#displace18

Pachwork of identities (الهويات المرقعة (خليط الهويات فيديو للفنان المغربي عبد المحسن النقاري حول منضور بناء الهوية الفردية و الجماعية is a video about the construction of individual and collective identity...

Abdel-Mohcine Nakari

Enfant de Dar Baroud comme il aime à se définir, Abdel-Mohcine Nakari se veut le témoin méticuleux des métamorphoses que subit sa ville, Tanger.

Admirateur de Cartier Bresson, de Koudelka et aujourd’hui plus particulièrement d’Antoine d’Agata, il réalise un travail très personnel avec deux axes:

- Portraits et reportages en noir et blanc - Montages photos en couleur (jaunes bleus, ocres principalement)

We’re truly excited for the opening today of Displacements, the 2018 Biennial of the Society of Cultural Anthropology. In fact, my (G. Aung) and Ei Mon Kyaw’s video essay “States of Suspension” will kick off the conference overall. Tune in, 8 a.m. EST, or 3 p.m. in Turkey. 

Our Ankara node will take place tomorrow at METU/ODTÜ, 5-8 pm. Registration still very much open at [email protected]. 

We’ll show, in full, the Home as Memory and Horizon panel featuring these presentations: 

- “Death, Dumplings, and Displacement,” Megan Steffen, Tsinghua University

- “‘The Village’: Space/Place in Life Story Narratives of Displaced Kurdish Youth in Diyarbakir, Turkey,” Leyla Neyzi, Northwestern University

- “Metaphors of Violence in Izmir: Rumor, Orientalism, and Stories of Syrian Refugees,” Mija Sanders, University of Arizona

- “Presence in Times of Erasure,” Sanderien Verstappen, Leiden University

- “Recursive Displacements: Memories, Objects, People in Motion,” Onder Celik, Johns Hopkins University

- “Scents and Subtle Sounds: Memory, Sense, and Home,” Thomas Albright, University of Massachusetts, Amherst 

Then we’ll show several individual presentations, not necessarily in this order: 

- “States of Suspension,” Geoffrey Aung, Columbia University; Ei Mon Kyaw, Independent Researcher

- “Refugee, Ethnographer, and Citizen: Displacing the Boundaries of Displacement,” Elif Sari, Cornell University

- “Wounds of Displaced Guilt: Coal Mining, Right-Wing Populism, and Misplaced Accusations in Aegean Turkey,” Elif Irem Az, Columbia University

Bab Sebta (temporary title) a video installation by Randa MAROUFI

Below is a chapter from the novel Boukhalef, Jusqu’au bout by Sali Bouba Oumarou, translated by the author from French to English. Dr. Sali Bouba Oumarou is a Cameroonian writer, independent researcher, analyst, and writer.  He earned his Ph.D. in International Relations from Abdelmalek Essaadi University in Tangier, Morocco. 

EXHAUSTED, I STAY

The damage to his brain is heavy. Now he is speaking like a defeatist, better yet a deserter.

- You know, young brother," he says to me, placing a heavy right hand on my shoulder, " General and I arrived at Boukhalef at the same time. We've been waiting here for six years now. All our attempts to cross have failed. We saw our comrades die one after the other. And when I say die, I'm not talking about sweet death. No, it's not a death like the one that takes the good people in their sleep. I'm talking about a horrible death. The one you see coming in pain, far from the mainland. The one that tortures the soul and gives false hope of possible survival. It's death in the water, lungs swollen like hot air balloons, I'm talking about. You see, he adds, the largest cemetery in the world, I think is not far from here. Yesterday, we lost our own in these waters because of slavery, today it is because of the dream of elsewhere. I cherished with my both hands the dream of this elsewhere. I kept it in my head like one can keep a diamond. Now I'm a little tired of all this. I'm sick of this. For me the journey, I'm afraid, stops here. I won't try any more offensive measures. I deserted at the risk of going mad. It’s over for me " he smiles, while trying to hold back the rain that is gathering on his eyes with force.

I don't really know what to say. Even if I had something to say, I don't think I would have had the courage to say it in front of that ice cooler of a man that is crying right now. I let him continue to a final clap.

- You know, maybe you'll have better luck. Maybe you'll make it. But until you've succeeded, be sure to tell yourself that you can go away like smoke at any time. You can leave feeling the pain passing through your body, feeling your soul like sand slowly escaping from the palms of your hands. I don't consider my decision as an admission of failure, I take it as a success.

- A success! I exclaim

- Yes, a success. I am taking a serious, terrible decision. Few people in our situation can do that. I guess you can’t have this idea go through your head right now. You haven't tried anything yet, you haven't had any failures. You haven't cried blood yet or felt your brain running out of oxygen. You're still a virgin in this fight.

Capi's got a point. Just listening to this speech, imagining all the sacrifices made, scares the hell out of me. I'd rather end up in fish pâté than give up. If I give up like Capi is doing right now, where do I go? What's it for? When? How? In Noymal, it is infinite misery without real hope that awaits us. Here it is misery, but with the hope of a bright future for the foolhardy. Between the two, the choice is quickly made for me: I choose uncertain hope. We certainly see nothing there, just as there is no visible road in this option, but at least we have a light or something like that that gives us the strength to tell ourselves that tomorrow can change. Besides, it's not my fault that I'm concrete to this idea. It should see from Noymal, from his politicians, and perhaps from the curse that weighs on this country. So, Capi can say what he wants, he can perish as he pleases, he can change his mind, it only concerns him. I'll never shake, even if I fail a hundred times. Only the loss of my breath of life will stop me and I will no longer be there to see that I have stopped. I leave that to those who will still be alive to see.

Capi continues his jubilee speech. I keep listening to him religiously

- It's hard to be a rat for six years," he says, looking at the ground where leftover food is lying. Hiding in a burrow. Running at the slightest noise. To get the crumbs to feed on. He kicks some leftover food before he picks it up. Avoid the traps of the police, and other people. Being considered as a parasite. Cockroaching and loving the dark isn't a life. When the last time  you saw me go to the police, It wasn't a crazy move. It was not a futile gesture. I knew what was waiting for us. I wanted to redeem myself from all those lives that I did not have the strength to save in our various attempts. God knows I could have saved some of them. But the fear of not being able to save my own skin always made me go back so far that I wondered if I still had a heart. I've always been quick to smell danger. But never to warn others. Today, I am discovering that I have been slow to smell this immense danger of illegal immigration. And I don't want to be so slow at warning others. I will never ask you to give up. I'm just asking you to think carefully, that's all.

-I understood Capi, I swear to you that I will do my best to reflect on the question, I say to him. And what will you do now? 

-I will try to build a life here. We have always thought that flowers do not grow in this place, and we have never bothered to see all the opportunities that surround us.