Category Archives: everyday life

Eid Mubarak … in Myanmar

Decaying is still living

Decaying lemon and living fungi and a print of a Burmese fruit basket made of raffia, the lemon‘s home.

A quark ball covered in powdered sugar and a lemon covered in mold.

“We are all stuck” – On (not) failing our students

We are way into the winter term in all public universities in France. I am currently on a research sabbatical at the University Paris-Nanterre where I also teach a course on the Introduction to Legal Anthropology.

Half an hour before my lecture is about to start, one student already sits prepared with their laptop in the hallway. I open the door to the lecture room to allow them to sit more comfortably. But it is as freezing in the room as it is in the hallway. There is no heating in the building. I wonder how many of my students might come today given the heavy rainfall …

Ten minutes before my lecture, I check my emails. I see that several students have written to me already. Only one calls in sick, all others are stuck in the outbound RER A train from central Paris to Nanterre. There has been an incident, the students explained: “We are all stuck”. Another one shares a screenshot of the offical traffic announcement and an additional photograph: an official attestation that there has been a disruption. The document carries the title “Attestation de pertubation”

The date and time is neatly printed and I contemplate how fast and effective not being fast and effective can be. I suggest to the student later to use this textual artefact as an entry point to an essay my students are supposed to write at the end of the term on the everyday life of the law.

It is 10.30h and I decide to see who might have shown up despite the rain falling and the train being late. The room is half full already and within the next 20 minutes the rest trickle in. We are almost at full capacity and I am seriously impressed.

It is on the same day that I learn that in France there is no longer an obligation to attend classes in presence if your personal circumstances do not allow you to do so. Students may study long distance at all universities in France for health-related reasons or because they have to work. At the end of my course I will have to grade essays of students whom I will have never seen in person and who will not have attended a single lecture of mine on campus.

I wonder: what kind of anthropologists are we releasing into the world if the only encounter many students have with the discipline is via self-study ? No dialogue with teachers, no spending time with classmates, no campus experience. Not only that the state keeps on moving the universities beyond the bande péripherique into suburbia, by allowing students to study long-distance, it reduces the campus to mere sites of administration. In the name of “flexibility”, students work towards their grades, but are being deprived of what Bell Hooks has called “the most radical space of possibility in the academy”: the classroom.

Universities are easier to manage if fewer people are around. One might be tempted to reframe long-distance studies as “needs-centred”. Paris already suffered from high living costs before the Covid-19 lockdowns struck. After 2021, many never moved back to the city, but remained in their home towns far away. At times, the campus feels deserted – a striking difference to 2018 and 2019 when I last spent some time in Paris on fellowships.

The students who do attend my seminar, always listen attentively and eagerly write down what I am presenting on my slides. I have split the seminar into two parts: the first is a lecture, the second was intended as an interactive space for discussing the weekly reading and give them the possibility to ask questions – in French or English. However, only very few attend the second part of the seminar. I now understand that this is the case because very few have read the text. I was warned by other lecturers that this is indeed the case: “Students do not read texts.” When I inquired why, the answer was always because they are overworked – from having to take too many courses and from having to work in order to finance their studies …

But anthropology is not a subject that can be taught only. It needs to be ingested until it has become part of oneself. Students need to anthropologize themselves throughout their studies in order to be able to later claim “I am an anthropologist” and mean themselves instead of a mere profession. Anthropology needs to become an integral part of one’s own humaneness, ideally, before one can collaborate with others and analyse what one has learned from them in an ethical manner. But the discipline is increasingly expected to be taught in ways that ensure it remains outside of our students’ individual experience.

Our most important task is therefore to get students back into the classroom while at the same time opening that very classroom up to the world. Rather than transmitting a particular kind of ‘knowledge’, we should be transmitting that anthropology provides a multitude of ways of seeing and conceptualizing humanity as such. While taking our students and their current experiences seriously, our task is also to de-self-center their existing worldview and help them get unstuck. We do not need more ‘attestations des pertubations‘, we need ‘pertubations des attestions‘!”

In honour of Akbar Hussain (1944 – 2024)

On July 28, 2024 at 4.30pm, my dear Akbar Hussain passed away.

We have known each other for over a decade and as is the case with many central interlocutors in anthropology, there is never a way to thank them enough for what they are enabling us to achieve. Akbar Hussain was born as Mohammad Akbar Hussain Khan. He descended from a well-known Turkic Qizilbash family of high-ranking warriors, originating from Lankaran in what is now Azerbaijan. His ancestors had fought in the British Army and their heroic services were rewarded with name titles – such as “Captain” – and with land titles – such as a grant given to Akbar Hussain’s great-grandfather in 1886 that allowed him to relocate from the Northern part of British India to Burma. While the family raised their children in Myanmar, they continued to go back and forth to countries in the East such as Pakistan (since 1947) and the West (Akbar Hussain himself lived in the USA for many years). Theirs was a polyglott Muslim family as most Muslim families are in Myanmar. In contrast to his ancestors, however, Akbar Hussain did not serve any army; he served his mosque in downtown Yangon. He knew its history better than most, and due to the location of his appartment, he also knew its present: who would go in and out, at what time and for what purpose. He was curious enough to engage with my curiosity, multi-lingual so that we could easily communicate about the most complicated matters, very knowledgable and yet modest and able to admit when he did not know something – suggesting that I probe literature instead of his brain.

This is a very blurry picture of the two of us, but somehow, it says so much about our relation. Akbar Hussain was always there when I needed him and even, when I did not know that I needed him. He always kept to the background or to the sidelines, observing everything, commenting quietly afterwards or hinting at things, pointing at people, alerting me what to pay attention to, and whom to listen to more closely. Translating from Urdu to English for me at times, and always making sure that I get home safely at night after a procession or another long day spent at his house with him and his lovely wife.

He passed away and I could not say goodbye properly, neither in person, nor at the graveyard. He had asked me many times to come see him during the last few years. We communicated via a third person who would scan his handwritten letters to me in an internet café … as if it were the 1990s, as if there was a military dicatorship in place … wait … oh. And I would write self-censored emails back, because I knew that I was sending them to an address and a person whom I did not know and that I relied on that person to print them out and give them to him when he came to pick up his ‘mail’. So he knew all about my private life in safe Europe, but little of my fears and worries for him, his wife and everyone in Myanmar, really, as there was no way to ask how he was really doing in the current situation. He never spoke of politics, he sticked to writing about his health, his religion, the weather and of course reported meticuously about all upcoming festivities at the mosque.

We met at the mosque over 10 years ago and soon I realized that he frequently stayed at the managing trustee’s house at the time. He was his right hand, but also a careful observer as the person was very old and also not uncomplicated, feared by some even. Akbar Hussain knew how to handle complicated people, he even knew how to deal with a female German anthropologist who intruded into the daily life of the mosque, too, but – in contrast to tourists or journalists who dropped in and out, sometimes coming only for one day in the year – Ashura – to witness, record and distribute gruesome images of men flagellating themselves or walking over burning coal – to then disappear again, thinking they had understood something, he dealt with me as someone who would always come back and stay because I somehow never understood enough. And he kept explaining. Eventually, when he thought, I had acquired enough knowledge, he asked me: “Hey, when will you become Shia?” In my book, I recall this sentence and have interpreted it in the following way:

‘Hey, when will you become Shia?’ he often asked, which indicated to me that it would have been easier for him to conceive of me as a converted ‘member’ than as someone who was simply very interested (and increasingly knowledgeable) in what it means to be a Shia in Yangon. My interest and knowledge in the Shia religion were fine, but they were not what mattered in the end: membership in the community did (Beyer 2024 ,8)

He is on the cover photograph of my Myanmar book, as usual at the sidelines, with his back even turned away from where supposedly the ‘action’ is, yet later able to deconstruct and interpret the event with me in all its details. Since we often sticked together, everyone initiatially wondered who I was. The following conversation is from a transcript I made between Akbar Hussain, me and another person from the mosque who explained to me how Akbar Hussain would answer this question in my absence.

Third person (to me): they all ask ‘where is she from, where is she from?’ Akbar Hussain then always says ‘my relation’ #00:08:44-6#

AH Because my relation are all foreigners #00:08:49-8#

J That is true #00:08:51-8#

AH So they thought that you are my relative #00:08:57-3#

J That’s good – we can keep it this way (laughs) #00:09:02-9#

AH They ask me ‘from America?’ ‘No, I say, from Germany.’ They are very inquisitive (laughs) #00:09:18-7#

J That’s fine, I am also inquisitive #00:09:23-9#

(all laughing) #00:09:26-6#

All his relatives are foreigners, he said, because Akbar Hussain had chosen to never give up his Pakistani citizenship. He loved Myanmar and Yangon, the downtown area, his street and the mosque, but his home was in Pakistan where he spent his youth and went to university. He was fiercely political, one of the harshest critics of the mullahs in Pakistan and in Afghanistan, of those who perverted his beloved religion and his culture. He was proud and knowledgable and sometimes so outspoken that when he picked up the microphone at the mosque to condemn the killing of innocents, the endemic corruption or anything else going on in Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Iran or Northern Africa, one could mistake him for being radical himself. He was radical in the sense that he did not only believe, but stood up for what he believed. But this concerned politics and religion abroad. He was careful to not position himself publicly when it came to Myanmar – knowing that he was a foreigner by choice. Someone who had to frequent the downtown visa section of the Ministry of Foreign affairs every few months to renew his residence status. While he had tried to incorporate me into his ‘community’ and even his family, he himself had remained Other all the time … we both occupied the same positionality, I later understood.

I read about Akbar Hussain’s death on the Facebook page of a friend of mine from Yangon. She is the wife of the late managing trustee and knew Akbar Hussain very well. He saw her getting married at a young age, he saw her two children growing up, he went in and out of her house in downtown for many years and he supported her late husband in many ways. She is thankful for him, her story being one of the numerous stories that need to be told because they are paradigmatic for Myanmar’s Muslims: for the way religious divides are being bridged, for the way religious tolerance is being practiced at a low level, for the way in which the people of Myanmar are capable of transcending the categories that have been imposed upon them throughout colonial history. These are the stories we do not get to hear about too much, but they exist and they matter. Just like the people that tell them.

One last conversation in person. Spring 2020 (photo: Felix Girke)

Akbar Hussain, may you rest in peace and … thank you.

မိသားစုနဲ့ထပ်တူအလွန်တရာမှဝမ်းနည်းကြေကွဲမိပါတယ်စိတ်မကောင်းလိုက်တာသူသိတ်ချစ်မြတ်နိုးလှတဲ့လလေး Muharram လမှာဆုံးသွားရှာရတာစိတ်ထိခိုက်ဝမ်းနည်းမိပါတယ်

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un إِنَّا لِلَّٰهِ وَإِنَّا إِلَيْهِ رَاجِعُونَ.

Come work with me! PhD positions on Europe

If you are a recent graduate (MA-/MPhil-degree holder) with an interest in pursuing a PhD in Social and Cultural Anthropology under my supervision, please consider applying for a PhD position at the newly established Graduate School “Post-Euroentric Europe. Narratives of a World-Province in Transformation” at the University of Konstanz.

Together with 10 other professors we have worked hard in the last years to realize an ambitious and highly relevant programme that is aimed at decentring and questioning narratives about Europe.

“Where is Europe?” we might be tempted to ask. “And is it even one place?” (Attali 1994). Is Europe to be found in the minds and hearts of the refugees detained in camps on its southern border, for whom it is place of longing, even as it denies them entry or sets up hurdles in their way? How and to what extent do “soft” cultural factors in the form of collective narratives and imaginations solidify into “hard” institutional realities, which in turn have a reflexive effect on the availability of narrative resources?

While it has long been customary to regard “Europe” and “modernity” as more or less synonymous, only recently has there been a systematic examination of the fact that the European continent was and is permeated by political-cultural demarcations and asyn-chronicities, even within its own borders. Increased attention to non-European traditions or those marginalized in Europe’s dominant self-narrative not only guides a redefinition of Europe’s position in world affairs; it also requires us to diversify notions of Europe from within.

The work of our graduate program aims to contribute to the historical and contemporary demonopolization of the concept of Europe in local contexts, which has been tightly restricted to dominant traditions in the West-Central European area.

Within this interdisciplinary Graduate School, I am particularly interested in supervising anthropological PhD projects with a focus on statelessness in Europe or its border regions or on one of the various European independence movements (e.g. in Catalonia, Bretagne, Basque Country, Scotland, Celtic Nationalism, One Tirol, … ). Other topics are possible, too, as long as they fit the programme and are based on ethnographic field research and lie within the field of political and legal anthropology.

Make sure you read the entire research programme carefully before preparing your application! If you have questions, contact me under my uni-konstanz email-address.The deadline is already 30 June 2024!

We-formation. Reflections on methodology, the military coup attempt and how to engage with Myanmar today. Lecture in Paris, 16 May 2023

In this invited lecture, I will discuss my concept of “we-formation” in regard to three different topics: First, as anthropological theory and methodology; Second, as a way to make sense of the resistance against the attempted military coup and third in regard to the possibility of a public anthropology of cooperation in these trying times.

First, I will explore the concept in regard to its theoretical and methodological innovativeness, taking an example from my Yangon ethnography as illustration. We-formation, I argue in my book Rethinking community in Myanmar. Practices of we-formation among Muslims and Hindus in urban Yangon, “springs from an individual’s pre-reflexive self-consciousness whereby the self is not (yet) taken as an intentional object” (8). The concept encompasses individual and intersubjective routines that can easily be overlooked” (20), as welll as more spectacular forms of intercorporeal co-existence and tacit cooperation.

By focusing on individuals and their bodily practices and experiences, as well as on discourses that do not explicitly invoke community but still centre around a we, we-formation sensitizes us to how a sense of we can emerge (Beyer 2023: 20).

Second, I will put my theoretical and methodological analysis of we-formation to work and offer an interpretation of why exactly the attempted military coup of 1 February 2021 is likely to fail (given that the so-called ‘international community’ does not continue making the situation worse). In the conclusion of my book I argue that the “generals’ illegal power grab has not only ended two decades of quasi-democratic rule, it has also united the population in novel ways. As an unintended consequence, it has opened up possibilities of we-formation and enabled new debates about the meaning of community beyond ethno-religious identity” (250).

Third, I will discuss how (not) to cooperate with Myanmar today. Focusing on what is already happening within the country and amongst Burmese activists in exile, but also what researchers of Myanmar from the Global North can do within their own countries of origin to make sure the resistance does not lose momentum. In this third aspect, I take we-formation out of its intercorporeal and pre-reflexive context in which I came to develop the concept during my fieldwork in Yangon and employ it to stress a type of informed anthropological action that, however, does not rely on having a common enemy or on gathering in a new form of ‘community’ that has become reflexive of itself. Rather, it aims at encouraging everyone to think of one’s own indidivual strengths, capabilities and possibilities and put them to work to support those fighting for a free Myanmar.

You can purchase my book on the publisher’s website: NIAS Press.

Here’s the full programme of the Groupe Recherche Birmanie for the spring term 2023:

“Rethinking community in Myanmar. Practices of We-Formation among Muslims and Hindus in Urban Yangon” (NIAS Press 2023) has arrived!

‘Community’, I argue in my new anthropological monograph, was actively turned into a category for administrative purposes during the time of British imperial rule. It has been put to work to divide people into ethno-religious selves and others ever since.

Rather than bestowing on community some sort of positivist reality or deconstructing the category until nothing is left, my aim in this book is to shift the angle of approach: I acknowledge that community (for reasons that can usually be traced historically) feels real to and is meaningful for individuals. Their experiences and their struggles to engage with community are no less real. Through their own classificatory practices, my interlocutors — Muslims and Hindus in urban Yangon — demonstrate that they reason and reflect on symbols and meanings in their own culture as much as anthropologists do. But my approach goes beyond a social constructivist concern over how terms such as community are used, and also beyond a representational approach in which actors are subjected to culture as a system of meaning.

When I talk about the work of community (drawing on Nancy 2015), I reflect on the ways in which individuals accommodate ‘community’ in their acts of reasoning, meaning-making and symbolization. The way my interlocutors in Yangon see and talk about themselves has a historical context that begins in nineteenth-century England, encompasses British colonial India and later Burma itself, and extends into presentday
Myanmar. I then widen the emic perspective of my interlocutors and offer a novel way of describing how a we that does not neatly map onto or overlap with a homogeneous social group is generated in various situations.

What I call we-formation encompasses individual and intersubjective routines that can easily be overlooked, as well as more spectacular forms such as the intercorporeal aspects of the ritual march I described earlier. Attending to such sometimes minute moments of co-existence or tacit cooperation is difficult, but doing so can help us understand how community continues to have such an impact on the everyday lives of our interlocutors, not to mention on our own analytical ways of thinking about sociality.

You can purchase the book on the publisher’s website: NIAS Press.

“Deutsch” in Gänsefüßchen – Artikel in der TAZ

In Deutschland hat jede/r vierte Deutsche Migrationshintergrund. Wenn die Polizei bei Tatverdächtigen denselbigen gesondert erforscht, lohnt es sich zu fragen, wozu diese Information eigentlich dient. Wenn daran konkrete Präventions- und Integrationsmaßnahmen geknüpft sein sollen, wie dies im Fall von Stuttgart und auch Frankfurt von Polizei und Regierung artikuliert wurde, nachdem es in den Innenstädten zu gewalttätigen Ausschreitungen gekommen war, dann kann man weiter fragen warum diese Maßnahmen bereits als Argument in die Debatte gebracht werden bevor die “Hintergründe” der meist jugendlichen Tatverdächtigen überhaupt ermittelt sind. Wenn dann die Polizei Videoüberwachung und Alkoholkonsumverbot im öffentlichen Raum ins Spiel bringt, muss man sogar fragen, ob das Einschränken von Rechten eine sinnvolle Integrationsmaßnahme ist.

Für die TAZ habe ich einen kritischen Gastkommentar verfasst, in dem ich argumentiere, dass “Präventions- und Integrationsarbeit […] auch in den politischen Institutionen selbst stattfinden [muß]. Das Gewaltmonopol eines demokratischen Staates kann nur dann nachhaltig von allen respektiert werden, wenn Prävention und Integration mehr sind als Kontrollinstrumente des Staates.” Wenn jedoch der Eindruck entsteht, “dass dem Migrationshintergrund ein besonderes oder isoliertes Interesse entgegengebracht wird, so ist nachvollziehbar, warum in den Medien seither über „Stammbaumforschung“ debattiert und der Polizei struktureller Rassismus vorgeworfen wird, auch wenn die Ermittlung ja erst im Nachgang der Tat erfolgte.”

Hier geht es zum Volltext aus der TAZ.

#corona On being prudent

In a recent post for Allegra Lab, I ask what we can do from our homes, to which we are confined these weeks, being overwhelmed, seeing the problematic and political nature of all these facts and narratives that are presented to us in the Covid-19-crisis.

I have elaborated on three tasks:

First, we can join public debates and be a voice of prudence. This is to help de-escalate discussions where people – sometimes out of sensationalism, sometimes out of hurried obedience and often out of fear – demand that their states take extreme measures of surveillance, deprivation of liberty and sanction. The term “state of exception” has been used to such an extent that we have gotten used to it already – exactly what Giorgio Agamben warned us about.

Second, we can engage with our students and address their sense of insecurity by adapting our upcoming or ongoing courses, seminars and lectures in a way that allows the topic to influence whatever subject we had intended to work on. Since few things are as pervasive as a global pandemic, there is hardly any subject (in anthropology and beyond) which we could not reconceptualize by taking account of COVID-19. As we will have to teach digitally, it is also important to discuss the pitfalls that come with online learning, while making use of newly available resources.

Third, we can practice writing our fieldwork diaries in our homes: Note down how the virus has already impacted our own personal everyday lives, how it has led to a restructuring of our daily schedules, how it has decreased and altered the amount of time we spend with colleagues and friends and how it might have increased the number of hours we spend with members of our household. For those of us who have children, we can observe how they, too, struggle to adapt to a physical world that has suddenly shrunk and to a digital world that has suddenly expanded. We can look outside our windows and correlate how changes in governmental policies become observable in the very way people physically move in the streets. And we can honestly record our own feelings from day to day. We can then come back to these notes at a later stage – just as we do when we come home from the field.

This too, to me, is public anthropology. One directly engages with the media, the second takes up current topics and reworks these with our students for whom we are responsible, and the third collects data diligently in order to be able to draw from this source later on when we have the capacity and the psychological distance required to take a long hard look at what is happening in front of our eyes right now.

Read the full post here. My intro is part of an ongoing series which we have labelled #corona thread.

#corona: Views from an anthropology of the state

This is from my twitter thread which I started on March 9, after having returned from Singapore and Myanmar. I am saving it here for better readability and for those, who do not use social media.

Here are my thoughts on the corona virus from the perspective of an anthropology of the state: Having just returned from 2,5 weeks of short-term fieldwork in Southeast Asia (Singapore and Myanmar) I noticed the following:

When we look at the policies of authoritarian states such as Singapore and Myanmar we can see highly diverse tactics in how to deal with an epidemic or pandemic – Singapore: closes its borders, monitors its citizens, checks every persons temperature at the airport and at hotels. Provides sanitizing gels everywhere, cleans public spaces regularly several times a day. Informs on all media channels how to wash hands, keep distance, when to stay home and whom to call. The population not only cooperates, but even copies the state’s measures (e.g. in restaurants, in gyms, and malls). Singapore reports all cases early. As a result, the growth rate of new cases has slowed down and the number has almost remained the same since February.

Myanmar – in contrast: no checking of temperature at airports, no entry denial to travellers from high-risk countries, no information beyond a couple of posters in downtown Yangon. No cases reported until today. No trust in the government, but a lot of rumours.

Then I return to Germany and I find: people buying toilet paper (?) and pasta in large quantities. People still not understanding how to sneeze and when to stay away from crowds. People stealing sanitizing gels even at my university – with the result that none are provided. Due to Germany’s federal system, there is no centrally communicated measurement in place, but an endless trickle-down of bits and pieces of news – all in the form of recommendations, none binding, in many cases not adhered to. There is a lingering sense of defeatism. There is also a slight sense of panic. The hoarding of toilet paper and the sanitizing gels standing in for trying to substitute danger with purity. The buying of pasta seems to be a post 2WW phenomenon, though. None of it is rational behaviour, but driven by fear.

Authoritarian states such as Singapore, China, but also Israel switch into command mode, and its citizens obey as there is no other option. They fear the state more than the virus. In authoritarian states such as Myanmar (and the current US) there is politics by denial: Business as usual, nothing to see here or to report. And in democratic states such as Germany, it takes an epidemic such as the current one to see where the limits of governmental agency are:

The downside of upholding individual freedom is that we are on our own.

While China’s effort has been written about as “collective”, as in this article, it was really a top-down decision by a few officials that was adhered to because people fear the state. While we in Germany are still enjoying our individual freedom to ignore governmental recommendations, an unintended side-effect of surveillance and micro governance in authoritarian states is that it ultimately aids health care measurements and helps curb epidemics and pandemics. And a side-effect in democracies and other authoritarian states is that the upholding of individual freedom comes at a prize, as does the complete denial of the issue. The two are actually close. That is, when it comes to epidemics, Germany and Myanmar have a lot in common!

March 24: I’ll continue: “Queremos o melhor para população. Se o governo não tem capacidade de dar um jeito, o crime organizado resolve” – This is a statement from organized crime in Rio, Brazil who enforced a nightly lockdown because they would take care of the population, in contrast to the government. Also, ISIS has warned its people not to enter “the land of the epidemic” (aka Europe ) and layed out a “sharia directive” that includes how to wash your hands properly.

We live in interesting times when organized crime and terrorists care more than the state.

tbc…