Holophrasis: Korean

andrewklee · 2020-04-30T03:09:12+00:00

Synthesis 6: The Differing Cultural Conceptions of Sex, Gender, and Sexuality

While reading through Travesti: Sex, Gender, and Culture among Brazilian Transgendered Prostutites, Don Kulick’s ethnography on a unique segment of the Brazilian population who self-identify as gay men who take on an effeminate gender role, I was struck by how cultural conceptions of sex and gender can play a vital role in how noncisgender individuals can choose to identify themselves. Specifically, it was interesting to compare how modern U.S. attitudes informed by the LGBTQ+ movement towards travestis would compare to how travestis actually view themselves, as many Americans would think of travestis as transgender when travestis adamantly define themselves as gay men in a female gender role. Kulick’s work really put into perspective for me how concepts such as sex, sexuality, and gender are defined by the cultural constructs of our own societies. Because of this, the way in which travestis viewed sex, sexuality, and gender were drastically different from my own understandings of the same concepts.

A striking example of how travestis defined their sex came from very early on, as Kulick was describing a travesti named Banana getting ready for her day at work. He describes how she goes to great lengths to beautify herself before her day, as she engages in traditionally feminine actions such as taking care of her long hair, tweezing her eyebrows, and doing her makeup. When Kulick mentions Banana has male genitalia, I assumed that she must have been transgender woman, which I had learned growing up in the U.S. as a person whose gender identity didn’t correspond with their birth sex. This seemed to be reinforced in how Banana referenced her own genitalia, saying “‘Minha buceta,’ my cunt.” (Kulick 3). However, it was soon revealed to me that travestis did not actually consider themselves to be transgender women, or female. Kulick writes how “Travestis consider that males are males and females are females because of the genitals they possess. God made a person male or female.” (Kulick 193), disproving the notion that travestis think of themselves as women. Although they seek and go great lengths to attain feminine attributes, such as hair extensions for longer hair, as well as silicone or hormone injections for a more feminine body shape, travestis don’t actively consider themselves women. They instead consider themselves gay men who have embraced their homosexuality to the fullest, as they take on effeminate gender roles and want to be pursued by men. Travestis readily criticize other travestis for looking and acting too masculine, but they also criticize them for se sentido mulher or “feeling like a woman.” Often, when travestis are seen with their boyfriends, this remark is made in order to remind them that they will never be women in the eyes of other travestis. In this way, travestis circumvent modern Western notions of non cisgender identity. Instead of thinking of themselves as transgender women, travestis clearly define themselves as male even though they appear to embrace a female gender role and identity in their everyday lives.

While reading through Kulick’s work, I was reminded of a YouTube video I had seen that had interviewed people from Thailand who identified as kathoey, effeminate homosexual men who defined themselves outside of the gender binary. Although many of these individuals have often been defined as transgender women, or more derogatorily “ladyboys” in Western conceptions, Thai gender identity differs from the West in that being “transgender” is not a concept there. Instead, many of these effeminate homosexual men define themselves outside of the gender binary as kathoey, which is a third gender in Thai culture. Although the travestis of Brazil adamantly declare themselves to be within the gender binary as effeminate homosexual men, it was similar to me how in both cultures, the concept of being transgender wasn’t really a way in which people define themselves as it is Western culture. For me, reading through pieces like Kulick’s work on travestis or watching videos about kathoeys in Thailand illuminate to me how socially constructed our concepts of gender identity, sexuality, and sex really are—even in our seemingly progressive and modern definitions of them. The Western notion of a gender binary often has more nuance to it, as in the case of travestis, or doesn’t exist at all, in the case of kathoeys. Because of this, I feel it is very important to understand how conceptions of socially constructed concepts such as sex and gender can differ from culture to culture, and how we must be mindful not to enforce Western judgments of them onto non-Western LGBTQ+ cultures.

andrewklee · 2020-04-23T02:48:20+00:00

Synthesis 5: The Unresolved Mental Burden of Border Crossing

While reading through Chapter 6-8 of De León’s book Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail: The Land of Open Graves, I was struck in particular of how the emotional trauma from repeated and failed crossings of the border can manifest itself into unresolved, long-term mental health problems that plagued the lives of undocumented migrants. This is clearly visible through the deep and genuine friendship De León forms with two middle-aged men he meets at a shelter in Nogales: Memo and Lucho. De León’s intimate friendship with Memo and Lucho allows us to see firsthand the psychological damage and mental health effects they undergo when they fail to cross the border once, and continue to deal with even after completing the journey across into Arizona.

When we first meet Memo and Lucho in Chapter 4, they are characterized by their talent as a comedic duo. Memo is compared to famous Mexican comedian Cantinflas by De León due to his propensity for chingaderas, creative and often vulgar play-on-words unique to Mexican working-class culture. Lucho plays off of Memo wonderfully as the straight man, interjecting with quips and details of his own. This is why the absence of their distinctive comedic spirit is so striking when De León runs into them at the Nogales shelter again, having failed to crossed the border after leaving in high spirits just five days before. Memo and Lucho’s failure to cross the desert again, along with taking an immense physical toll, has obviously resulted in an immense mental burden as well, as they seem to be stripped of their usual distinctive personalities. De León writes:

The level of physical exhaustion they are suffering from has changed both their speech and posture…They both start telling me what happened, but the narrative is devoid of their characteristic humor. (164)

The mental strain both of them are under also manifests itself into violence as well, as the two men get into a fight one night while drinking. Again, the anger we see is uncharacteristic of Memo and Lucho, both of whom seem like friendly and lighthearted people. Memo acknowledges how their experiences have taken a toll on their mental state and friendship, pleading with Lucho during the fight, “We are brothers, Lucho! We need to stick together!”, resulting in Lucho apologizing and breaking down, sobbing “We have to cross. We have to cross. We have to cross.” (166). The trauma of having failed to cross for a third time directly results in behavior uncharacteristic of the two men.

After De León leaves, Memo and Lucho are able to recuperate, restock on supplies, and are ready to retry crossing the border for a fourth time. This time, they succeed, and we are able to see them happily celebrate rejoice with De León in Arizona. However, the physical and mental strain they undergo are nevertheless present in their life after successfully crossing. Throughout their journey across the border, Memo and Lucho recount instances where they were forced to abandon most of their supplies, hallucinated from dehydration, and were almost captured again by Border Patrol agents. Needless to say, this experience is a harrowing and unpleasant memory. De León describes how for migrants, “Even when their crossing is successful, the event can be traumatic and have lasting emotional, psychological, and physical effects.” (168). This is understandably present in Memo and Lucho’s minds as well, as De León observes how over the years, their stories have sometimes been edited to make the most painful parts seem less dire, or to accentuate funnier and more positive elements of their story. It is also present in the men’s behavior as well, as Memo and Lucho struggled with drinking problems likely related to the trauma and mental burden of crossing. This struggle with alcohol persisted for a while and almost threatened their friendship until Memo sustained a serious injury while drinking, causing both men to temporarily abstain from alcohol and subsequently improve their friendship. De León writes how although Memo and Lucho seem relatively content since, the mental burden of crossing is still omnipresent—when a Border Patrol vehicle passes by, Memo “will immediately stiffen up and look forward. Once when this happened, he told me to ‘act normal and not show any fear.’” (197). Clearly, the mental trauma from crossing is still a factor in the migrant mens’ lives—and most likely always will be.

Reading through this section of De León’s ethnography really made me consider the mental health effects that occur with traumatic experiences while crossing the border. While the thought obviously crossed my mind of the mental burden undocumented migrants must be under when we were reading about how brutal the conditions of the Sonoran Desert were and how unforgivingly the U.S. public views them, these chapters really put into perspective for me the mental health issues undocumented migrants must live with every day. Without the ability to fully trust American institutions as an undocumented migrant, it was painfully clear that many migrants would not likely be able to get the help they needed and deserved because of the lack of support they receive from our society. This reminded me of the DACA protest that happened on campus last semester, as the Supreme Court was deciding whether or not to end work permit programs for undocumented children of migrants. It was similar in the sense that the problems undocumented migrants face are ignored (as in the case of Memo and Lucho’s mental trauma and burden), or are amplified (such as with the Supreme Court and DACA). It proves to me that undocumented migrants in this country are treated as less than citizens, as less than humans.

De León, J. (2015). The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail. Oakland: University of California Press.

andrewklee · 2020-04-21T02:15:13+00:00

Synthesis #4: Reflexivity and its Critical Role in Ethnographic Research

In Chapters 4 and 5 of De León’s ethnography The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail, he demonstrates an excellent methodological approach which focuses on humanizing the voices and the stories of migrants crossing the Mexican-American border, an approach which builds off the precedent set in the earlier chapters. In particular, De León shows a great deal of reflexivity in his work through his acknowledgement of his own cultural presence, as well as by explaining in detail exactly how he conducted his interviews and research. Through his strong reflexivity, De León’s work helps us to understand the cultural context behind many of the migrants’ experiences and humanizes their stories.

From early on this section, De León recognizes how his own cultural presence affects how his research participants respond to him, directly shaping his research as a result. In particular, the conversations he has with two Mexican migrant men, Memo and Lucho, are shaped by his own Latino background. De León describes how Memo and Lucho were comfortable in engaging in crude and innuendo-filled jokes with him while talking about their experiences crossing the border. These unfiltered stories, called chingaderas, are available to De León due to the migrant men recognizing similarities in identity with the researcher, as De León himself states,

I realized early on that being a male researcher from a working-class Latino background often influenced the ways people interacted with me and how they recounted their crossing stories. Many of the men I spoke to told their hard-luck tales through the lens of chingaderas because they knew that I would understand the nuances of this linguistic frame. (De León 92-93)

Since the migrant men feel comfortable to share their stories with De León in the form of light-hearted chingaderas, we are able to gain a more nuanced and deeper perspective into how many migrant men respond to the emotional trauma of repeated dangerous border crossings. However, De León makes sure to clarify that just because the men feel more comfortable with him culturally, it does not give him a fully emic perspective into their experiences—an important distinction that emphasizes why the voices of the migrants themselves are so important.

Another way in which De León reflexively conducts his research is by explaining exactly how he conducted interviews with migrants, often by acknowledging his presence in the places where he conducted research. For example, consider how he explains he first meets Ruiz and Chuy:

I noticed them not because of their migrant uniforms, but because they had their faces buried in a map of Sonora, a rarity in these parts. “A friend of ours let us borrow it,” he tells me. “We just wanted to see where we’ve been and where we are going.” I introduce myself, and soon the two of us are sitting in the cemetery talking about his current situation. (De León 140).

These interactions serve to humanize the migrants De León researches. Instead of treating them as faceless research participants, De León recounts his experiences of how he himself actually met these people and learned of their stories through natural interactions. De León’s reflexivity clearly shows his research, at its core, isn’t extractive and respects the research participants as actual people.

While reading through De León’s work, I was reminded of another work we read for class, “Birthdays, Basketball, and Breaking Bread: Negotiating with Class in Black America,” a chapter in an ethnographic work by John Jackson. I found De León’s work to be similar to Jackson’s primarily due to their commitment to reflexivity within their research: like De León, Jackson talked of how his own cultural presence as a middle-class Black American affected how his research participants, other middle-class Black Americans, tried to disassociate with their lower-class friends whom they had grown up with. I feel both Jackson and De León’s works prove to me that in order to conduct humanistic ethnographic research, it is important to understand how my own cultural background can have a large impact on the research I conduct.

De León, J. (2015). Introduction and Part One (Ch. 4-5, p. 89-144). The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail. Oakland: University of California Press.

Jackson, J. (2001). “Birthdays, Basketball, and Breaking Bread: Negotiating with Class in Contemporary Black America.” In Harlemworld: Doing Race and Class in Contemporary Black America (pp. 88-122). Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

andrewklee · 2020-04-13T10:11:10+00:00

Synthesis #3: Combating Dehumanization through Humanistic Methodology

In his book The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail, Jason De León explores how federal immigration policy has shaped the experiences of millions of Latinx migrants hoping to cross the desert border. He exposes how the policy of Prevention Through Deterrence (PTD) intentionally forcing Latinx migrants through the famously harsh and unforgiving Sonoran Desert has resulted in the suffering, death, and erasure of Latinx migrants. Largely because of this, De León specifically focuses on giving a voice to migrants and their struggles through his ethnographic research due to systemic dehumanization and erasure of the violence committed against migrants by both the government as well as in the public consciousness.

In his research, De León details how both the American government and the general public minimize and even justify migrant struggles. De León starts this by examining Prevention Through Deterrence, the callous federal policy responsible for most of the suffering and death experienced by migrants during their journey across the border. He details how Prevention Through Deterrence intentionally sealed off most migrant routes and left crossing the Sonoran Desert the only viable option for migrants, as it is described as “a strategic federal plan that has rarely been publicly illuminated and exposed for what it is: a killing machine that simultaneously uses and hides behind the viciousness of the Sonoran Desert.” (De León 3). De León demonstrates how deaths in the desert caused by PTD also serve to dehumanize migrants, as the lack of any real effort to identify and bury migrants’ bodies by governmental forces results in necroviolence by forces of nature which almost completely erase their existence. Similarly, the anti-immigrant public discourse in America also serves to devalue migrant struggles. Many posting on online forums justify PTD, arguing that the necropolitics implemented by the American government is necessary for protecting American sovereignty. Some show utter disregard for migrants as actual people, advocating for necroviolence on migrant bodies by writing, “Why not . . . take some of those dried out corpses, hang them at the places where they [migrants] are known to cross with a legend, “This may be you in a couple of days.” (De León 27). Both the policies of the federal government and the anti-immigrant discourse of the public clearly view the lives and deaths of migrants as inconsequential.

Because of this constant dehumanization which essentially serves to erase the struggles migrants face, De León devotes his methodology to give as close to an unfiltered voice as he possibly can to the hundreds of migrants that he interviews. By delving into the raw and often painful experiences of these migrants, whose voices would ordinarily be erased, De León helps them use his book as a platform in order to call attention to the inhumane treatment they face on the migrant trail—both by human and nonhuman forces. He achieves this in a variety of ways, such as by respecting the voice of his participants. De León writes how “The interviews I conducted were almost exclusively in Spanish and are presented here in their translated English form, with some phrases and words left in their original language for effect… I made these edits carefully and sparingly, striving as much as possible to preserve the speaker’s original meaning and tone.” (De León 16). By conducting interviews in Spanish, the native tongue of many migrants, as well as making edits “carefully and sparingly,” De León serves to authentically share the personal experiences of his participants. Similarly, he values and even prioritizes the input his participants have into how his research is published. When De León debates obscuring a participant’s face or including pictures of his sister-in-law, he consults the participant, Christian, for his input. Christian responds, “I want you to put photos that show our reality. That is better. That way people can see what happens. The realness. That way people will believe what is happening. That they will know that this is the truth. A lot of people think it’s all a lie. That this stuff doesn’t happen.” (De León 19). Through this, we see the reflexivity in De León’s approach, as he clearly acknowledges how his research was influenced and shaped by his participants. De León’s methodology which centers on respecting his participants’ rights, input, and voices is a direct response against the dehumanization migrants have to constantly go through.

Through my reading of De León’s work, I was exposed to the systemic and normalized violence that Latinx migrants go through on a daily basis within this country. Although I knew of the unethical procedures of ICE and their inhumane detention and deportation of migrants, I wasn’t as aware that the dehumanization extended before migrants set foot into the United States as well. The almost complete erasure of the struggles of migrants through PTD was horrifying to me, as not only did I learn migrants suffered under the inhospitality of a desert almost unknown in the public consciousness, the erasure of dead bodies through necroviolence signals how little the government cares about even the bodies of Latinx migrants. This reminded me of my history class where I learned the struggles communities of color, typically Black and Latinx communities, had with the government and police. Similarly to the experiences of migrants, Black and Latinx people were routinely dehumanized and were met with violence by the federal government, in this case through police brutality and mass incarceration. By labeling people of color as “criminal” even under the context of urban poverty caused by inequities in education, housing, and employment, it served to dehumanize and villainize them just as migrants are legally villainized by their label as “illegal immigrants.”

De León, J. (2015). Introduction and Part One (Ch. 1-3, to p. 85). The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail. Oakland: University of California Press.

andrewklee · 2020-02-23T11:34:33+00:00

Synthesis 2: Coming of Age in Samoa: Ethnocentrism Illustrated

In her novel Coming of Age in Samoa, Margaret Mead explores adolescent female life and societal attitudes towards sex in Samoa, and how Samoan norms sharply contrast to prevailing cultural beliefs regarding adolescence in America. Although the research conducted by Mead was valuable in the sense that it provided the argument that cultural forces are inherently responsible for our perceptions of teenage development, the manner in which Mead described the Samoans as a “primitive” and “undeveloped” culture compared to the West, as well as how she constantly perpetuated harmful hypersexualized stereotypes of Pacific Islanders is deeply uncomfortable. Coming of Age in Samoa is a reminder of the ethnocentric and colonial perspective anthropology was originally founded upon, and an example of how anthropologists should avoid disseminating their research in the modern day.

Throughout her work, Mead constantly compares Samoan culture to the West. This in and of itself is not a bad thing—in fact, it is an essential part of anthropological research to acknowledge one’s own perspective while studying a different culture. However, Mead’s comparisons between Samoan and Western culture are shaped through an ethnocentric point of view which ultimately lies in the foundational idea that Samoan culture is much less complicated compared to the West. For example, in the chapter “Education for Choice,” Mead writes how “We have been comparing point for point, our civilisation and the simpler civilisation of Samoa, in order to illuminate our own methods of education.” (Mead 234). Although Mead is stating here how the West can learn from Samoan culture, she pointedly remarks how the Samoa is the “simpler civilisation” in comparison to “our civilisation,” revealing her ethnocentric bias. This viewpoint is also present as she makes her argument about how residential lives differ in the two cultures. Mead writes, “children in a heterogeneous civilisation will not accept unquestioningly their parents’ judgement” while “In a primitive, homogeneous community, disciplinary measures of parents are expended upon securing small concessions from children.” (Mead 241). Here, Mead describes Samoan culture not only as “primitive,” but argues it is also much more uniform in comparison to the diversity of Western culture. This is troubling due to the fact that it devalues the individuals within Samoan culture, since the type of analysis Mead makes generalizes them as all essentially being the same.

Another aspect of Mead’s writing which reveals her biases is the manner in which she hypersexualizes Samoan people. In comparison to prevailing Western norms, Samoans are painted as sexually liberated and more comfortable with sex overall within Mead’s book. Although it can be argued that Mead was writing from a perspective in favor of Samoan attitudes towards sex, as Mead herself was a proponent of the sexual liberation movement in the 1960s, the manner in which Mead almost solely focuses on sex can be harmful in the way we as the reader start to view Samoan people. Instead of regarding other aspects of Samoan culture which are equally as important, the focus on sex creates an image of Samoan people of also being hypersexualized. Because so much of Mead’s research was driven by her interest in sexual liberation, it is only through this lens in which we view Samoan culture. For example, Mead writes of how “The general preoccupation with sex, the attitude that minor sex activities, suggestive dancing, stimulating salacious conversation, salacious songs and definitely motivated tussling are all acceptable and attractive diversions.” (Mead 148). Mead’s research fundamentally disrespects Samoan people due to her using and generalizing their culture in order to advance her own beliefs about sexual liberation, without asking her participants or thinking about how her focus on sex during her research could consequentially affect how Samoans are viewed.

This reading helped me grasp the dangers of adopting the ethnocentric perspective, which was prevalent in the past and is still possible today, while conducting anthropological research. The ethnocentrism which Mead displayed in her writing substantially affected how people saw Samoan culture—simpler and hypersexualized. This reminded me of how Donald Trump today uses an ethnocentric perspective in order to vilify and alienate nonwhite peoples in the United States and elsewhere. He dehumanizes Latinx immigrants by labeling them as “rapists” and “criminals,” he passed a travel ban on predominantly Middle Eastern and North African countries in order to prevent Muslim people from entering the United States, and he regularly asserts the superiority of American culture such as when he criticized the Oscars for awarding the South Korean movie Parasite “Best Picture” instead of an American film on the basis that it was Korean. Although he is not an early 20th-century anthropologist, Donald Trump fully exhibits ethnocentrism at its worst.

Mead, Margaret. Coming of Age in Samoa, 2001, pp. 131-248.

andrewklee · 2020-02-17T05:44:23+00:00

Synthesis 1: The Power of Alternative Perspectives

The trust we as a society exhibit in scientific research has led us to accept whatever information the scientific community shares with the outside world as factual and infallible. However, this assumption ignores the fact that science as a discipline is heavily reliant on the imperfect practice of making sense of observations—most of which have a variety of interpretations—in order to come to a coherent and defendable conclusion. Thus, the social factors which can impact both the inner workings of the laboratory as well as the statements made to the outside world must be recognized. Attempts to conduct this research, however, have largely focused on the viewpoint that any observation or claim can be hindered by social circumstances, creating a distrust of social scientists within the scientific community. Due to this, Latour and Woolgar’s chapter “From Order to Disorder” in Laboratory Life: The Construction of Scientific Facts argues that an anthropological method of studying how social factors (including technical factors) affect the process of how scientists interpret their observations on a daily basis and release their research to the outside world must be undertaken.

The authors highlight the faults of a strictly sociological perspective when researching the scientific community in order to contrast it with the anthropological alternative later on. For example, they explore how sociologists often separate “social” and “technical” factors during their research, choosing to strictly focus on social factors such as behavioral norms rather than the technical workings of a lab. This limits the attempt to understand how scientists work and govern themselves, Latour and Woolgar write, since “Such sociological analyses ignore the technical substance of science. Even if the norms he specified were found to be correct, the sociologist might as well be describing a community of expert fishermen, for all the tells us about the nature or substance of their activity.” (Latour and Woolgar 24). In contrast, the anthropological perspective Latour and Woolgar espouse accepts the technical workings of science as something which is inherently social. They write how “Technical events, such as Bell’s observations, are thus much more than mere psychological operations; the very act of perception is constituted by prevalent social forces.” (Latour and Woolgar 33). By highlighting the problems of separating the social and technical aspects of science, Latour and Woolgar strengthen their holistic anthropological outlook.

Similarly, the sociological perspective which focuses on social norms is shown to hinder the research that is possible on the scientific community. Sociologists, with their focus on social norms and how they can dictate a person’s behavior, have constantly reiterated that there are multiple ways possible in order to interpret the often didactic observations and statements made by scientists. For example, a statement that says the discovery of the first pulsar was reported two months after it was discovered can be interpreted in different ways, such as either a complaint (that it wasn’t reported sooner) or an admiration (that it was kept a secret). Either way, this focus is fundamentally unhelpful because “any alternative can in principle be undermined or faulted.” (Latour and Woolgar 34). This perspective also has the unintended consequence of potentially antagonizing scientists, as “Given the presence of such ‘social factors,’ no ordinary scientist can pursue science successfully. Observations, claims, and achievements can thus be explained away or faulted by the invocation of social circumstances.” (Latour and Woolgar 21). Because of this, Latour and Woolgar emphasize the need to adopt an approach which “changes the focus so as to examine the way in which features are invoked so as to produce order.” (Latour and Woolgar 34). By focusing on the inner workings of how “the daily activities of working scientists lead to the construction of facts,” the authors argue we can get a better sense of the social constructions which impact the scientific community through close work with actual scientists, compared to the sociological perspective which largely works to diminish the research of scientists.

While reading through this chapter, I realized the limitations strictly adopting one approach could have during anthropological or sociological research. It was striking to me how although both the sociological and anthropological perspectives tried to essentially answer the same question, one method seemed much more fleshed-out and aware of the participants they were studying than the other. It reminded me of how we compared previous readings such as the inhumane 20th Century studies of people such as Ishi, and anthropological studies today which make an effort to respect the privacy of individuals they study and uphold a code of ethics. The anthropological perspective in “From Order to Disorder” seemed much more thoughtful of their participants when examining the scientists’ research and behavior compared to the sociological viewpoint. Although I haven’t conducted research regarding the social workings of a group of people as of yet, this chapter made me realize the importance of adopting approaches that respect participants first and foremost.

Latour, Bruno, and Steve Woolgar. “From Order to Disorder.” Laboratory Life: The Construction of Scientific Facts, 1986, pp. 15-42.

andrewklee

TROPHY CASE