Having attending the new faculty orientation for the American University of Beirut, I can now say something about the structure of higher education at AUB. Like higher education in the United States, AUB is shaped by the mandates of neoliberalism. This is partly because AUB is accreddited in the United States and must fulfill the requirements of U.S. educational consortiums (the Middle State's Association) in order to continue being accredited. The mandates of accreditation are that learning be quantified and the labor of teaching be converted into statistical measurements and "outcomes." Thus, at AUB, as in the United States, higher education is partitioned into quatifiable tasks with measurable statistical results.
AUB has a center for teaching effectiveness that encourages faculty to write clear learning objectives (termed, internationally, as "Student Learning Outcomes" or "SLO's") and to have measurable assessment "tools" such as an exam. Individual class assessments get collated across the University so that AUB can ultimately demonstrate to its accreditors that students have learned X amount as shown in their outcomes assessment.
These assessment requirements turn the qualitative nature of humanist thinking and learning into something that can be quantified. Education moves away from personal enlightement and critical inquiry, into a measurable substance. Students are rendered as vessels waiting to be filled with knowledge until that knowledge reaches the vessel's "red-line" and we can say that student is "full." In the U.S., the rush to quantify education has been extended to increased quatificaiton and suveilance of faculty workloads and "productivity." Texas A&M, for example, has assigned a "productivity index" to each faculty member. Presumably, there are a team of administrators working, like sound technicians to establish the most productive mix of faculty productivity ("a bit more finance and accounting education. . . ease off on the ethnic studies and literature. . . more athletics . . .")
In other ways, however, AUB is very different in structure than U.S. higher education. Whereas public higher education in the U.S. is now dominated by the rush to hire vice presidents and other adminstrators who can manage all of the new "data" within higher ed., at AUB the leadership of the University is largely comprised of people who maintain their scholarly commitments to teach and research. Moreover, there is a very small leadership team (although it is slowly growing). This means that faculty are close to their Dean and Provost, without a layer of dean-lets and VP's to mediate. I'm told that the University of California system has one administrator for every ladder-rank faculty member; this certainly is not the case at AUB.
Another distinct feature of AUB (compared to the public higher ed. system's I know in the U.S.) are that faculty are still in control of decision making at the University. Faculty senate, I'm told, is powerful at AUB -- sometimes dominated by the factions that shape Lebanese society -- and shared governance is treated not as a concession to disgruntled faculty, but as the norm.
I am still regularly asked why I would come to the Middle East to teach and study American Studies. I find this a curious question (especially at AUB, which is an institution founded by U.S. protestant missionaries). Would anyone doubt the usefulness of getting a degree in Middle East Studies in the U.S.? Do we doubt the scholarly enterprise of area studies in the U.S.? Of course not; in fact, the U.S.-based area studies scholar is accorded privileged status within her field. The point is that we assume the exceptionalism of the United States when we treat American Studies as something that can only be understood IN the U.S. A more critical approach, in my view, would be to undermine this exceptionalism by treating American Studies as an area study; and to view "America" not as the U.S., but as an imaginary that is sometimes linked to the U.S. nation/state, but sometimes is detached.
Okay, enough about higher education. Boys still doing well. Tae Kwon Do begins regularly this weekend. Dogs: recovering from their humiliating hair cuts, enjoying taunting cats. Kelly: enjoying time away from a job, very busy nevertheless. Next adventure: public transportation to kids soccer classes and car rental to travel to the Bekaa in two weeks.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Bedlingtons and the Decline of U.S. Influence in the Arab World
Anybody who knows us, knows that our Bedlington Terriers, Simon and Lucy, are beloved members of the family. We have had them for all 11-years of their life. Bedlington's are hypo-allergenic; they don't shed and they have hair instead of fur. This means that they need to be groomed regularly. After a month in Beirut, it was time to take the dogs to the groomer. Dog ownership is not common in the Arab world and many Muslim's believe that dogs are inherently dirty animals that don't belong in homes. But in Beirut, where there are many secular Muslims and Christians, dog ownership is on the rise and many people are interested in them.
Because dog ownership is not common, there are very few places to get a dog groomed. However, there is a vet clinic in Hamra that caters to those few dog owners in the neighborhood by selling food and offering grooming services. In order to get the dogs to the groomer, we have to walk them; we've been told that taxi's won't permit dogs (just incessant chain smoking).
So, Thursday, Lucy and Simon walked to the groomers. The challenge of getting to the office included crossing busy streets and herding the dogs through narrow sidewalks amidst dense foot and car traffic. Simon escaped his collar on the busy Bliss street, but made it across without incident.
When we entered the vet clinic, we were met by the groomer who, unlike almost everyone else in the neighborhood, spoke not one word of English. In order to receive directions about how to cut the dogs hair, he called a friend of his who could work as translator.
In the U.S., I might say, "we want a Bedlington cut, with the exception of x,y, and z. Here, I had to wing it; I told the groomer's buddy, "make it short all around, but leave the top of the head longer." For a classic bedlington cut, look here:(Bedlington Terrier). Later in the day, we returned to the groomer to find our dogs with short hair over their body, but the top of their head had been combed out and styled to look like an eight inch bowl of hair had been velcro'd to their top of their head. Our son couldn't contain his laughter when he saw the dogs. As for Simon and Lucy, they've clearly never been so humiliated in their lives. They've been withdrawn ever since the grooming incident. I purchased scissors and removed the hair bowls from their heads.
The boys are doing really well. Our oldest son is feeling better about life here and he's making many friends, including a friend who is a girl (but not a girlfriend!). He's been invited to a birthday party at a friends' farm in the Bekaa valley. Our youngest son is also doing well, and turns six tomorrow (the 25th). For his birthday we are taking him bowling and then having a friend of his come over for cake. Kelly and I have found a babysitter for the kids and last night we bought birthday presents and had a nice dinner of Lebanese mezze at a Jazz club in Hamra.
It's been fascinating to follow the Palestinian UN bid from the vantage point of Lebanon. Lebanese newspapers are very critical of the U.S. position on Palestinian statehood -- obviously -- but what may be less obvious is the extent to which U.S. policy on Palestine illustrates the fading influence of the U.S. in the region. To many here, the Arab rebellions in Egypt, Tunisia, Libya, and to some, in Syria, represent a movement for dignity and self-determination. The uprisings are not merely against domestic dictators, but against a world-order that all to often oppresses the Arab world. Thus, while the U.S. and Israel still determine the fate of Palestine -- for now -- there's a sense that a new future is possible because countries in the region, such as Turkey and Egypt, have broken away from the colonial powers.
Palestinian politics are complex and fraught in Lebanon. I can't describe it all now, but it's obvious that while there is widespread support for a free and sovereign Palestine, there is also public disdain for the 450,000 Palestinian refugees living in Lebanon. The Palestinians are blamed for many social problems and are also blamed for inviting both Israeli aggression and Hezbollah. Thus, one of the reasons that some Lebanese support a Palestinian state is because they want to return the refugees to Palestine (and shift the demographic balance of sectarian politics in Lebanon). This reminds me of the American colonization society of the mid-nineteenth century, that sought to send free Blacks in the North to Africa, not because they cared about them and wanted to guarantee their freedom, but because they didn't want free-blacks in American society.
While it has been interesting to watch how the U.S./Israel obstruction has been represented in Lebanon, it has been sad to see the execution of Troy Davis in the newspapers here. I can remember what it felt like to read, from the U.S., about an unfair execution in the Arab world. These stories have been used to condemn Islamic society and to undermine the authority of Islamic politics. Yet, one has to wonder whether the unfair execution of Troy Davis might also suggest something about the normative violence of U.S. society.
So, this week, from Lebanon, I witnessed the U.S. execution of a black man whose guilt is in doubt and the U.S. turning its back on the forward flow of history in the Arab world.
Because dog ownership is not common, there are very few places to get a dog groomed. However, there is a vet clinic in Hamra that caters to those few dog owners in the neighborhood by selling food and offering grooming services. In order to get the dogs to the groomer, we have to walk them; we've been told that taxi's won't permit dogs (just incessant chain smoking).
So, Thursday, Lucy and Simon walked to the groomers. The challenge of getting to the office included crossing busy streets and herding the dogs through narrow sidewalks amidst dense foot and car traffic. Simon escaped his collar on the busy Bliss street, but made it across without incident.
When we entered the vet clinic, we were met by the groomer who, unlike almost everyone else in the neighborhood, spoke not one word of English. In order to receive directions about how to cut the dogs hair, he called a friend of his who could work as translator.
In the U.S., I might say, "we want a Bedlington cut, with the exception of x,y, and z. Here, I had to wing it; I told the groomer's buddy, "make it short all around, but leave the top of the head longer." For a classic bedlington cut, look here:(Bedlington Terrier). Later in the day, we returned to the groomer to find our dogs with short hair over their body, but the top of their head had been combed out and styled to look like an eight inch bowl of hair had been velcro'd to their top of their head. Our son couldn't contain his laughter when he saw the dogs. As for Simon and Lucy, they've clearly never been so humiliated in their lives. They've been withdrawn ever since the grooming incident. I purchased scissors and removed the hair bowls from their heads.
The boys are doing really well. Our oldest son is feeling better about life here and he's making many friends, including a friend who is a girl (but not a girlfriend!). He's been invited to a birthday party at a friends' farm in the Bekaa valley. Our youngest son is also doing well, and turns six tomorrow (the 25th). For his birthday we are taking him bowling and then having a friend of his come over for cake. Kelly and I have found a babysitter for the kids and last night we bought birthday presents and had a nice dinner of Lebanese mezze at a Jazz club in Hamra.
It's been fascinating to follow the Palestinian UN bid from the vantage point of Lebanon. Lebanese newspapers are very critical of the U.S. position on Palestinian statehood -- obviously -- but what may be less obvious is the extent to which U.S. policy on Palestine illustrates the fading influence of the U.S. in the region. To many here, the Arab rebellions in Egypt, Tunisia, Libya, and to some, in Syria, represent a movement for dignity and self-determination. The uprisings are not merely against domestic dictators, but against a world-order that all to often oppresses the Arab world. Thus, while the U.S. and Israel still determine the fate of Palestine -- for now -- there's a sense that a new future is possible because countries in the region, such as Turkey and Egypt, have broken away from the colonial powers.
Palestinian politics are complex and fraught in Lebanon. I can't describe it all now, but it's obvious that while there is widespread support for a free and sovereign Palestine, there is also public disdain for the 450,000 Palestinian refugees living in Lebanon. The Palestinians are blamed for many social problems and are also blamed for inviting both Israeli aggression and Hezbollah. Thus, one of the reasons that some Lebanese support a Palestinian state is because they want to return the refugees to Palestine (and shift the demographic balance of sectarian politics in Lebanon). This reminds me of the American colonization society of the mid-nineteenth century, that sought to send free Blacks in the North to Africa, not because they cared about them and wanted to guarantee their freedom, but because they didn't want free-blacks in American society.
While it has been interesting to watch how the U.S./Israel obstruction has been represented in Lebanon, it has been sad to see the execution of Troy Davis in the newspapers here. I can remember what it felt like to read, from the U.S., about an unfair execution in the Arab world. These stories have been used to condemn Islamic society and to undermine the authority of Islamic politics. Yet, one has to wonder whether the unfair execution of Troy Davis might also suggest something about the normative violence of U.S. society.
So, this week, from Lebanon, I witnessed the U.S. execution of a black man whose guilt is in doubt and the U.S. turning its back on the forward flow of history in the Arab world.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
homesickness and flora
This week we've continued to settle into our new routines. I have been going to work each day to prepare my syllabus, to write a proposal for a new MA in American Studies at AUB, and to write my book (I've actually resumed the process of writing the book). I'm teaching a course called, "America in the Middle East, the Middle East in America." I'm organizing this course to focus on imagined geographies as a means to show how both the "Middle East" and "America" are imagined spaces that are produced through culture artifacts. Moreover, I want students to understand how both regions produce each other.
The MA in American Studies will be the first of its kind in the Middle East. It will recruit students from across the Middle East, as well as U.S. and European students who will pursue dual degrees with AUB and their "home" institution. Locating American Studies in the Middle East poses a really interesting issue for the discipline of American Studies: what does American Studies become when it is an area studies? And, what does American Studies look like from a part of the world that has directly experienced the consequences of U.S. empire.
The boys are still enjoying school but our oldest son is experiencing a deep sense of home-sickness and what can only be called "culture shock." More than anyone else in our family, he is attached to his things and his "house." We are talking to him about how "home" is the place where we're all together, and is not defined by the objects within our Albuquerque house, but he is not buying what we're selling. I think I need to download for him the Burt Bacharach song, "A house is not a home."
We're confident he'll establish attachments here over time, but for now he's sad and somewhat anxious about everything. "Will there be war here?" "Will we have enough money to get back to the United States?" Although much of his fantasy play involves guns and other weapons, he is terrified of the soldiers we encounter almost everywhere in Beirut. He's also very sensitive to all of the noise in the city; car horns, construction, fireworks, etc. He has a much-anticipated play-date after school on Monday; we are hoping that having a friend will ease his fears.
Our youngest son, (who turns 6 next week), has made a good friend (Lebanese) at his school. Apparently when this kid described Solomon to his parents he told them, "his name is Solomon, and he is of the brown-skin people." A few days later, the friend asked Solomon why "you have black skin and your parents don't." Solomon shrugged his shoulders and responded, "my parents have light skin, and, actually, I have brown skin." There weren't any followup questions.
We took both boys to a Tae Kwon Do school here in Beirut. I think it's going to be good for them (they've done TKD for the last year and have really love it). After the class we walked from the TKD club to our house (about three miles). Along the way we stopped downtown for ice-cream. The recently-redeveloped downtown has hopping with couples, families, and many. many children with their domestics. Downtown has a mix of new and old mosques and churches (and one synagogue that I have yet to see). There are also many upscale shops and restaurants. It was nice to see such a lively public culture. There were also many people strolling along the corniche.
Guilty pleasure of the week: chicken tawouk sandwich with garlic sauce, pickle, french fries, coleslaw, and ketchup.
Here are some photos of AUB's flora. The sunset picture was taken from our balcony.
The MA in American Studies will be the first of its kind in the Middle East. It will recruit students from across the Middle East, as well as U.S. and European students who will pursue dual degrees with AUB and their "home" institution. Locating American Studies in the Middle East poses a really interesting issue for the discipline of American Studies: what does American Studies become when it is an area studies? And, what does American Studies look like from a part of the world that has directly experienced the consequences of U.S. empire.
The boys are still enjoying school but our oldest son is experiencing a deep sense of home-sickness and what can only be called "culture shock." More than anyone else in our family, he is attached to his things and his "house." We are talking to him about how "home" is the place where we're all together, and is not defined by the objects within our Albuquerque house, but he is not buying what we're selling. I think I need to download for him the Burt Bacharach song, "A house is not a home."
We're confident he'll establish attachments here over time, but for now he's sad and somewhat anxious about everything. "Will there be war here?" "Will we have enough money to get back to the United States?" Although much of his fantasy play involves guns and other weapons, he is terrified of the soldiers we encounter almost everywhere in Beirut. He's also very sensitive to all of the noise in the city; car horns, construction, fireworks, etc. He has a much-anticipated play-date after school on Monday; we are hoping that having a friend will ease his fears.
Our youngest son, (who turns 6 next week), has made a good friend (Lebanese) at his school. Apparently when this kid described Solomon to his parents he told them, "his name is Solomon, and he is of the brown-skin people." A few days later, the friend asked Solomon why "you have black skin and your parents don't." Solomon shrugged his shoulders and responded, "my parents have light skin, and, actually, I have brown skin." There weren't any followup questions.
We took both boys to a Tae Kwon Do school here in Beirut. I think it's going to be good for them (they've done TKD for the last year and have really love it). After the class we walked from the TKD club to our house (about three miles). Along the way we stopped downtown for ice-cream. The recently-redeveloped downtown has hopping with couples, families, and many. many children with their domestics. Downtown has a mix of new and old mosques and churches (and one synagogue that I have yet to see). There are also many upscale shops and restaurants. It was nice to see such a lively public culture. There were also many people strolling along the corniche.
Guilty pleasure of the week: chicken tawouk sandwich with garlic sauce, pickle, french fries, coleslaw, and ketchup.
Here are some photos of AUB's flora. The sunset picture was taken from our balcony.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Jeita and Byblos (Jbeil)
This weekend we rented a small car and drove north along the coastal highway to the Jeita Grotto and then further north to Byblos (Jbeil). Half of the adventure was the drive. Actually, despite my initial hesitation about entering Beirut car traffic, I found that there was some rhythm and rule to the traffic. Sure, we all ignored lane lines and I was honked at in friendly, cautious, and angry manners regularly. But, after a while, I realized that driving in Beirut is much like walking in Beirut. You have to squeeze through tight spaces. You have to watch out for deep potholes. And, you're likely to circle the same block many times while trying to find a place. We frequently found ourselves squeezed between four cars on a two-lane road. We shared the freeway with mopeds driving the wrong way, pedestrians waiting for buses, and trucks driving at a snail's pace.
Our first destination was Jeita Grotto. This is an impressive stalactite cave about 12 miles north of Beirut. After taking a gondola a short distance up a hill, we entered the upper cave, It was otherworldly, with 25-foot high stalactites and stalagmites in various alien shapes and sizes. The outgrowths look variously like coral or like the folds found on the underside of a portobello mushroom. After walking through the upper cave, we walked down the hill to the lower cave, which can only be explored by boat. Here we floated on crystal clear water with the cave ceiling just feet above our heads in places. The kids kept asking if the cave was real; it was so unlike anything we'd ever seen that the they thought it must be an amusement park creation. http://www.jeitagrotto.com/
After Jeita, we drove another 30 minutes north to the port city of Byblos, a city that claims to be the oldest inhabited city in the world. It is the place where the alphabet was invented and where Phoenician and Roman ruins are ubiquitous. We walked around the souk, had lunch at an open air cafe, and visited the historic Byblos port. The boys, who have been saving Lebanese money in order to buy treats, each purchased small fish fossils, which were unearthed 20km from Byblos. The fish fossils are over 100,000 million years old. Once again, the boys speculated about how one could easily fabricate fake fossils and pawn them off on unsuspecting children. They are such skeptics!
This kids' school continues to be going well. We attended an open house in which we were impressed with the teachers. Our older son has taken to his Arabic teacher, and is already beginning to use fairly elaborate Arabic greetings.
We were surprised to discover that the entire team of teachers, including the art, French, PE, and music teachers, are all incredibly competent. The PE teacher talked about educating kids about eating, sleeping, and healthy emotional well being. He is having the kids research their favorite athletes and writing short stories about make-believe sports and games. Who knew that PE could be more than humiliating?
We have noticed that parenting at the kids' school is far more intense than we've experienced in the States. At the open house and at meetings with teachers, parents assume the tone of interrogators, demanding that the teacher explain how their little prince will move from kindergarten to first grade if he's not already reading Tolstoy (or Gibran, I suppose). The parents, many of whom are incredibly privileged and are paying top dollar for their kids' education, are demanding of the teachers to the point of being almost rude. We've experienced dedicated parents advocating for their children, but this is something different; it's an anxiety that their children won't be ready for the fortune 500 job if their kindergarten stresses fun and emotional well-being over reading and math.
A telling moment occurred in the French teacher's classroom. This was the context in which most of the parents' anxieties emerged most powerfully. The parents wanted to know what French texts their kids would read, how quickly they would write in French, and how rigorous could the teacher become. I am just beginning to understand the extent to which certain classes of Lebanese embrace their Francophilia. France, to some, is not a colonial power, but is the guarantor of European acceptance. Having children become expert French speakers is about much more than language acquisition; it is about social mobility and, especially for Christian Lebanese, about affirming European roots to Lebanese nationalism.
While the parents we've seen have high demands for the school, we've also noticed that much of the actual "parenting" takes place by"helpers," "maids," and live-in domestic workers. These women are migrants primarily from the Philippians and Ethiopia, who work and send remittances to their home country.
Domestic labor and nannies are not unheard of in the U.S., but the Lebanese domestic labor scene compares, in many ways, to the era of the Jim Crow South. Domestic workers are part of the family in that they care for the children, do the shopping, cleaning, and cooking. But they have no rights in public and enter Lebanon only at the whim of their sponsor/employer.
It's not uncommon to see a mother at the park watching her child and its nanny on the playground. When the child has a snack, the domestic worker will turn her back to the family, as if doing so makes her invisible. There's a strange intimacy in that the migrant woman is part of the family unit, but there's also a clear barrier, as she is expected to become invisible during tender moments between parent and child. These sorts of relations are not unique to Lebanon, of course.
Our first destination was Jeita Grotto. This is an impressive stalactite cave about 12 miles north of Beirut. After taking a gondola a short distance up a hill, we entered the upper cave, It was otherworldly, with 25-foot high stalactites and stalagmites in various alien shapes and sizes. The outgrowths look variously like coral or like the folds found on the underside of a portobello mushroom. After walking through the upper cave, we walked down the hill to the lower cave, which can only be explored by boat. Here we floated on crystal clear water with the cave ceiling just feet above our heads in places. The kids kept asking if the cave was real; it was so unlike anything we'd ever seen that the they thought it must be an amusement park creation. http://www.jeitagrotto.com/
After Jeita, we drove another 30 minutes north to the port city of Byblos, a city that claims to be the oldest inhabited city in the world. It is the place where the alphabet was invented and where Phoenician and Roman ruins are ubiquitous. We walked around the souk, had lunch at an open air cafe, and visited the historic Byblos port. The boys, who have been saving Lebanese money in order to buy treats, each purchased small fish fossils, which were unearthed 20km from Byblos. The fish fossils are over 100,000 million years old. Once again, the boys speculated about how one could easily fabricate fake fossils and pawn them off on unsuspecting children. They are such skeptics!
This kids' school continues to be going well. We attended an open house in which we were impressed with the teachers. Our older son has taken to his Arabic teacher, and is already beginning to use fairly elaborate Arabic greetings.
We were surprised to discover that the entire team of teachers, including the art, French, PE, and music teachers, are all incredibly competent. The PE teacher talked about educating kids about eating, sleeping, and healthy emotional well being. He is having the kids research their favorite athletes and writing short stories about make-believe sports and games. Who knew that PE could be more than humiliating?
We have noticed that parenting at the kids' school is far more intense than we've experienced in the States. At the open house and at meetings with teachers, parents assume the tone of interrogators, demanding that the teacher explain how their little prince will move from kindergarten to first grade if he's not already reading Tolstoy (or Gibran, I suppose). The parents, many of whom are incredibly privileged and are paying top dollar for their kids' education, are demanding of the teachers to the point of being almost rude. We've experienced dedicated parents advocating for their children, but this is something different; it's an anxiety that their children won't be ready for the fortune 500 job if their kindergarten stresses fun and emotional well-being over reading and math.
A telling moment occurred in the French teacher's classroom. This was the context in which most of the parents' anxieties emerged most powerfully. The parents wanted to know what French texts their kids would read, how quickly they would write in French, and how rigorous could the teacher become. I am just beginning to understand the extent to which certain classes of Lebanese embrace their Francophilia. France, to some, is not a colonial power, but is the guarantor of European acceptance. Having children become expert French speakers is about much more than language acquisition; it is about social mobility and, especially for Christian Lebanese, about affirming European roots to Lebanese nationalism.
While the parents we've seen have high demands for the school, we've also noticed that much of the actual "parenting" takes place by"helpers," "maids," and live-in domestic workers. These women are migrants primarily from the Philippians and Ethiopia, who work and send remittances to their home country.
Domestic labor and nannies are not unheard of in the U.S., but the Lebanese domestic labor scene compares, in many ways, to the era of the Jim Crow South. Domestic workers are part of the family in that they care for the children, do the shopping, cleaning, and cooking. But they have no rights in public and enter Lebanon only at the whim of their sponsor/employer.
It's not uncommon to see a mother at the park watching her child and its nanny on the playground. When the child has a snack, the domestic worker will turn her back to the family, as if doing so makes her invisible. There's a strange intimacy in that the migrant woman is part of the family unit, but there's also a clear barrier, as she is expected to become invisible during tender moments between parent and child. These sorts of relations are not unique to Lebanon, of course.
 |
| Phoenician and Roman ruins |
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| Phoenician |
 |
| Spice market |
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| Spice market |
 |
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| Romans, of course |
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
A New Normal
We are beginning our third week in our new home and are beginning to transition to the new normal. The boys have begun school and I have started to go my office. Kelly is also beginning a new life without paid labor. She is making good use of her time by training for the Beirut International Marathon, a race that one of my friend's jokingly titled the "run for your life!" marathon.
The boys attend the American Community School, which is a private institution that offers an international baccalaureate. It was very competitive to get them into the school. During years when Lebanon is not at war or under attack, the Diaspora returns home and spots at private schools become especially competitive. I'm sure that arms were twisted in order to get our kids in to the school.
ACS began in the early 20th Century as an American school for U.S. oil executives who based their corporate offices in Beirut. In the last few decades, as fewer Americans lived in Beirut, ACS became an international school catering to the wealthy elite of Lebanon, as well as to the families of international diplomats and aid workers.
The boys will spend two-hours per day learning Arabic, as well as a few hours per week learning French. Most of the instruction is in English. All of the classrooms have two teachers, one who is primarily the homeroom teacher and a second that offers instruction in Arabic. Most of the kids at the school are Lebanese, although there are many nationalities represented in the student body. There are a few other Ethiopian children, as well as a few children from Nigeria.
We don't yet have a sense of what goes on during the school day, in part because the kids usually register their feedback about school in terms of "thumbs up" or "thumbs down." (There is also a sideways thumb, representing indifference). Both boys gave two thumbs up after the first day. Our nine-year old can write his name in Arabic and is beginning to use Arabic greetings in public. Our youngest one can only say, "no" in Arabic. He also likes to give "Levanon kisses" when we drop him at school (code for three pecks on alternating cheeks).
My older son's teacher wears a head scarf. He's mildly curious about why she does this. I said he should ask her, and he said he thought it was probably a personal matter about which he shouldn't inquire. But then he proceeded to tell me that he imagines that his teacher is like Professor Quirrell, (from Harry Potter) whose head scarf conceals Voldemort's withered body on top of his own head. Westerners have made all sorts of derogatory assumptions about why some women wear head scarves; my son's reading, however, suggests all sorts of transgressive potential in the head cover.
We are very pleased to send the kids to a school that is only three minutes away from our apartment. The school is so close to our home that we can see the kid's P.E. class from our balcony. We're also cognizant of the amount of time we've reclaimed by not having to commute.
For the last few days, I've been getting to know a colleague I'll never meet. Last week Kamal Salibi, a noted Lebanese historian at AUB, passed away. Partly because of my interest in Lebanese history, and partly because of the sorts of respect Salibi garnered in his memorials, I picked up a copy of Salibi's, A House With Many Mansions: The History of Lebanon Reconsidered. It's an elegant monograph that focuses on competing national and transnational histories in this small country. Salibi argues that while Lebanon is a complex web of sectarian histories and politics, the most significant conflict in Lebanon is between a (primarily Christian) understanding of Lebanese nationalism, rooted to memories of the Phoenicians and Romans, versus a larger and transnational Arabism that links former Ottoman territories under Islam. Lebanon, therefore, is to the Christians a natural and obvious formation, while for many Muslims, Lebanon is a colonial construct that bifurcates more meaningful collectivities and national formations (greater Syria, for example). Salibi's writing is lucid and the narrative enacts theory, rather than talking about theory. I'm sorry I'll never meet Salibi in person.
This weekend we plan to brave Lebanese car traffic and to head North. We will rent a car in order to visit the Jeita Grotto, Jounieh, and Byblos. I'm both exhilarated and nervous about Lebanese traffic. It's not just that cars don't observe lane lines and traffic signals; or that turn-signals are treated as unnecessary appendages on a car; it's the fact that maps and directions are so imprecise. I anticipate getting lost with regularity.
The boys attend the American Community School, which is a private institution that offers an international baccalaureate. It was very competitive to get them into the school. During years when Lebanon is not at war or under attack, the Diaspora returns home and spots at private schools become especially competitive. I'm sure that arms were twisted in order to get our kids in to the school.
ACS began in the early 20th Century as an American school for U.S. oil executives who based their corporate offices in Beirut. In the last few decades, as fewer Americans lived in Beirut, ACS became an international school catering to the wealthy elite of Lebanon, as well as to the families of international diplomats and aid workers.
The boys will spend two-hours per day learning Arabic, as well as a few hours per week learning French. Most of the instruction is in English. All of the classrooms have two teachers, one who is primarily the homeroom teacher and a second that offers instruction in Arabic. Most of the kids at the school are Lebanese, although there are many nationalities represented in the student body. There are a few other Ethiopian children, as well as a few children from Nigeria.
We don't yet have a sense of what goes on during the school day, in part because the kids usually register their feedback about school in terms of "thumbs up" or "thumbs down." (There is also a sideways thumb, representing indifference). Both boys gave two thumbs up after the first day. Our nine-year old can write his name in Arabic and is beginning to use Arabic greetings in public. Our youngest one can only say, "no" in Arabic. He also likes to give "Levanon kisses" when we drop him at school (code for three pecks on alternating cheeks).
My older son's teacher wears a head scarf. He's mildly curious about why she does this. I said he should ask her, and he said he thought it was probably a personal matter about which he shouldn't inquire. But then he proceeded to tell me that he imagines that his teacher is like Professor Quirrell, (from Harry Potter) whose head scarf conceals Voldemort's withered body on top of his own head. Westerners have made all sorts of derogatory assumptions about why some women wear head scarves; my son's reading, however, suggests all sorts of transgressive potential in the head cover.
We are very pleased to send the kids to a school that is only three minutes away from our apartment. The school is so close to our home that we can see the kid's P.E. class from our balcony. We're also cognizant of the amount of time we've reclaimed by not having to commute.
For the last few days, I've been getting to know a colleague I'll never meet. Last week Kamal Salibi, a noted Lebanese historian at AUB, passed away. Partly because of my interest in Lebanese history, and partly because of the sorts of respect Salibi garnered in his memorials, I picked up a copy of Salibi's, A House With Many Mansions: The History of Lebanon Reconsidered. It's an elegant monograph that focuses on competing national and transnational histories in this small country. Salibi argues that while Lebanon is a complex web of sectarian histories and politics, the most significant conflict in Lebanon is between a (primarily Christian) understanding of Lebanese nationalism, rooted to memories of the Phoenicians and Romans, versus a larger and transnational Arabism that links former Ottoman territories under Islam. Lebanon, therefore, is to the Christians a natural and obvious formation, while for many Muslims, Lebanon is a colonial construct that bifurcates more meaningful collectivities and national formations (greater Syria, for example). Salibi's writing is lucid and the narrative enacts theory, rather than talking about theory. I'm sorry I'll never meet Salibi in person.
This weekend we plan to brave Lebanese car traffic and to head North. We will rent a car in order to visit the Jeita Grotto, Jounieh, and Byblos. I'm both exhilarated and nervous about Lebanese traffic. It's not just that cars don't observe lane lines and traffic signals; or that turn-signals are treated as unnecessary appendages on a car; it's the fact that maps and directions are so imprecise. I anticipate getting lost with regularity.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Stan Smith in Beirut
Having said that I would try to avoid all of the imperial nonsense of much international writing, I must digress for just one moment to respectfully extol the wonders of Lebanese food. It's just a fact that Lebanese food is amazingly good. Everyone knows this. But it is even more amazingly outstanding for those of us who are lactose intolerant, vegetarian-leaning, with a committed sweet tooth. I am learning the wonders of manakish, the thin vegetable or meat pies that are roasted in brick ovens. These thin pies melt in our mouth and burst with the flavors of lemon and thyme. They can be found everywhere in our neighborhood. Street food in Beirut consists of flat breads warmed on large, half-spherical cast iron skillets. The bread is cooked and then smothered with fillings like shwarma, vegetables, or a variety of cheeses like halloum or lebnah.
Lebanese sweets are ornate, delicate, and intricately constructed. It would be too easy to call these treats, baklava, because they are so much more. They lack the stickiness and bulk of U.S. versions. Tiny pastry bird's nests are assembled from paper-thin dough which are then filled with pistachios, honey, and rose water. Layered bite-sized pastries have different nut, honey, and fruit-essence combinations, each with distinct flavors and textures. The bakeries have huge varieties of sweets, usually presented in towering pyramids reaching three to five feet in height.
Produce in groceries and in farmer's markets are inexpensive and excellent. While we lean toward organic produce, we've noticed that much of the non-organic produce is also local and regional, and just tastes better than conventional produce in the U.S.
Our stomachs, while enjoying the new food, have been in rebellion against the new bacteria in Lebanese water. We were warned about "Beirut belly" and now some of us have been afflicted. I've been spared at this point, in part because I caught the Palestinian version just a few months ago and may have developed some resistance.
As I have come to Lebanon to teach and study U.S./Middle East relations, I should mention something about my sense of U.S. culture in Lebanon. We might conceive of U.S. culture via the ubiquitous golden arches, KFC's, Hardee's, Krispy Kreme's etc. Or, we might think of the ways that U.S. music, art, aesthetics circulate abroad. Or, we might think about U.S. policies, international relations, imperial interventions in the region, etc. For now, I'm thinking about Stan Smith, the U.S. tennis champ who won two grand-slam tournaments in the 1970s and who, along with Bob Lutz, had an illustrious doubles career. If you're not familiar with Stan the tennis player, you are likely familiar with the Stan Smith Adidas tennis shoe. Throughout the 1980s, the all white leather-with green heel, tennis shoe was my favorite, not only because of matters of comfort but because they were the coolest. But, like all consumer products, the Stan Smith shoe went out of production, as consumers moved to more high-tech shoes made of durable, yet breathable, nylon.
Today, while shopping for back-to-school shoes with the kids, I was pleased to see my old Stan Smith Adidas on sale in a Beirut shoe store presented, not as a nostalgic retro-item, but as a legitimate new shoe. It was at this moment that I realized that the cafe in which we had just had snacks played the greatest U.S. pop hits from the 1980s. I was totally unprepared for the ways that Beirut would allow me to relive my teenage years (thankfully I haven't found any acid-washed jeans). We purchased some Van's for the kids.
"American culture" is not just something that radiates out from the United States, but is also something that is simulated outside the United States and, in the process, made into something new. It circulates globally and gets resignified -- given new meanings -- in new contexts. I don't claim to know what Stan Smith means in Beirut, it likely means something I will never know. The same can be said of jazz music, which seems ubiquitous in Beirut (in advertising, on the radio, in clubs with names like Harlem).
If certain products here gain new meaning through translation, we've learned that some products mean the same things regardless of context and language. While we walked passed an upscale Western hotel on Hamra street today, a valet for the hotel looked at us and said, with a big smile, "the united color's of Benetton!" It was an innocent comment, but one that suggests ways that Benetton's multiculturalism had traveled globally. I don't yet know enough about racial thinking in Lebanon to understand what a mixed-race or "blended" family means here.
The kids are doing things here that they've never been able to do the U.S. They leave the house on their own to play in a playground. They play with neighbor boys who come over to our house to gawk at the dogs. They dive to the bottom of the sea with their goggles and poke at sea life. This is not typical here; it is, rather, the sort of life made available in a protected and guarded bubble that is an American University in Beirut.
And yet, the boys are also missing friends and familiar things in Albuquerque. Rather than relishing a different sort of cultural life, they seem outraged that drivers here go through red-lights, that moped's drive on the side-walk, and that taxi drivers honk regularly at them (because they are making themselves available to us). We've tried to convince the boys that people do things differently in different places and that this is an opportunity to see something that's different than what we know. But to them, certain behaviors that in Albuquerque would be "illegal" (like running a red light) are just plain outrageous. Period. It's amazing to see the extent to which they've developed identities as law abiding citizens, even before age 10. I wonder at what age cultural relativism develops.
Next week more photos and a description of the first week of school for the boys.
Lebanese sweets are ornate, delicate, and intricately constructed. It would be too easy to call these treats, baklava, because they are so much more. They lack the stickiness and bulk of U.S. versions. Tiny pastry bird's nests are assembled from paper-thin dough which are then filled with pistachios, honey, and rose water. Layered bite-sized pastries have different nut, honey, and fruit-essence combinations, each with distinct flavors and textures. The bakeries have huge varieties of sweets, usually presented in towering pyramids reaching three to five feet in height.
Produce in groceries and in farmer's markets are inexpensive and excellent. While we lean toward organic produce, we've noticed that much of the non-organic produce is also local and regional, and just tastes better than conventional produce in the U.S.
Our stomachs, while enjoying the new food, have been in rebellion against the new bacteria in Lebanese water. We were warned about "Beirut belly" and now some of us have been afflicted. I've been spared at this point, in part because I caught the Palestinian version just a few months ago and may have developed some resistance.
As I have come to Lebanon to teach and study U.S./Middle East relations, I should mention something about my sense of U.S. culture in Lebanon. We might conceive of U.S. culture via the ubiquitous golden arches, KFC's, Hardee's, Krispy Kreme's etc. Or, we might think of the ways that U.S. music, art, aesthetics circulate abroad. Or, we might think about U.S. policies, international relations, imperial interventions in the region, etc. For now, I'm thinking about Stan Smith, the U.S. tennis champ who won two grand-slam tournaments in the 1970s and who, along with Bob Lutz, had an illustrious doubles career. If you're not familiar with Stan the tennis player, you are likely familiar with the Stan Smith Adidas tennis shoe. Throughout the 1980s, the all white leather-with green heel, tennis shoe was my favorite, not only because of matters of comfort but because they were the coolest. But, like all consumer products, the Stan Smith shoe went out of production, as consumers moved to more high-tech shoes made of durable, yet breathable, nylon.
Today, while shopping for back-to-school shoes with the kids, I was pleased to see my old Stan Smith Adidas on sale in a Beirut shoe store presented, not as a nostalgic retro-item, but as a legitimate new shoe. It was at this moment that I realized that the cafe in which we had just had snacks played the greatest U.S. pop hits from the 1980s. I was totally unprepared for the ways that Beirut would allow me to relive my teenage years (thankfully I haven't found any acid-washed jeans). We purchased some Van's for the kids.
"American culture" is not just something that radiates out from the United States, but is also something that is simulated outside the United States and, in the process, made into something new. It circulates globally and gets resignified -- given new meanings -- in new contexts. I don't claim to know what Stan Smith means in Beirut, it likely means something I will never know. The same can be said of jazz music, which seems ubiquitous in Beirut (in advertising, on the radio, in clubs with names like Harlem).
If certain products here gain new meaning through translation, we've learned that some products mean the same things regardless of context and language. While we walked passed an upscale Western hotel on Hamra street today, a valet for the hotel looked at us and said, with a big smile, "the united color's of Benetton!" It was an innocent comment, but one that suggests ways that Benetton's multiculturalism had traveled globally. I don't yet know enough about racial thinking in Lebanon to understand what a mixed-race or "blended" family means here.
The kids are doing things here that they've never been able to do the U.S. They leave the house on their own to play in a playground. They play with neighbor boys who come over to our house to gawk at the dogs. They dive to the bottom of the sea with their goggles and poke at sea life. This is not typical here; it is, rather, the sort of life made available in a protected and guarded bubble that is an American University in Beirut.
And yet, the boys are also missing friends and familiar things in Albuquerque. Rather than relishing a different sort of cultural life, they seem outraged that drivers here go through red-lights, that moped's drive on the side-walk, and that taxi drivers honk regularly at them (because they are making themselves available to us). We've tried to convince the boys that people do things differently in different places and that this is an opportunity to see something that's different than what we know. But to them, certain behaviors that in Albuquerque would be "illegal" (like running a red light) are just plain outrageous. Period. It's amazing to see the extent to which they've developed identities as law abiding citizens, even before age 10. I wonder at what age cultural relativism develops.
Next week more photos and a description of the first week of school for the boys.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
AUB and Homemaking
We are living on the campus of the American University of Beirut. The University is located in an area called Ras Beirut. The campus is walled with entrances guarded by AUB security and paid police/soldiers. The campus is one of the only green spaces in the city; it's one of the most beautiful campuses I've ever seen, with huge banyan trees, views of the sea, and lush vegetation. I won't go into the history of AUB, except to say that it began as Syrian Protestant College in the mid-nineteenth century and that it represents the first attempt by Americans to "transform" the Middle East. The pioneers of the college were Protestant missionaries who thought they could convert Maronite and Greek Orthodox Catholics in the Mt. Lebanon region of Syria to Protestantism. They failed miserably, (see Ussama Makdisi's Artillery of Heaven for a full account of this history) but left in their wake the Syrian Protestant College, which would ultimately become AUB. AUB is accredited in the United States, but is also a Lebanese institution that fashions itself as the [insert Ivy league school here]-on-the-Mediterranean.
I have come to AUB to Direct the Prince Alwaleed Bin Talal Center for American Studies and Research (CASAR), a center I have visited annually for the last five years. CASAR also has a complex origin in the fraught politics of U.S./Middle East relations. In the aftermath of 9/11, Prince Alwaleed offered a $10 Million gift to the city of New York. During the donation ceremony, the Prince suggested that the U.S. may want to reconsider its policies in the Middle East, especially in relation to Palestine. Then-Mayor Rudy Guilliani immediately rejected Prince Alwaleed's donation.
Eventually, the Prince was persuaded to donate his $10 million to higher-education institutions that could expand understanding between the U.S. and the Middle East. Edward Said was instrumental in getting an American Studies center founded at AUB. Alwaleed gave initial endowments to American Studies Centers at the American University of Beirut and the American University of Cairo. He would latter help endow centers for understanding Islam in the West at Cambridge, Edinburgh, Georgetown and Harvard Universities. I'll save my discussion of what American Studies looks like in the Middle East for another time.
This is the first time I've worked at a private University. As a welcome gift from the Provost, we received four bags of groceries with many essential household items. Today I enrolled in the University's health plan, which costs about $125 per month for our family of four (the similar coverage in New Mexico costs us about $500 per month). Co-payments for doctor's visits are $2. At UNM, I've paid up to $30 to see a specialist. I've purchased prescription drugs (Statins) over the counter (without prescriptions) for a few dollars. I realize that very few Lebanese have the privilege of using AUB's medical center (at AUB rates) but I'm also fascinated to see a different sort of health system in which costs for preventative care are relatively low and where neighborhood pharmacists have considerable diagnostic authority and skill.
Other things are very expensive here. El Paso brand Enchilada sauce and burrito kit costs around $7.
We are beginning to adjust to the new time zone. Hiking up to the neighborhood has become easier as we've developed new calf muscles and are acclimating to the humidity. The campus guards know us, making it unnecessary for us to show identification when we enter campus. We are also familiar with some of the shop-owners in our neighborhood, all of whom have been warm and kind. We've figured out how to get certain provisions (like propane for our stove and filtered water) delivered.
The boys have free range of the campus, which has been really fun for them. They've named many of the cats and enjoy AUB's playground (which, we've learned, is one of the very few playgrounds in Beirut). They are definitely behind the other kids in soccer skills, a sport with which they have had only fleeting interest in the U.S. But, of course, soccer is king here and all of the kids have skills. At the elementary school, the Principal told us that the only thing our boys could not wear to school are team soccer jersey's, as these cause conflicts on the playground. I wonder if an Oakland Raider's jersey would be acceptable.
Yesterday we attended a street festival in Hamra. The street had been closed to cars for the event. Dozens of vendors set-up kiosks for the length of about five blocks where they sold everything from keychains, to toys, to local honey and other produce. The scene was typical of any large street festival, with the exception of the military vehicles on every corner. We were drawn to the local foods, which were fabulous, of course.
It's the last few days of what has been a very long summer. We moved out of our house in Albuquerque on June 1, spent six-weeks in Albuquerque in five different homes, and then spent four weeks in California and Washington in four different homes. Needless to say, we are looking forward to creating new routines and beginning the process of making home.
I have come to AUB to Direct the Prince Alwaleed Bin Talal Center for American Studies and Research (CASAR), a center I have visited annually for the last five years. CASAR also has a complex origin in the fraught politics of U.S./Middle East relations. In the aftermath of 9/11, Prince Alwaleed offered a $10 Million gift to the city of New York. During the donation ceremony, the Prince suggested that the U.S. may want to reconsider its policies in the Middle East, especially in relation to Palestine. Then-Mayor Rudy Guilliani immediately rejected Prince Alwaleed's donation.
Eventually, the Prince was persuaded to donate his $10 million to higher-education institutions that could expand understanding between the U.S. and the Middle East. Edward Said was instrumental in getting an American Studies center founded at AUB. Alwaleed gave initial endowments to American Studies Centers at the American University of Beirut and the American University of Cairo. He would latter help endow centers for understanding Islam in the West at Cambridge, Edinburgh, Georgetown and Harvard Universities. I'll save my discussion of what American Studies looks like in the Middle East for another time.
This is the first time I've worked at a private University. As a welcome gift from the Provost, we received four bags of groceries with many essential household items. Today I enrolled in the University's health plan, which costs about $125 per month for our family of four (the similar coverage in New Mexico costs us about $500 per month). Co-payments for doctor's visits are $2. At UNM, I've paid up to $30 to see a specialist. I've purchased prescription drugs (Statins) over the counter (without prescriptions) for a few dollars. I realize that very few Lebanese have the privilege of using AUB's medical center (at AUB rates) but I'm also fascinated to see a different sort of health system in which costs for preventative care are relatively low and where neighborhood pharmacists have considerable diagnostic authority and skill.
Other things are very expensive here. El Paso brand Enchilada sauce and burrito kit costs around $7.
We are beginning to adjust to the new time zone. Hiking up to the neighborhood has become easier as we've developed new calf muscles and are acclimating to the humidity. The campus guards know us, making it unnecessary for us to show identification when we enter campus. We are also familiar with some of the shop-owners in our neighborhood, all of whom have been warm and kind. We've figured out how to get certain provisions (like propane for our stove and filtered water) delivered.
The boys have free range of the campus, which has been really fun for them. They've named many of the cats and enjoy AUB's playground (which, we've learned, is one of the very few playgrounds in Beirut). They are definitely behind the other kids in soccer skills, a sport with which they have had only fleeting interest in the U.S. But, of course, soccer is king here and all of the kids have skills. At the elementary school, the Principal told us that the only thing our boys could not wear to school are team soccer jersey's, as these cause conflicts on the playground. I wonder if an Oakland Raider's jersey would be acceptable.
Yesterday we attended a street festival in Hamra. The street had been closed to cars for the event. Dozens of vendors set-up kiosks for the length of about five blocks where they sold everything from keychains, to toys, to local honey and other produce. The scene was typical of any large street festival, with the exception of the military vehicles on every corner. We were drawn to the local foods, which were fabulous, of course.
It's the last few days of what has been a very long summer. We moved out of our house in Albuquerque on June 1, spent six-weeks in Albuquerque in five different homes, and then spent four weeks in California and Washington in four different homes. Needless to say, we are looking forward to creating new routines and beginning the process of making home.
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