travesty in Haiti because I did my part. Besides, why should I care? The government stepped in and took care of it like they usually do. Hell, American NGOs raised over 2.5 billion dollars in aid alone, so that should be more than enough. Not to mention the U.S. government contracted over 1 billion dollars to help rebuild the impoverished country.
Unfortunately, these are the sentiments a lot of Americans shared whether they have the balls to admit it or not. As a matter of fact, once it could no longer be classified as “news”, many of us forgot, and never followed up. I’m sure we would be surprised to know that in addition to having inadequate living spaces, sanitation and food, the Haitian population suffered immensely from a cholera outbreak. A disease brought to Haiti by Nepalese UN peacekeepers. A disease no one wanted to be held accountable for despite the evidence presented. Or that a lot of the money pledged to help Haiti never left any of its donor states. Or that even though there were people who were sleeping in the streets next to dead bodies, and camps filled with debilitated elderly women and children, the diplomats, former presidents and ambassadors were in luxury hotels outside of Haiti. Despite the narrative America intended to perpetuate in regards to rebuilding Haiti, what was really being conveyed is that impoverished Haitians don’t matter. This is why we don’t trust them with money, and this is why they don’t deserve to live. We know what’s best for them, and what’s best for them is to allow others to make the decisions for them, even when it is at their expense. We won’t acknowledge the structural violence they endure on the regular basis, nor do we care, because after all “we” are on the good side. “We” are the competent Americans, with a thriving political system, and “they” are the contemptible people with a corrupt government. We are “blans” and they are “negs”, and unfortunately the “negs” are never on the “good” side.
Katz
The Big Truck that Went By explains with clarity and preciseness
the precariousness of life on this planet, the miracle that is struggle and
survival, and the nuances of power that complicate and muck up the whole damn
process. One thing that Katz makes very plain throughout his narrative is the
aspect of privilege. Although I am not sure this was his goal, he reveals time
and again the subtle ways that his blan-ness, his press status, and his
citizenship give him a leg up on the people he encounters in his work. What is
interesting, though, (and I am sure this is the case for many of us) he often
seems to feel just as powerless as everyone else who is on the ground in Haiti.
I imagine that one does not calculate all the things social capital and status
will ‘buy’ in that moment when nature forces the house to come crumbling down
on top of you. But, that being said, his status did keep the concrete of his house from crumbling like a piece of
pastry. And his status became evident after the quake and in the paths he was
able to negotiate in the following year.
Even
though Katz likely felt as vulnerable and powerless as everyone around him, he
was continually forced to recognize his privilege in the eyes of those he
encountered. Take the man at the polling site whose name was missing from the
roster, for instance. He saw Jonathan’s privilege immediately and then helped
him to recognize it himself by asking Jonathan to intervene on his behalf.
Jonathan successfully helped the man vote. In another example, Jonathan was
forced to confront his privilege and the ‘less than’ status of Evens the night
they went to the U.S. Embassy for help. They were told to sleep in the guard
shack, and later Jonathan was allowed to enter the embassy only because of his
citizenship. Confronted with his privilege, he had to leave Evens outside like
he was livestock. Simultaneously, though, he successfully procured some food
and water for his sleeping friend. Finally, there was the point where Jonathan
finally sold his car to Evens. It seemed clear that Jonathan suspected that
through some creative coercion, Evens set it up that way. Was that the reality
of the sale, or was Jonathan’s suspicion another example of the tendency of
white people to assume corruption from Haitian people? It is hard to say. But
again, through this interaction Evens was able to get Jonathan to recognize his
own privilege. Unlike Evens he was able to leave Haiti, he had steady work
coming his way, and he had the ability to sell the car he purchased with his
company’s money, not his own.
I’m
left conflicted about the relationship between Jonathan and Evens. They both
looked out for one another, and there seemed to be a genuine affection between
them from time to time. But then, when Evens was most concerned about
recovering his family from the devastation of the earth quake, Jonathan had to
remind himself to prioritize sympathy for Evens because his greater concern had
been with getting the news out. In the end, Jonathan really had nothing to
lose, whereas survival and the reality of life in Haiti meant that Evens had to
grasp onto whatever opportunity he could. Thus, I’m left with the question: was
the relationship symbiotic, convenient, or temporarily fabricated?
Monday, November 17, 2014
Katz & Farmer: Home & Suffering
According to Paul
Farmer, human suffering “must be embedded in ethnography if …
representativeness is to be understood” (378). This assertion perfectly
accompanies Jonathan Katz’s personal account of Haiti pre and post earthquake
of January 2010. Giving horrific images and media-fueled rumors actual context,
Katz uses relationships, stories, and observations to embed the human suffering
of Haitians into its tumultuous and limited ethnography.
Both Farmer and
Katz’ pieces got me thinking about what I know of human suffering. I’ve
experienced a parent’s death and the F-5 tornado that tore through Tuscaloosa
in 2011, but other than that…nothing that would be determined a hardship. These
experiences would hardly register on what Farmer describes as the “human
suffering index” (369). Although I don’t know what the leading causes of death
are in my home country, I am sure that they are not AIDS and political
violence, like in Haiti (377). Farmer suggests that another reason my suffering
would not register on the index might be because I am of a higher socioeconomic
status. Thus, although I am less likely to suffer, my suffering would more than
likely be noticed. This is the opposite scenario of those who are most at risk
for structural violence, as made especially possible by impoverished conditions
(383). When it comes to comparing my personal experiences – or, theorizing from
the flesh – to storm victims, ChouChou, or Acephie, it seems clear that I know
nothing of true human suffering. After all, “structural violence all too often
defeats those who would describe it,” and since I am not subjected to it, I
cannot describe it or be defeated by it (377). I will probably never know what
it is like to feel how the man did whom Katz encountered in Carrefour: “But
where we are, they will not see us” (78).
Katz’s in-depth
description of human suffering is one that certainly leaves feelings of
unsettledness. These feelings far precede the post-storm aid allocations, and I
was upset from the beginning, most notably when the author tells of the United
States withholding aid from Haiti in the 80’s until “proper” (i.e.
Americanized) elections were held (45). The patronizing actions taken by not
only the US, but also many other large and affluent countries, were often quick
fixes disguised as a humanitarian effort for the purpose of maintaining power
and influence over Haiti’s people and economy. Unfortunately, this fight for
power never resulted in questions on disaster preparation or what could be done
to actually help Haiti’s at-risk populations. When the quake struck, “great
government ministries and posh hotels had crumbled alongside the meanest
cinder-block homes” (55). In this scenario, it seems the storm did not
discriminate; poorly built homes fell just as easily as high-end buildings that
were not up to code. The post-quake reaction, however, did discriminate; not
only were relief efforts mainly focused on the capital, but the buildings where
machinery and resources pooled were those which housed higher-class blans or foreigners. What does this say
about relief work? Katz writes: “Donors and responders are seldom asked to take
a hard look at themselves” (284). If we did, what would we really see? In
reality, the picture would be pretty grim, as Katz illustrates, but since we
always define the self in relation to the other, those who give money, aid, or
resources to the victims can only see themselves as heroes.
For me, the most
thought-provoking statement from Katz was towards the end of the book, when he states
that living in Haiti “rewires you” (273). Katz references Haiti as his home
several times in the book, and when he was supposed to return to his “natural
home,” he was reluctant and uncomfortable. Keeping in mind Ahmed and Castenada,
memory (Katz’s book/experiences) and home (his physical and emotional location
for several years) cannot be separated from material objects and rituals” (9).
These elements, then, rewired Katz’s thoughts on home-building and
meaning-making, and when he finally did leave, it was out of pure frustration
and exhaustion. This did not make Haiti any less of his home, especially since
home and migration should be thoughts of in terms of a plurality of experiences
(Ahmed 2).
Katz "Big Truck" and Farmer "Structural Violence"
In his article, Paul Farmer explores how certain structural
mechanisms become embodied as individual experience. He argues that in order to
understand the distribution of extreme suffering, one must analyze the ways in
which the poor are the chief victims of structural violence (Farmer 383). As he
shows in his two case studies of Acephie and Chouchou, in order to explain and
understand structural violence, “Life experiences such as those of Acephie and
Chouchou, and of other Haitians living in poverty who shared similar social
conditions, must be embedded in ethnography if their representativeness is to
be understood. These local understandings must be embedded, in turn, in the
historical system of which Haiti is a part” (378). This challenge is one that I
believe Katz calls to answer.
Katz does an excellent job of highlighting the experiences
of local Haitians who experienced the quake. His journalistic style and talent
for storytelling really underscores the poverty, inequalities, and violence
that Haitians pre and post quake experience. Katz weaves the personal stories
of the locals into broader narratives of Haitian history. Not only does he give
voice to those who directly work with him, like Evens and his battle to keep
his family together and safe, but he also highlights the hierarchy in who gets
saved versus who doesn’t. He indicates that most of the aid went to the large
capital of Port-au-Prince, which left a remarkable number of people who lived
in the even poorer countryside without access to resources. This part of Katz’s
text provoked a visceral reaction for me because it is a clear example of how
certain bodies and lives are valued over others.
Like many of the readings we’ve had before, including Kim,
Allen, Ulysse, Mohanty, Brennan, and Renda, all of the ethnographers engage in
the task of reimagining and/or recreating histories. As Trouillot reminds us in
Silencing of the Past, history as a
social process involves people in three distinct practices: as agents, as
actors, and as subjects (Trouillot 23-24). I think that one of the ways all of our
texts are linked is that each author seems to always be consciously aware of
all of these practices. As such, the authors are able to rework/reimagine
histories and even uncover historical silences. For Katz, his story provides
not only a first person account of the quake but reveals deeper complexities of
poverty and violence in the broader narratives of Haitian history.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
The Rise and Fall of Human Rights caused me to think about the true intentions of human right workers, and the issues that come with it. Lori Allen chose to look at the issues in Palestine to combat the issues of huaman rights. I understand the cynicistic view that Palestinians have of HROs and NGOs. "Palestinians figure that most Westerners hold idealistic views of human rights as universal standards, and they expect Westerners to criticize Palestinianas for not upholding them" (7). When I read this quote by Allen, I immediately though of Mohanty in the westernization of feminism. Somehow, the Western world not only sets the standard of human rights, but also defines this standard. This is problematic in that selfless NGO and HRO work can quickly become paternalistic. The mindset of human rights workers from this perspective is flawed in that the approach to human rights becomes helping places like Palestine reach the standard, rather than helping them reach the goal of everyone having human rights. Like Allen points out, "It is the tainting of human rights by the human rights industry that so many in Palestine reject" (4).
In my opinion, the simple fact that you can refer to human rights work as an industry is problematic in and of itself. It implies that human rights work is a field of work instead of a field community service. In any situationm whenever philanthrpy or community service becomes driven by money, the inentions of those individuals are questioned. I instantly thought of two instances that made me question the intentions of human rights workers: Hurrican Katrina and the earthquake in Haiti. There was a time when I could not get on the internet or turn on the tv and not see a donation request for the victims of these catastrophic events. I read about the amount of money that was raised for the cause and I was happy that such financial support could begin the healing and revitalization of these communities; however, I did not see the changes, or the steps toward rebuilding the community that these fundraisers were claiming to aid. I did not realize, until reading this book, that people who do these fundraisers and ask for donations for the victims of such tragedies get paid for their efforts. How are they getting paid? The only logical and possible way is through the generous donations of theri supporters. it is understandable how Palestine may have a negative view of human right workers. It seems as if they only interested in personal fulfillment and doing their "job" (becaue it is a job). Fighting for the rights of individuals should not be identified as a market for financial opportunity, but as a volunteering. There seems to be more honest intentions in volunteer efforts.
In my opinion, the simple fact that you can refer to human rights work as an industry is problematic in and of itself. It implies that human rights work is a field of work instead of a field community service. In any situationm whenever philanthrpy or community service becomes driven by money, the inentions of those individuals are questioned. I instantly thought of two instances that made me question the intentions of human rights workers: Hurrican Katrina and the earthquake in Haiti. There was a time when I could not get on the internet or turn on the tv and not see a donation request for the victims of these catastrophic events. I read about the amount of money that was raised for the cause and I was happy that such financial support could begin the healing and revitalization of these communities; however, I did not see the changes, or the steps toward rebuilding the community that these fundraisers were claiming to aid. I did not realize, until reading this book, that people who do these fundraisers and ask for donations for the victims of such tragedies get paid for their efforts. How are they getting paid? The only logical and possible way is through the generous donations of theri supporters. it is understandable how Palestine may have a negative view of human right workers. It seems as if they only interested in personal fulfillment and doing their "job" (becaue it is a job). Fighting for the rights of individuals should not be identified as a market for financial opportunity, but as a volunteering. There seems to be more honest intentions in volunteer efforts.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Human Rights
I
have to admit that before reading Lori Allen's The Rise and Fall of Human Rights, I had a bit of a bias. In my
mind, the project of universal human rights and the institutions supporting it
do not take into account the global state system or the global economic
structure (neoliberal global capitalism), despite possibly having the best
intentions for justice. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights were composed
shortly after the conclusion of WWII, and the institutions of justice and
coalitions of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and human rights organizations
(HROs) have popped up in the wake of the adoption of this declaration. However,
within a global state system, to have this sort of overarching justice
framework contradicts the idea of independent state sovereignty (which just so
happens to be upheld by other international governing bodies). The ideals of
human rights organizations may be there to intervene in the oppression and
violence towards people within states, but it also contradicts the notion of
sovereignty.
In
the case of the Israel-Palestine conflict, sovereignty and self-determination
are one part of a multitude of issues underlying the conflict. As Allen points
out, this conflict reveals the limitations of the human rights regime, and the
organizations associated with it. Palestine has used the language of human
rights and victimhood to basis its claims to statehood (2). The vocabulary of
human rights has been productive for Palestine to conduct its politics and
express its political struggle within the larger state system. (Something that
just popped into my head is that I wonder if it is no coincidence that the
Palestine-Israel has roots in UN decision making that also came shortly after
WWII.)
One
thing that this system and value of human rights has produced is a whole regime
of NGOs and HROs that supposedly act separately from state governments, as
independent aid organizations that seek to advocate for oppressed and marginalized
peoples. However, I think it should be no surprise to us (especially after
reading Lisa Duggan’s book) that these NGOs and HROs have become deeply
problematic organizations because of the extension of neoliberal tentacles into
all aspects of life. Human rights work has undergone a professionalization—I know
that even I had NGO work shown to me as a probable career option after
undergrad. At that time, I had seen NGOs as being more connected with volunteer
work (not a “real” career option, or at least not one where I would be able to
sustain myself).
Allen
shows that there is a disparity between the success of these organizations and
the relief for Palestine. These organizations receive large amounts of aid in
the name of helping the people “over there”. However it seems that this money
and aid gets earmarked for specific purposes, instead of being used to fulfill
the intentions of the drafters of the Declaration of Human Rights. By
extension, aid and relief somehow become synonymous with justice and the
improvement of the lives that are affected by violence, etc. This sort of makes that system devoid of the same meaning.
Allen
After reading Allen's work and understanding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict it was easy to be consumed by the role of the human rights activist. The role that these men and women play is the basis for life in their world. Allen talks about not being able to be political in Chapter 1 but then later in the book write of the shift in time and belief, "It distances them from the grassroots, while at the same time expanded career paths into NGO work. A refugee activist and human rights worker criticized Al-Haq specifically for the way the organization's efforts at being "objective" had led them to give up on national principles after Oslo" (75). Allen is writing of the shift from the work of NGOs shifting from work of the people to work for the people. While the work of Al-Haq cannot be associated with political parties or alliances, the work of Al-Haq Palestinian's.
Palestinian's stood behind the work of Al-Haq, "NGOs were appreciated not only for the services they provided, but also for the particular model of democracy they expressed and practices, and for the democratic independent state they augured, for which many Palestinians hoped" (Allen 65). The work of the NGO's was admired and looked to by the people as a way out and a way to be helped but through politics and the personal gain of individuals, their hope is crushed by the gain of money.
A lot of the support for the NGO's was expressed by women, Allen writes of organizations that would come to support rally's for a cause. She writes of the International Red Crescent organization that supported the Palestinian cause. While Allen's focus is not necessarily the sole role of Women in the conflict, her notation of their support made me think. It seems that every great movement has had the support of women, Civil Rights is just one example. I mean their first black SGA president on campus was elected because of the sorority women refusing to be cast aside in the political sphere on campus. Trivial as it may seem to some, it shows the power of women to support something they believe in.
Palestinian's stood behind the work of Al-Haq, "NGOs were appreciated not only for the services they provided, but also for the particular model of democracy they expressed and practices, and for the democratic independent state they augured, for which many Palestinians hoped" (Allen 65). The work of the NGO's was admired and looked to by the people as a way out and a way to be helped but through politics and the personal gain of individuals, their hope is crushed by the gain of money.
A lot of the support for the NGO's was expressed by women, Allen writes of organizations that would come to support rally's for a cause. She writes of the International Red Crescent organization that supported the Palestinian cause. While Allen's focus is not necessarily the sole role of Women in the conflict, her notation of their support made me think. It seems that every great movement has had the support of women, Civil Rights is just one example. I mean their first black SGA president on campus was elected because of the sorority women refusing to be cast aside in the political sphere on campus. Trivial as it may seem to some, it shows the power of women to support something they believe in.
Statelessness and the Role of Human Rights
The Rise and Fall of Human Rights offers an extremely helpful analysis of the effects of human rights discourses and organizations that is at once unique to the Palestinian/Israeli conflict and applicable to each instance where it exists "among a range of discourses and activities for stating a case, for making political claims that encapsulate ethical principles, for explaining a sense of injustice and for insisting that specific understandings of correct social relations should determine how people and governing institutions ought to interact," (9). I particularly enjoyed Allen's continued employment of Hannah Arendt's description of the stateless person, a "human being in general--without a profession, without a citizenship, without an opinion, without a deed by which to identify or specify himself--and different in general, representing nothing but his own absolutely unique individuality which, deprived of expression within and action upon a common world, loses all significance," (36). In the Palestinian case, a nation without a state, it makes sense why international human rights became the predominant discourse of establishing statehood and opposing the occupation. Accepting human rights as universal and globally recognized provides the "expression within and action upon a common world" supposedly deprived by statelessness. At it's outset, it seems like what started with Al-Haq could have turned into a strong base for either a one- or two-state solution to the conflict using human rights as a foundation. Allen shows, however, "what happens...when human rights work is disarticulated from a broader political vision and national project," namely, the production of bad faith and cynicism, use of human rights as a facade for power-seeking institutions such as the PA, and capitalistic enterprise of NGOs (69).
When we expand this discussion beyond the particularities of Palestine, however, the reasons for the fall of human rights prove to be far more pernicious than the struggles of statelessness. For starters, as Allen points out, there is "inherent impotence built into the intertwined structures of the human rights system...these structures and declarations were never intended to be enforceable. They represented the lowest common denominator of compromises among sovereign states unwilling to devolve meaningful power into the hands of others," (96). The insanely one-sided power dynamic between Palestine and Israel assures that fighting for "the lowest common denominator of compromises" is not going to do anything to provide statehood, despite the lofty ideals of human rights. I can't seem to find the page right now, but one of Allen's interviewees pointed out that even in strong, established democratic states like the US, human rights aren't respected, as reflected by the government's constant ignorance of the will of the people (the example given being the strong opposition to the invasion of Iraq). Compare this as well to Chaco's Social Death, and how rights-based politics can produce further oppression. Having confronted these failures of human rights, Allen looks to the resultant cynicism of the Palestinian people as a potential source of political galvanization and hope. It was extremely difficult for me to read about the internal politics of Palestine, not because they aren't relevant on their own, but because it's difficult for me to isolate them from the overall conflict. Allen talks about the positive Palestinian attitude towards the first intifada on multiple occasions; it seems to me that Palestinian cynicism as a potential political tool is most likely to be used against Israel.
When we expand this discussion beyond the particularities of Palestine, however, the reasons for the fall of human rights prove to be far more pernicious than the struggles of statelessness. For starters, as Allen points out, there is "inherent impotence built into the intertwined structures of the human rights system...these structures and declarations were never intended to be enforceable. They represented the lowest common denominator of compromises among sovereign states unwilling to devolve meaningful power into the hands of others," (96). The insanely one-sided power dynamic between Palestine and Israel assures that fighting for "the lowest common denominator of compromises" is not going to do anything to provide statehood, despite the lofty ideals of human rights. I can't seem to find the page right now, but one of Allen's interviewees pointed out that even in strong, established democratic states like the US, human rights aren't respected, as reflected by the government's constant ignorance of the will of the people (the example given being the strong opposition to the invasion of Iraq). Compare this as well to Chaco's Social Death, and how rights-based politics can produce further oppression. Having confronted these failures of human rights, Allen looks to the resultant cynicism of the Palestinian people as a potential source of political galvanization and hope. It was extremely difficult for me to read about the internal politics of Palestine, not because they aren't relevant on their own, but because it's difficult for me to isolate them from the overall conflict. Allen talks about the positive Palestinian attitude towards the first intifada on multiple occasions; it seems to me that Palestinian cynicism as a potential political tool is most likely to be used against Israel.
Response
Human rights are part of the everyday language in Palestine; they're part of basically every aspect of life and society. After reading Allen's book, it seems to me that everyone in Palestine is thinking or talking about human rights, in one way or another. The language of human rights is also the language used when the international community talks about Palestine. Those who do human rights work have become "professionalized", and the focus these days is not on getting actual work done or producing results, but rather, on securing funds from donors. Human rights works, generally, are better off financially than the average Palestinian because they are able to pay themselves large salaries from the donations sent to their HROs. This is one of the reasons many, if not most, Palestinians are cynical about human rights work. They see it not as something which can benefit them, but rather, as a way for others to profit while pretending to work for them.
The first HRO, Al-Haq, focused on being logical and methodical. At the time of its inception, in 1979, the language of human rights didn't really exist yet, and human rights activism was not as widespread or well-known as it is now. The members of Al-Haq focused heavily on objectivity; their goal was to combat the colonialist (Israeli?) image of them as "irrational." They worked to produce what Allen calls "disinterested knowledge" and relied on the "statistical and legalistic idioms of law and human rights." At this point, Israel was both credible and sympathetic, so Al-Haq, and Palestinians in general, had to struggle to be both taken seriously and sympathetic against Israel. This led to the emergence of nationalist values and a "nationalist activist" which allowed their human rights work to succeed. Al-Haq focused on international law as well, attempting to prove Israel's occupation was illegal. They demanded an apoliticism from their members, which was both an attempt to keep the group from splintering as well as a concern for international opinion. They believed a "clarity and precision of detail" would weaken Israel's "domination of the historical and political narrative." They weren't fighting just to secure rights for Palestinians, but also, to secure a place for Palestinians to be heard and taken seriously. They were the colonized trying to fight a colonialist narrative while the colonizers were still there and still securely in power.
The first intifada solidified the place of human rights and human rights organizations in Palestinians politics. The "crackdown" against Palestine, the abuses suffered by Palestinians, were seen by the international media, which coupled with reports from Al-Haq and other HROs, drew attention to the Palestinians' cause. The HRO "politicized law" through their repeated use of legal language to protest the occupation, and they formally entrenched human rights language. These events helped create the human rights framework that exists today. They focused not on Palestinians as victims, but rather, as empowered people.
NGO funding, according to Allen, can be described as a form of "soft colonialism"; it is linked to the political goals of the foreign donors. The NGO work is done in a "moral economy", a "system of social norms, values, and judgments" about appropriate economic and social relations. In Paletstine this is tied to both a political economy and national history. Debating about where donor funds go is really debating about the nature of the Palestinian nation. The Oslo era prompted widespread disturst of NGOs/HROs and donors that led to the creation of ethical guidelines and conduct rules. The view of the Palestinian Authority as not being on the path to becoming an actual sovereign state, but rather, merely a tool of the occupation, a security force created to keep Palestinians quiet and protect Israel's interests is another reason both the PA and these organizations are distrusted. The professionalization of HR work has led to it being depoliticized and desocialized. It's very similar to some of what Duggan discussed. Without neo-liberalism, none of this could really exist the way it does. The point of HROs has been lost in the fight to get money, and the requirements to receive funding keep them even more from making any actual progress. At the same time, it also keeps these groups/people focused on the wrong things.
Human rights education is not just about teaching Palestinians about their rights or empowering them, as it once was, but rather about shaping the Palestinian state. It tries to shape the political subjects the various groups behind this education think are appropriate. Its a way to control not only what gets done, but also what gets discussed, what gets deemed "important" by the "state", for lack of a better term. It works to shape the idea of the "citizen" as well as "security." Security forces are seen as, or see themselves, as almost the state itself. They are the "most important reflection" of the state. "Citizens" are rebellious and in need to policing, which in turn produces even more distrust and cynicism on the part of ordinary citizens. At the same time, HR education is also used to teach citizens about their rights and about democracy; it's a way/place to criticize the PA. This seems like it cannot work. How can the same thing be used to create an apparatus of the state that regulates the citizens and creates a better image of the state also be used to promote criticism of said state? The PA isn't an actual state, and it hasn't really solidified an image of itself as a state, so maybe this work to police the citizenry is a necessary part of trying to do that, though how can it ever be truly done if Palestine continues to be occupied?
Hamas is an alternative to the PA and the NGO system. They draw on nationalism and the nostalgia for the early days of HR work in Palestine. They show an image of a group acting for the people, an image that is free from cynicism. They are an Islamist group and use Islam as a "frame of reference" for their work but claim the establishment of an Islamic state is not their ultimate goal. Their claims about human rights do no differ significantly from established notions about human rights. The real debate is about whether Islam can be in accordance with universal human rights standards, and I think that is where Mohanty comes in. Can the international community make such a judgment? Are some practices so obviously a violation of human rights that the international community and/or The West can make that judgment call, or is it more complicated than that? Particularly in regard to women, who gets to say when/if they are oppressed? I think Mohanty would, and is, arguing it is up to them to say.
In "Under Western Eyes Revisited" she not only discusses some of the misreadings of the original essay, but also, the ways it would be different were it to be written now (or, really in 2004.) I found the parts about globalization and global capital particularly interesting. She calls for the making of gender and power visible in the process of global restructuring, and in some ways, isn't that what we've been working on this semester? She points out the increased attention from feminists on the hegemonic masculinities that are being produced, but also asks, what are the femininities being produced from these processes? These stand-ins for real women that she discusses sound like what we've been discussing. Rather than accepting the images that are produced, we've been unpacking them to see the real people.
The first HRO, Al-Haq, focused on being logical and methodical. At the time of its inception, in 1979, the language of human rights didn't really exist yet, and human rights activism was not as widespread or well-known as it is now. The members of Al-Haq focused heavily on objectivity; their goal was to combat the colonialist (Israeli?) image of them as "irrational." They worked to produce what Allen calls "disinterested knowledge" and relied on the "statistical and legalistic idioms of law and human rights." At this point, Israel was both credible and sympathetic, so Al-Haq, and Palestinians in general, had to struggle to be both taken seriously and sympathetic against Israel. This led to the emergence of nationalist values and a "nationalist activist" which allowed their human rights work to succeed. Al-Haq focused on international law as well, attempting to prove Israel's occupation was illegal. They demanded an apoliticism from their members, which was both an attempt to keep the group from splintering as well as a concern for international opinion. They believed a "clarity and precision of detail" would weaken Israel's "domination of the historical and political narrative." They weren't fighting just to secure rights for Palestinians, but also, to secure a place for Palestinians to be heard and taken seriously. They were the colonized trying to fight a colonialist narrative while the colonizers were still there and still securely in power.
The first intifada solidified the place of human rights and human rights organizations in Palestinians politics. The "crackdown" against Palestine, the abuses suffered by Palestinians, were seen by the international media, which coupled with reports from Al-Haq and other HROs, drew attention to the Palestinians' cause. The HRO "politicized law" through their repeated use of legal language to protest the occupation, and they formally entrenched human rights language. These events helped create the human rights framework that exists today. They focused not on Palestinians as victims, but rather, as empowered people.
NGO funding, according to Allen, can be described as a form of "soft colonialism"; it is linked to the political goals of the foreign donors. The NGO work is done in a "moral economy", a "system of social norms, values, and judgments" about appropriate economic and social relations. In Paletstine this is tied to both a political economy and national history. Debating about where donor funds go is really debating about the nature of the Palestinian nation. The Oslo era prompted widespread disturst of NGOs/HROs and donors that led to the creation of ethical guidelines and conduct rules. The view of the Palestinian Authority as not being on the path to becoming an actual sovereign state, but rather, merely a tool of the occupation, a security force created to keep Palestinians quiet and protect Israel's interests is another reason both the PA and these organizations are distrusted. The professionalization of HR work has led to it being depoliticized and desocialized. It's very similar to some of what Duggan discussed. Without neo-liberalism, none of this could really exist the way it does. The point of HROs has been lost in the fight to get money, and the requirements to receive funding keep them even more from making any actual progress. At the same time, it also keeps these groups/people focused on the wrong things.
Human rights education is not just about teaching Palestinians about their rights or empowering them, as it once was, but rather about shaping the Palestinian state. It tries to shape the political subjects the various groups behind this education think are appropriate. Its a way to control not only what gets done, but also what gets discussed, what gets deemed "important" by the "state", for lack of a better term. It works to shape the idea of the "citizen" as well as "security." Security forces are seen as, or see themselves, as almost the state itself. They are the "most important reflection" of the state. "Citizens" are rebellious and in need to policing, which in turn produces even more distrust and cynicism on the part of ordinary citizens. At the same time, HR education is also used to teach citizens about their rights and about democracy; it's a way/place to criticize the PA. This seems like it cannot work. How can the same thing be used to create an apparatus of the state that regulates the citizens and creates a better image of the state also be used to promote criticism of said state? The PA isn't an actual state, and it hasn't really solidified an image of itself as a state, so maybe this work to police the citizenry is a necessary part of trying to do that, though how can it ever be truly done if Palestine continues to be occupied?
Hamas is an alternative to the PA and the NGO system. They draw on nationalism and the nostalgia for the early days of HR work in Palestine. They show an image of a group acting for the people, an image that is free from cynicism. They are an Islamist group and use Islam as a "frame of reference" for their work but claim the establishment of an Islamic state is not their ultimate goal. Their claims about human rights do no differ significantly from established notions about human rights. The real debate is about whether Islam can be in accordance with universal human rights standards, and I think that is where Mohanty comes in. Can the international community make such a judgment? Are some practices so obviously a violation of human rights that the international community and/or The West can make that judgment call, or is it more complicated than that? Particularly in regard to women, who gets to say when/if they are oppressed? I think Mohanty would, and is, arguing it is up to them to say.
In "Under Western Eyes Revisited" she not only discusses some of the misreadings of the original essay, but also, the ways it would be different were it to be written now (or, really in 2004.) I found the parts about globalization and global capital particularly interesting. She calls for the making of gender and power visible in the process of global restructuring, and in some ways, isn't that what we've been working on this semester? She points out the increased attention from feminists on the hegemonic masculinities that are being produced, but also asks, what are the femininities being produced from these processes? These stand-ins for real women that she discusses sound like what we've been discussing. Rather than accepting the images that are produced, we've been unpacking them to see the real people.
Human Rights and Cynicism
Lori Allen’s analysis of the interwoven connections and connotations between cynicism and human rights in her book The Rise and Fall of Human Rights: Cynicism and Politics in Occupied Palestine is strikingly relevant in the conversation of paternalism and the idea of the Western savior. The idea of “human rights” as a profitable, capitalist entity informs the viewpoint of cynicism on a regular basis for Palestinian citizens, and for me was a starting point into gaining a deeper understanding of the ongoing conflict. As Allen states in her introduction, “The question is not why the human rights system does not actually protect human rights…. The question, rather, is how such a system that so obviously does not deliver on its promises continues to grow, functioning as if it could fulfill those ideals” (20). This passage strikingly brings to mind the motivations driven by capitalism that we have consistently returned to in our studies. Surely enough, she references this notion directly throughout the text, particularly in chapter two. On page 67 she describes the lifestyles of the “NGO elite” who have made quite a hefty profit off of human rights work, while the fruits of their work have yet to be clearly seen. Allen also states explicitly that one of her main theories regarding the work of human rights is that “the human rights system can promote social justice only when it is understood in explicitly political terms and motivated by political goals” (69). Interestingly, she juxtaposes this theory with her analysis of the depoliticization of human rights organizations in Palestine, which she notes later in the same chapter is in direct correlation with the monetary goals of these organizations (78-79).
For Palestinian political activists, cynicism is sparked by the association of human rights organizations with private donors. “These donor funds have come to be seen as morally dubious, directed by people with private political interests rather than Palestinian nationalist goals” (79). It is rather hypocritical of these organizations to simultaneously reject political affiliation while accepting donations which carry political sway. In this instance, the term “depoliticization” then becomes somewhat of a misnomer. Rather, it is more of a question of who or what is really in control behind closed doors. This reminds me strongly of our discussion of neoliberalism and the commodification of the academy, and in particular, the case of Steven Salaita’s firing. If we ask ourselves who is really in control of organizations we would otherwise trust, it becomes much more difficult to actively participate in said organizations.
On page 103, Allen delves further into the conflicting nature of human rights work, explaining that while some choose it as a lesser-evil type of alternative to military politics, for others it is an avenue to resources. This leads me to wonder, at what point does the line between the two become blurred? Given the corrupt nature of so many of these organizations, is it always a matter of choosing the lesser evil? “The Westerners’ money that buys the police cars and demands human rights performances is seen as having corrupted both Palestinian political values and the people who are bought and induced to act in insincere, non-nationalist ways” (133). In such a system of functioning, how can the citizens be expected to be anything but cynical and distrustful?
Human Rights..
Although I thoroughly
enjoy this class, some of our readings leave me with little faith in humanity.
I am convinced that capitalism is the root of all evil, and every institution I
credulously believed was for the benefit of the people actually isn’t. I can’t
begin to explain how irate I was after our readings and class discussion on
neo-liberalism and academic freedom. Is the revenue really worth it if we have
to adulterate our education system through the promotion of capitalistic ideals
and orientalism at the expense of malleable minds? To me it isn’t, but when
human life is commodified nothing is what it appears to be. Even NGO’s and HRO’s
aren’t exempt. I had no idea how political they were, and it really makes me
question the validity of some of the organizations I too have given to in
trying to “help” others.
The various relief
funds for the victims of Hurricane Katrina came to mind as I read chapter two
in The Rise and Fall of Human Rights.
I can remember all of the celebrity telethons, charity concerts and relief
benefit awareness campaigns that occurred shortly following the travesty. I
could recall saying to myself that despite the government’s dilatory tactics to
bring aid to the victims, the city of New Orleans should feel hopeful of their
bright future. For a brief moment I was even proud of the tenacity we possessed
as citizens to try and help our fellow Americans, but unfortunately that
feeling was ephemeral. Years later I wondered why some of the neighborhoods in
New Orleans still looked abandoned and forsaken. Where did all of that money
go? It wasn’t until reading this book that I discovered that solely raising
money is not enough. Why? Because those who donate, especially big donors have
the ability to dictate how that money is spent. What role does stigmatization
play in this as well? Ultimately I think it is used as a catalyst to help frame
the way donors are represented and how they present themselves to communities
in need. Remember the earthquake in Haiti in 2010? Because of the way people of
color in the third world are stigmatized in the US, it’s hard to question why
donors are making such large contributions or why they have ramifications
attached to those contributions, without looking like an asshole for questioning
their intentions in the first place. One reason I respected Al-Haq is because
they actually knew what was occurring within these Palestinian communities.
They actually worked with the population directly, and didn’t operate from a
place of self-service. It sickens me to know that donors who have only seen the
Palestinian/ Israeli conflict through the media can dictate how the funds they
give should be spent, not realizing the effects it has on the people they are
suppose to be helping. “The Westerners’ money that buys the police cars and
demands human rights performances is seen as having corrupted both Palestinian
political values and the people who are bought and induced to act in insincere,
non-nationalist ways” (132). These donors go to sleep at night thinking they
are some sort of hero, when really they are only in it for their own selfish
interests. But I guess this is where
cynicism becomes a variable in this equation. How about instead of just
throwing money to HRO’s and NGO’s to assuage our own guilt, we contemplate ways
that we can advocate structural changes for marginalized populations overseas. To
be honest we can do some of those same things here, but that’s probably nearly
impossible to do in this “post-racial” neo-liberal society we live in…but a
girl can dream right?
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