The Synagogue

I am ignorant about Jewish culture I'll admit it the closest thing I have to a window into their society is a friend with a "jew-fro".  His mom is Jewish but he is as atheistic as I am.  The only real thing that might distinguish him as a member of the Jewish community, which I'm not really sure you can consider him, is the aforementioned hair, an astounding addiction to bagels and, at the risk of being called racist, he is a bit stingy with his money.  Like I said ignorant.  Well last Tuesday that changed, at least a little bit, at the very least I wore a yamakah for the first time, that has got to count for something right.  All jokes aside though I was astounded at how little I actually knew about the Jewish religion.  To quantify my lack of knowledge there were more than Six Hundred and Thirteen things I didn't know about Judaism since that is apparently how many rules govern the life of a practicing Jew (known as the Mitzvah), not to mention I wasn't even aware what the holiday Hanukkah was a celebration of, and I generally pride myself on being a knowledgeable and cultured person.  For those of you who are in the boat I was formally in it celebrates the supposed miracle of an oil lamp burning for eight days in the Temple of Jerusalem signifying that it had been reconsecrated after it was desecrated by the Syrians.  I know right, and I thought it had something to do with an animated Adam Sandler film.  Another thing that kind of blew me away was the level of secrecy.  I am accustomed to being able to walk into nearly any church with so much as a smile.  The synagogue is protected by a mean looking metal fence, along with some not so friendly security guards, in fact when we were supposed to return at 4 o'clock he almost didn't let me back in.  The security is merely a symptom though, there continues to be a lot of animosity towards the Jewish faith and these walls are for protection, but there is a fine line between keeping others out and keeping yourself in, it is possible they are inextricable.  One incident on our tour that I found fascinating was when our guide related to us that the pope abstained from referring to Israel as anything but the Holy Land, choosing not to recognize it as a nation.  I agree with him, at least to a degree, the formation of Israel, while good in its intentions, was something the United Nations did not have the authority to grant nor the foresight to see the obvious repercussions.  I am merely hypothesizing but I think the decision was largely influenced by emotions still running high after WWII.  That said I do not have a better solution, at least the Jews who fight and die for Israel are dieing for their country, perhaps something can be said of tha

Writing Assignment #2: The Race Riots of Rosarno

I'll be honest, I was concerned about this assignment from the beginning.  I walked out of class last Thursday grumbling about the logistics; where was I supposed to find an Italian who was not only willing to talk to a complete stranger but also had the English language skills to communicate about topics as complex as xenophobia, illegal immigration, organized crime and corruption.  So I did what I do with most things I don't want to deal with, I didn't deal with it.  I didn't even read about the events in detail, allocating the limited time I spend perusing the news on the disaster in Haiti.

Late Friday afternoon, shortly after our independent research meeting I made a desperate bid to make it to the wedding cake monument hoping to catch a few beautiful shots of the sun setting for my vlog.  For whatever reason, perhaps the alacrity with which I took my leave from our group discussion, Teo and Giulia were captured by spontaneity and decided to accompany me.  Whether they would have made the same decision knowing the frantic pace I was about to set is another question.  Regardless I am glad they came.  As we stood at the top of the Vittorio Emmanuele II Monument watching the sun sink into Rome, creating an ephemeral mix of vibrant hues, a middle-aged to elderly couple was enjoying the same vista.  Teo, feeling significantly bolder about the assignment than myself, approached the woman and engaged her in conversation about the race riots. I listened in, intrigued, but had nothing of my own to add.  As such the experience did not qualify for this assignment yet I mention it because it set the stage by piquing my interest in the topic.  Additionally I am rarely at a loss for words in any conversation, be that a good or a bad thing, and the unfamiliar experience was not exactly a comfortable one. Duly inspired by this duality of interest and shame I googled "race riots southern Italy" upon returning to my apartment and began to arm myself with an intellectual armada in preparation for my forthcoming second encounter.  As fate would have it one of my best friends, and probably my favorite person to discuss philosophy with, skyped me during this mental excursion and I took the opportunity to refine my ideas regarding the race riots. A particularly relevant excerpt from the conversation went something like this,

[1/20/2010 2:27:57 PM] Alex Hakso: whenever you are economically reliant upon something illegal, things are bound to get complicated

[1/20/2010 2:28:05 PM] Tim Persson: the situations not that far off from our Mexican seasonal workers

[1/20/2010 2:28:19 PM] Alex Hakso: oftentimes locals (especially old, white locals) don't want them around

[1/20/2010 2:28:33 PM] Alex Hakso: yeah my sentiments exactly regarding the Mexican migrant workers

[1/20/2010 2:28:49 PM] Tim Persson: makes you wonder if the same thing will eventually happen in the states or if not what factors are different

[1/20/2010 2:28:33 PM] Alex Hakso: they are occasionally the victims of violence, and there is a lot of effort put into keeping them out

[1/20/2010 2:28:57 PM] Alex Hakso: but the sentence "who's going to pick the fruit next year" carries a lot of weight in that article

While a slightly disjointed dialogue it captures several points worthy of in-depth examination.  The first line prods at a glaring contradiction between legality and reality.  I find it nigh impossible to believe that the Italian government or any of its citizens are ignorant of the labor system that is exploited in the southern regions of their country to harvest crops.  Yet it is tolerated even encouraged in the sense that the majority are comfortable feigning ignorance, they don't care how their produce arrives at their table only that it is less expensive.  This is in direct conflict with the counter-culture of impoverished Italians who are forced to compete, and in all likelihood fail, against unbelievably cheap stream of immigrant labor flowing into their country.  The last line of the excerpt sums up the crux of the issue, farmers have become dependent on this cheap labor and in one article I read a farmer was quoted as saying that he did not have the capital to harvest his produce at the prices demanded by Italian citizen laborers so his fruit was rotting on the trees.  It is incredibly interesting to compare and contrast the circumstances leading up to this racialized violence here in Italy with the nearly synonymous situation in the United States.  While this is not the focus of my writing I would like anyone reading this to compare and contrast the two and if possible share their thoughts. America has a long history of racism and racially targeted violence, is it really so hard to believe that these things could rear their ugly head again. 

However Alex is, like me, an American and in order to fairly examine the issue an Italian opinion is necessary. Despite having no concrete plan for who or how to approach fate decreed that the encounter arrived sooner than expected.  On Sunday I made a return trip to Ostia Antica.  As you might imagine a forty minute train ride could provide an excellent venue for such a venture.  However the thought hadn't really occurred to me to utilize my travel time until I sat down near a finely dressed Italian businessman who was conversing, in quite fluent English albeit Italian accented, on his cell phone.  When he finally hung up I decided to seize the opportunity.  I introduced myself as a student from Washington State and after a few cordial minutes I had discovered that he was, as I had predicted an Italian businessman, named Enzo Moretti.  He had done several years of overseas work in India working for what I understood to be a tele-communications company.  About a year ago he had transferred back to Roma, Italy and had worked here since; a change he seemed quite happy about.  The fact that we both understood the ardours of living with a lingual barrier helped to smooth things out.  Introductions accomplished I decided it was time to reveal my ulterior motivation, "So what do you know about the race riots in Calabrias?" I asked.  He paused just long enough to make me start to believe I had overstepped the bounds of our limited relationship.  Finally he slowly shook his head and solemnly said, "well I know that they are a serious problem."  Unfortunately I did not have pen or paper with me on this trip so I cannot give you an exact account of our conversation however I will do my best to provide an accurate synopsis.  He explained at first that it was personally upsetting because he felt that it reflected poorly upon all Italians and he not did feel that he could be classified as a racist, a statement I will concur with.  Furthermore he lamented the situation that leads to so many immigrants coming to Italy, seeing it as the ever-elusive land of opportunity when in reality they are confined to a marginalized existence similar to slavery in all but name.  He expressed his confusion that people continue to immigrate here in such great numbers somehow uninformed by their relatives of the abysmal conditions.  This caused me to ponder the possibility that perhaps these people come from conditions somehow worse, unimaginable as that is from the confines of my pampered lifestyle.  When queried about the allegations that the mafia was somehow involved he confirmed that he did in fact believe this to be the case.  He added something quite similar to what Federica Bianchi stated about it, that the line between mafia and the rest of Italy is not as demarcated as it would be convenient to think. Unfortunately at this point our conversation came to an abrupt halt as the train reached his stop.

In a way these were not the responses I had wanted to hear, I was secretly wishing to encounter an Italian who supported the governments stance that there was no racism in Italy so that I could directly juxtapose my views with theirs.  However it is more than likely that my own insecurities regarding the language border had made this a significantly less likely possibility.  Regardless once I committed to this assignment that had at first inspired so much worry I found it to be an incredibly relevant social issue both here and abroad.  In retrospect it was not the assignment that made me upset, given a similar one in the States would have gotten no such reaction, but crossing my personal borders being a mandatory aspect of the class.  However I am glad I did

Critical Reading: Borders in a Borderless World

"It should be obvious that the construction of borders reflects existing ethnic, group and territorial differences (subsequent) just as it is often responsible for the creation of those differences in the first place (antecedent).  Equally, many of the borders within which our personal and group lives are compartmentalized and regimented have been super-imposed upon us by the decision-making elites despite the fact that in many cases they do not reflect the true cutting points and edges of inter-group difference and separation--not least because there is rarely (if ever) such a clean line of division or separation." (Newman)

I found this quote to be the most fascinating excerpt of the entire article.  It really cuts to what I feel is the heart of the conundrum surrounding borders.  They are cyclical in nature performing a bizarre parody of the cliche chicken versus the egg philosophical question.  Ethnic differences often arise in part due to the simple fact that different groups originated in different geographical regions and the physical space that they inhabit plays a part in molding them culturally.  However once these societies expanded and came into contact with other cultures geographical boundaries came to demarcate the cultural boundaries that already existed.  These, once formed, serve to perpetuate the asymmetries responsible for their original formation, coming full circle.  Newman goes one step farther, although I am unsure I agree with him, and states that the boundaries are maintained even strengthened by the aristocratic elites who benefit through the control of these margins.  If true it would imply that which borders we encounter are dictated for us based simply on our place of origin, an interesting suggestion.  Finally I'd like to touch upon the ending sentence of the quote it is an important observation that despite the common mental image of a border as a clearly marked line there are often a variety of shades of grey, or transition zones, surrounding borders.

Writing Assignment 1: Borders

Borders.  Upon first inspection it is a relatively simple term, at least it was for me, carrying with it no more connotation than a mental image of perfectly drawn lines on a map or that bookstore of the same name.  It is only upon encountering them: crossing them or being stopped by them that deeper exploration becomes mandatory.  Over the past week or two I have run into a plethora of borders, both those that I can cross and those where I am rebuffed.  There are of course the obvious ones, those aforementioned unrealistically sharp delineations depicted by cartographers, crossed as I flew first to France and then to Italy. However for now I will focus on those that are more cloaked, the ones that I've encountered on a daily basis since coming to Europe.  The most pronounced of these is my inability to communicate with the ease I am accustomed to.  I pride myself on my knowledge of the English language as a conduit through which to express myself and to have that severely crippled has made this border particularly pronounced for me.  Since being here I have been reduced to child-like levels in certain situations, wordlessly pointing at the things I want or staring dumbly as a native Italian attempts to impart useful knowledge.  If you have ever been in a similar situation, in a country where you did not know the language, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about.  As the days have gone by I have progressed past complete ignorance regarding the Italian language gaining the ability to throw out a Buongiorno here and an Arrivederci there.  Interestingly enough a large number of those Italians with some English skills won't even attempt to speak Italian with me transitioning to English as soon as they assess that I am a foreigner, implying that they are far more comfortable crossing my language barrier than having theirs crossed.  Another facet I have observed is that if there is a multilingual person present it is incredibly easy to become dependent upon them relying upon their expertise rather than undergo the discomfiting feeling of a tangible barrier.  This gives that person an incredible level of power as they are able to regulate that lingual border, capable of censorship.  This directly supports Newman's theory on the subject of borders that the elite few who are able to control borders have access to immense power.  I first came to this realization while traveling in rural areas of China with my sister who is relatively proficient at the language. I on the other hand know how to say only two words in Chinese, nihao and xiangmao, the first meaning hello and the second panda.  She quite literally became the sieve through which my interactions with the world were filtered.  To be honest I did not enjoy the feeling of powerlessness and in a certain sense isolation that accompanied this realization.  This has charged me with a desire to learn Italian that was not present during my language classes in high school.  I look forward to empowering myself and crossing this lingual gap gaining at least limited membership on the other side.