Navigating Displacement Through Mementoes and Re-memory

This week's selection of readings examines the various ways through which displaced peoples utilize and interact with objects and belongings from their homeland and/or past experience. The context in which people experience displacement vary, and the choices that they make when selecting objects to carry with them is reflective of their respective circumstances. The four readings covered represent an impressive diversity of perspective and insight into the importance of objects to various individuals and displaced groups, and left me with an overwhelming sense of variation and dependency on circumstance. Indeed, each group and individual discussed in the readings engaged with their objects in a different way; however, all utilized their respective mementoes to maintain a connection to the past through re-memory of lived experiences.

David Parkin focuses his study on the objects that people choose to take with them or leave behind in the face of displacement from their homes, and the ways that they interact with these objects across time and space. The other three readings, however, focus primarily on objects either obtained or coveted or both in the diaspora and following the initial break from home. The tourist commodities purchased by Irish Americans and the mementoes of concentration camps kept by Holocaust survivors, in particular, speak to the importance of objects in navigating memory and experience.

In Celtic Kitsch: Irish-America and Irish Material Culture Rains examines the commodification of Celtic tourist objects made available for purchase to Irish Americans, and the means by which Irish diasporic subjects use these objects to interact with cultural identity, thereby lending a sense authenticity to an ultimately commodified tourist object. Rain examines the common practice of Irish Americans to purchase mementoes during trips Ireland that are symbolic of their sense of Irish-ness, and of the extent to which these tourist commodities are representative of the diaspora's attempts to formulate memories of their distant past. Of interest is Rain's observation that diaspora objects must exhibit a high degree of stylization in order to function as “representative figurations of a culture that is otherwise distant or unknown,” and must “be recognizable with a minimum of cultural 'work' or prior knowledge on the part of the consumers.” Upon reading this in conjunction with Rain's earlier remarks on the commodification of cultural objects for tourist consumption, I find myself asking: is the high demand for 'authentic' objects from the homeland a product of the diasporic individual's need to both validate their connection to the homeland and increase their cultural memory?

In Hirsch and Spitzer's examination of Holocaust survivors we see an example of the way in which memory can transform innate objects into heirlooms. In the case of most Holocaust survivors, they were unable to bring mementoes from home in their initial displacement. Instead, they constructed items out of memory, such as a recipe book, for example. They also engaged with their memory to depict their experiences during the displacement, as is the case in the art and letters belonging to Arthur Kessler. These mementoes are constructed post-displacement out of memory and not only allow the initial displaced individuals to navigate their experiences, but also serve to link later generations not necessarily to their homeland but to the memory of a past that is vitally important to the construction of their distinctive Jewish identity.

Mayan Worry Dolls in the Social and Cultural Fabric of Guatemala

Textiles have been an important part of the Mayan social fabric since the pre-classic period during which they were used by the elite to represent status and deity-like personifications. In modern-day Guatemala they are primarily used as garments; however, their use has also been extended to the thriving handicraft industry where they are used to adorn furniture, utensils, decorative objects, and, as per our subject of interest, worry dolls. The textiles seen in modern-day Guatemala have a long social history in Mayan communities, and play an important role in the social and cultural fabric of society.

The most prevalent textile in Maya society is a lightweight cotton garment known as huipil that is worn by Guatemalan women. It is generally made from white or brown cloth and is adorned using the brocade technique with colourful zigzagging patterns. Designs are specific to the home community of the person wearing the huipil, and it is possible to identify a woman’s tribe, community, and social status by observing the design of the huipil that she is wearing.

The huipil, while traditionally used as a garment, is often extended to the design of Mayan handicrafts in modern-day Guatemala. Worry dolls, as discussed, are adorned with huipil cloth of a variety of colours and designs, and as such it is possible to link authentic hand-made dolls (i.e., those not mass produced for tourist consumption) to the community in which they were produced.

So why worry dolls? Why the peculiarity of the name? Worry dolls are part of a long Mayan folk tradition centred around indigenous religious mysticism. The dolls a given to children who are plagued by nightmares or who are unable to fall asleep. A child to whom the doll is given is instructed to confess all of his worries to the doll, and as such the doll will take on the responsibility of removing all worries and fears from the child's head. Hence, the name of the dolls in Spanish: muñecas quitapenas; literally, 'dolls that take away worries.'

Object Historical Context: Mayan Cultural Continuity in Central America

Worry dolls are part of a long-standing tradition with a historical base in the Mayan cultures that have lived in modern-day Guatemala for millennia. Mayan civilizations have consistently inhabited Guatemala and the neighbouring regions that make up Central America since approximately the 10th century B.C., and have shown remarkable continuity in their culture and social practices.
Early Mayan civilization appeared during the pre-classic era around 2000 B.C., and was centred around what today includes the southern Mexican states of Chiapas and Tabasco, and the Yúcatan Peninsula, as well as Guatemala, Belize, and parts of El Salvador and Honduras. The Maya engaged in extensive commerce and communication with other indigenous groups throughout the Americas, and as such developed a highly advanced society that reached its peak between 250 and 900 A.D. They made numerous advances in mathematics, architecture, and the arts, and are particularly well known for their elaborate and ornate textiles that were, and continue to be, used for personal adornment, religious ceremony, and food storage. The arrival of the Spanish conquistadores to the region during the Spanish colonization of the Americas dealt a severe blow to Mayan society; however, the civilization was not eradicated, and Mayan culture continues to exist in modern day Central America, characterized by a distinctive set of traditional practices and beliefs.
Today the Central American nation of Guatemala is home to the majority of Mayan indigenous tribes who still maintain their own unique linguistic, cultural, and religious identities. Approximately 40% of the population of Guatemala belongs to one of the numerous Mayan tribes including the K'iche', Mam, and Q'ekchi, among others, while another 42% is characterized as ladino, or of mixed indigenous and European descent. Sadly, the Maya were the most affected by Guatemala's bloody 36-year civil war. The war was characterized by primarily government-led massacres that left over 200,000 people dead, 83% of which were ethnic Maya. Today the Maya occupy the lowest social class in Guatemalan society, and are subject to extreme poverty and discrimination. They are among the most marginalized of Guatemalan society; however, despite this, the Guatemalan government and ministry of tourism celebrates the nation's Mayan heritage through the display and production of arts and textiles styled after the Mayan tradition, and heralds the civilization as a representation of Guatemalan identity.

Object Description

Muñecas quitapenas, or worry dolls, are small hand-made figurines indigenous to the Central American nation of Guatemala. They are very small in size, typically measuring no more than an inch from head to toe, and are simple in composition. The production process of the dolls is quite simple in nature; dolls are hand-made out of wire and cloth. The body of the doll is first constructed by twisting wire together to form what very closely resembles a stick figure. Next, the wire frame is swaddled in flesh-toned cloth to give shape to the tiny doll. More elaborately constructed worry dolls feature extremities including arms, legs, or both; however, the majority of dolls are made without arms or legs, and as such are only body and head.

The composition of worry dolls in and of itself is very basic, which allows young children to partake in the construction process. However, despite their simple composition, the dolls are generally quite elaborate and colourful figures. Detail is achieved through the use of brightly coloured, hand-woven textiles. Those dolls lucky enough to possess extremities are first wrapped from waist to neck in coloured string, and are then dressed in detailed skirts or pants made from decorative cloth. Arms-less dolls are wrapped in elaborate textiles and often graced with adornments such as a belt. Many dolls are also decorated with colourful head dresses reminiscent of those used by Mayan indigenous groups.

Guatemalan worry dolls are of simple composition and cheaply made; however, despite their humble nature they are visually stimulating figures thanks to the vibrant and detailed textiles that adorn their persons. The decorative process lends them a sense of visual appeal, but more importantly bestows an appearance that is distinctly Mayan in character, thereby trumpeting their connection to Guatemala's indigenous heritage.

The Politics of Value in the Circulation of Commodities

The trajectory of objects and the ways in which they develop meaning are the principal focus of the discussions elaborated by Appadurai and Carrier. In essence, the authors join in an ongoing conversation regarding the agency and mobility of objects and the role that they play in the economic system. Appadurai examines the ways in which the forces of desire and demand interact to lend economic value to otherwise exclusively social situations, and asserts that economic value is created through certain motivations and social factors surrounding the commodities exchanged. Carrier focuses more attention on the role of status in the pursuit and exchange of commodities, and makes the claim that the social groups and aspirations influence the circulation of goods.
Appadurai invokes the writings of Simmel to launch his discussion of the value of commodities as “a judgement made about them by subjects,” that is to say that politics, culture, and knowledge embody objects with distinctly social lives. Appadurai's argument that demand is a socially-regulated phenomenon I found to be especially well presented. The case study of the kula system in the Massim Islands provided a particularly vibrant example of the means by which social status and power took precedence over economic value in regulating the exchange of valued commodities. Carrier's work, too, placed precedence on the social lives of objects with an eye to the importance of status in determining object value. The works of Veblen and Weber are analysed and contrasted to debate the dynamic relationship between objects and people, with Veblen's work being given more weight in the discussion.
Veblen makes a valuable observation that objects gain greater importance in larger societies due to the subject's necessity to communicate his position in society to people who “have no other means of judging his reputability than the display of goods.” I found this particular commentary to be very illuminating to the larger conversation of diasporic objects, particularly in the context of commodity desire among certain communities. Indeed, both Appadurai's and Carrier's comments addressed a number of concerns that I had with the previous week's discussion of Shankar. The relationship between status and the value given to commodities, when viewed in the group context, lends greater understanding to Shankar's examination of the Desi community in Silicon Valley. That said, Carrier's view that status markers gain importance in larger, disconnected societies stands in sharp contrast to the Shankar's close-nit cultural community.
Both authors offer a wealth of information concerning object value, production and circulation, and both effectively utilize a wealth of scholarly material to provide us with a multi-faceted platform from which to view the debate. That said, I found Appadurai's article to be a bit 'cluttered' at times. The analyses of various scholarly works and case studies, while helpful, often became excessively verbose, and lent a disjointed feel to the work. Carrier's work, on the other hand, was disappointingly one-sided, with an excessive amount of attention focused on the role of status in the commodity trade. These criticisms must, of course, be taken with a grain of salt as both readings were introductions to larger volumes of work on the subject, and therefore not intended to be viewed as conclusive.
Questions:
(1)Although I did not touch on this aspect of Appadurai's article in my commentary, I would like to discuss it here: Appadurai claims that by increasing the gap between the means of production and the consumer, a mythology of sorts grows up around a particular object, as seen in the case of 'cargo cults.' What role might distance from the production process (or origin) of a particular object play in the greater conversation about valued objects in the lives of diasporic subjects?
(2) Carrier examines Veblen's claim that objects become more important as status markers in mass societies, as opposed to close-knit traditional communities. Appadurai discusses at length the role of the kuna system in the Massim Island, and the ways in which it is utilized to gain status and power within the community. Can a small, close-knit group use objects to assert status and power within their community, or is this phenomenon limited to mass society?

What Objects Mean and How They Mean It

The importance of material objects in the lives of diasporic subjects is the focus of two vastly different works by Zeynep Turan and Shalini Shankar, respectively. Both authors acknowledge the important role that objects play in diasporic narrative; however, they differ in their means of analysis and illustration, as well as in their postulation of the overall role of material goods in peoples' lives. Shankar explores the little-mentioned role of verbal practices – referential and indexical – and the way by which the Desi community of Silicon Valley uses talk to create objectifications of high-status items such as expensive televisions and luxury cars. The focus is placed on the relationships that people form with objects that they and their social network own, and the ways in which they utilize these relationships to distinguish themselves in their middle-class society. Turan, in contrast, focuses on the significance of material objects to the formation of collective memory within the Palistinian diaspora. The author postulates that material goods serve to link Palistinian memory to an imagined place, thereby forming “connections to pre-migratory landscapes with post-migratory memories.” Despite the authors' differing points of focus, their analyses provide us with an overwhelming sense of the importance of objects to the personal and collective narratives of diasporic individuals.
In studying the middle-class Desi community of Silicon Valley, Shankar employs a mixture of narrative and analytical style, enhanced by interviews with her subjects. Through the use of narrative and by focusing on one Desi family the author allows her reader to engage with the subject of the analysis and to better understand the importance of objects in their lives. The effectiveness of her narrative style is immediately illustrated at the beginning of the reading. Shankar describes her visit to the Kapoors, a middle-class Desi family living in Silicon Valley. The author's familiarity with her subject indicates that she has visited them on previous occasions. The family's desire to introduce her to its newest valued member – the Mercedes Benz CLK Convertible, or 'CLK' as it is affectionately referred to – quickly introduces the reader to the importance of luxury goods in this community. Throughout her work the author continuously fluctuates between analytical and narrative style, thereby allowing the reader to fully grasp her critique of the research subject, and also to connect to the Desi community at large. There are, however, some discrepancies in the author's work. Shankar exhibits a rather limited consideration of the cultural factors at play, and fails to acknowledge the means by which objectification contributes to a sense of diasporic identity and collective memory. Materiality and verbal expressions of objectification are analysed and found to be representative of the Desis' desire to distinguish themselves as members of upper class society. However, little to no attention is given to the importance of objects in forming a collective cultural memory. Indeed, a lusting for luxury cars can be found in numerous diasporic communities. Shankar's argument would have been strengthened if she had further explored the role that luxury items play in the community's sense of 'Desi-ness.'
Turan examines the Palistinian diaspora through the analysis of material objects and postulates that objects reinforce a connection to place, thereby allowing for the continuation of cultural memory. The author's use of extensive personal interviews with diasporic subjects very effectively illustrates the sense of displacement that Palistinians feel, and thus illuminates the deeply-felt connection to material objects that are representative of their homeland. By focusing on myriad objects with no immediately noticeable relationship to one another, such as Mariam Haddad's cross pendant and Bashar Khanafi's tattoo, Turan demonstrates that no single category of objects is applicable; indeed, what the object is is of little to no importance. Instead, the feeling that is conveyed by the object in question is what is truly relevant to the discussion of objectification among diasporic individuals. This idea is well-embodied in the example of Warda Raleh's bed. The IKEA bed in and of itself as a what holds little importance; however, it's resemblance to Warda Raleh's grandfather's bed lends it an entirely new meaning that is brought about by intense feeling and memory. This example clearly illustrates Turan's assertion that a material object can “restore a sense of continuity that had been lost in migration.”
Shankar and Turan both address the importance of objects in the narrative of diasporic communities; however, their approaches and postulations are varied. Shankar chooses to focus on the importance of very specific objects to the Desi community as a whole, while Turan demonstrates that the object itself is not important, but instead the sense of continuity and memory that it conveys. Both authors provide in-depth and enlightening analyses of the importance of objects to the diasporic experience, and thus open a door to questions and further inquiry. Namely, in Shankar's study of the Desi community, how does the verbal association and objectification of status objects such as tvs, luxury cars, etc., effectively contribute to a shared sense of common identity and continuity? Also, is it possible that the traumatic past of the Palistinian diaspora renders material objects more important for the role that they play in restoring memory and identity, as opposed to the middle-class Desi diaspora that has no memory of traumatic displacement?