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Textbook Narratives in Cyprus

I wanted to briefly talk about the presentation of recent Cypriot history in Turkish and Greek textbooks. This subject was treated very adroitly in the volume edited by Rebecca Bryant and Yannis Papadakis entitledย Cyprus and the Politics of Memory, and I don’t want to beat a dead horse. But there’s a few interesting observations I’d like to make towards the end of this post.

Historical context

Cyprus is an island in the Mediterranean with a long documented history, including Mycenean settlement in the second millennium BCE and a Greek presence since. In the past four thousand years, the island has been governed by many major powers, including โ€“ in chronological order โ€“ Egyptians, Romans, Venetians, Ottomans, and the British. In July 1878, the British Empire assumed control of the island from the Ottoman Empire. This short background is necessary to understand the context for the narratives I discuss here.

A demonstration for enosis in the 1930s.
Continue reading “Textbook Narratives in Cyprus”

Reviewing Derek Walcott’s Omeros

                                        I said, โ€œOmeros,โ€

and O was the conch-shellโ€™s invocation, mer was
both mother and sea in our Antillean patois,
os, a grey bone, and the white surf as it crashes

and spreads its sibilant collar on a lace shore.
Omeros was the crunch of dry leaves, and the washes
that echoed from a cave-mouth when the tide has ebbed.

(Omeros bk. 1 ch. 2 sec. 3)

Derek Walcottโ€™s masterful Omeros is a palimpsest. As an epic poem, it is deeply indebted to Homer; as a portrait of St Lucia, it is bound to the daily rhythm of island life. It is this tension between rootedness in the Caribbean and participation in the โ€œglobal republicโ€ of English (to borrow from Paula Burnett) that Walcott explores in his imagination of a postcolonial world. Reading Omeros means inhabiting the contradictions inherent in the postcolonial condition. Walcottโ€™s poetic work is an extraordinarily successful exploration of modern life, all accomplished in poignant and achingly beautiful lyric verse.

The poem is structured as an odyssey, shifting from the present-day Caribbean to modern-day Europe and seventeenth-century Africa before returning to Walcottโ€™s home island. The narrative is divided into seven books that provide a structure for the 64 chapters, each of which comprises a handful of sections. Yet the plot, such as it is, can be roughly split in three. In the first part, Achille and Hector (two fishermen) are competing for the affections of Helen against the backdrop of modernizing St Lucia. The second part of Omeros shifts to a broader view of the world by considering Philoctete and Ma Kilman. Their connections with Africa are visceral, spiritual, and deeply allegorical; in the case of Philocteteโ€™s wound, the legacy of slavery quite literally bleeds into the present. The narrator dwells both on the horrors of the Middle Passage and the contradictions of the contemporary metropole before returning to the St Lucian town of Gros-Ilet in the concluding section. To end, the narrator turns away from history to instead depict the tourists who flood St Luciaโ€™s beaches today: โ€œbarefoot Americans strolling into the banksโ€” / there was a plague of them now, worse than the insects / who, at least, were nativesโ€ (1.10.3). In this third and final section, Hector dies driving these same tourists from the airport to a hotel, while Achille remains afloat as a fisherman.

Continue reading “Reviewing Derek Walcott’s Omeros

Engaged Scholarship and the “Organic Intellectual”

As a concentrator in Archaeology here at Brown, I am also a member of the Engaged Scholars Program. I’ve recently been thinking a lot about the nature of engaged scholarship and my relationship with it. I wanted to summarize and comment on three seemingly disparate strands of engaged scholarship that I’ve recently come across: the more traditional idea of service learning; Antonio Gramsci’s concept of the “organic intellectual”; and Cornel West’s more recent evolution of this idea, as demonstrated through an essay on Martin Luther King, Jr. I end by drawing together these three thinkers and articulating a critique of dominant understandings of engaged scholarship.

Tania Mitchell

This semester,ย ย I am in SOC 0310: Theory and Practice of Engaged Scholarship (with Allen Hance and Lynsey Ford). We’ve been talking a lot about what engaged scholarship means for the program, particularly as an evolution of “service learning.” The traditional idea was that students gain valuable skills and experiences through direct service. More recently, Tania Mitchell has encapsulated a trend away from this idea towards a kind of “critical service-learning,” which emphasizes the importance of critical reflection as a way of addressing structural and systemic issues that underlie the most apparent problems. Brown offers a number of courses that fit within this philosophy, and has recently approved the introduction of a course designation in Community-Based Learning and Research (CBLR). Indeed, I would argue that the idea of service learning (mostly in its critical form) is at the heart of engaged scholarship as the Swearer Center currently understands it. Other definitions abound. For example, as used by New England Resource Center for Higher Education, engaged scholarship focuses on the role of faculty “in a reciprocal partnership with the community, is interdisciplinary, and integrates faculty roles of teaching, research, and service.” This definition (focused on faculty) has greater ambit than the idea of service learning, which is focused on student experience. I feel that this difference points at the crux of the issue with engaged scholarship as it is currently understood — more on this later. Continue reading “Engaged Scholarship and the “Organic Intellectual””

Western writing and the Church of the East in China

I wanted to write about a fascinating object called theย Nestorian Stele, a block of stone inscribed with Chinese and Syriac in 781 CE. The stele is entitled Memorial of the Propagation in China of the Luminous Religion from Daqin (ๅคง็งฆๆ™ฏๆ•™ๆต่กŒไธญๅœ‹็ข‘; pinyin: Dร qรญn Jวngjiร o liรบxรญng Zhลngguรณ bฤ“i; the stele is commonly known simply asย jingjiaobei). It describes the establishment of a Nestorian Christian church in China in the late antiquity, known as Beth Sinaye in Syriac and jingjiaoย in Chinese. The monument was erected in 781 by the Tang Dynasty Emperor Taizong to commemorate 150 years of Christianity in China, which had arrived with Syriac missionaries in 635 (for a concise yet thorough description seeย Lawton 2008). In 845 CE, the monument was buried during a period of religious suppression and was only rediscovered in 1625. From then on, there has been a steady but small stream of Western interest in the object; in 2008, a book by Michael Keevak was published entitledย The Story of a Stele: Chinaโ€™s Nestorian Monument and its Reception in the West, 1625โ€“1916. Continue reading “Western writing and the Church of the East in China”

Reading Spivak with Said

I wanted to jot down some initial thoughts about Spivak’s famous piece “Can the Subaltern Speak?” Despite the obscurantism and the great attention required to really parse Spivak’s text, reading it is ultimately a deeply satisfying and rewarding experience. The question that pervades the essay is essentially identical to that posed by Edward Said in “Always on Top” (published in the London Review of Books): โ€œWhat does one do about the representation of undocumented experiences — of slaves, servants, insurgents (such as those at Morant Bay) — for which we have to depend on socially elevated, literate witnesses who have access to official records?โ€ Said’s answer to his own question can be gleaned from his article inย Critical Inquiry entitled “Representing the Colonized: Anthropology’s Interlocutors”, and more indirectly throughย Orientalism.ย Like Foucault, Said is invested in rigorous empirical work that informs, interrogates, and integrates critical theory; hence why Said responds to the criticism that his “work is only negative polemic which does not advance a new epistemological approach or method” (210). Said concludes by advocating the work of “engaged historians” whose “instigatory force … is of startling relevance to all the humanities and social sciences as they continue to struggle with the formidable difficulties of empire” (225). Continue reading “Reading Spivak with Said”

Working with Women’s Refugee Care

In Fall 2017, I was fortunate enough to take an engaged course in the French department called L’expรฉrience des rรฉfugiรฉs et immigrรฉs (The Experience of Refugees and Immigrants). This course was developed last summer and offered for the first time this year (see article for more).ย It combined a survey of Francophone texts by and about migration with an engaged component: working with Women’s Refugee Care (WRC). My French improved because I got the chance toย use it in a setting with no safety net: in the community engagement portion of the course, French really was the best means of communication. More importantly, this course was a great opportunity to get involved with a local nonprofit and explore the idea of engaged scholarship (which I’m continuing to do through the Engaged Scholars Program inย Archaeology).

My work with Women’s Refugee Care centered on three interviews I did with members of the Congolese refugee community here in Providence. Along with Jeanelle Wheeler, my wonderful colleague, we got to know the community, attending a few gatherings and meeting lots of interesting people. We then arranged interviews with a few of those we met at their homes. After recording the interviews, we translated them into English and then posted them on the WRC blog.

I’m particularly happy with the final result: interviews with Katerina, Aline, and Sylvie. I encourage you to read what they have to say — not just to admire their successes and appreciate the challenges they faced, but to acknowledge them as multifaceted human beings. I also wrote an introduction to the interviewsย (in French), where I reflect on the entire experience, including obstacles, challenges, and the path we took in presenting them as we did. If you find this interesting or stimulating, I would love to know — just add a comment here or send me an email.1

John Wesley Gilbert: some clarifications

John Wesley Gilbert at an unknown date. Photo credit: Michigan State University.

Update: I gave the presentation I mentioned below in March 2018; the paper I delivered is available here.

I am currently preparing a presentation on John Wesley Gilbert, based off of a paper I wrote for a class in Fall 2017. Gilbert is not very well-known, so here’s some brief notes about him byย John W. I. Lee, who wrote a pieceย on Gilbert’s work with the American School of Classical Studies at Athens:

Gilbert graduated fromย Paine Collegeย in Augusta, Georgia, then received his BA from Brown University in 1888. As a Brown MA student in 1890โ€“1891 he became the first African American to study in Greece at theย American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA). During his year in Greece, Gilbert participated in the American Schoolโ€™s excavations at theย ancient site of Eretria on the island of Euboea.

Timeline

Chronology

Here, I would like to clarify the chronology of a few events in Gilbert’s life, specifically relating to his education and relationship with Paine College. Continue reading “John Wesley Gilbert: some clarifications”

The “Temple of Aphrodite”

My mother was born and raised in Limassol (Lemesos), a city on the southern coast of Cyprus which I also lived in for five years. The city proper is not ancient; the oldest building is the medieval castle. Yet the Limassol metropolitan area is anchored at its western and eastern ends by the ancient cities of Kourion (Curium) and Amathus, respectively. Going to the beach, to a restaurant, or visiting friends often involves passing by these very tangible reminders of classical antiquity. Examples of neoclassicism also abound, though they often take surprising forms. Cypriot buildings that draw on classical elements are mostly unlike the civic architecture of, for example, Washington, DC; to put it uncharitably, Cypriot neoclassicism is generally โ€œtouristyโ€ and โ€œkitsch.โ€ One characteristic example comes to mind: a structure called Aphroditeโ€™s Temple that was built just a few hundred meters from my school in Palodia, around ten kilometers from Limassol. A few months after Aphroditeโ€™s Temple opened, police raided the building and arrested the operators on charges of sexual exploitation. The ownerโ€™s lawyer threatened to reveal the names of prominent government officials who patronized the brothel if the prosecution continued. The intermingling of classical antiquity and powerful interests โ€“ including the archbishop of Cyprus, according to one source โ€“ demonstrates how the material legacy of classical antiquity continues to be meaningful in Cyprus.

ฮŸฮ•ฮ”ฮ’ and Classical antiquity

When I attended Cypriot public school, I remember glancing at the back cover of many textbooks in moments of boredom. Staring back at me from some corner of the textbookโ€™s cover was almost always an owl standing on a pile of books. Many years later, I visited the RISD museum and stopped in front of their display of ancient Greek coins. There again was that same owl, staring at me with its bulging eyes. As it turns out, at the time I was in primary school many Cypriot textbooks were published by the ฮŸฯฮณฮฑฮฝฮนฯƒฮผฯŒฯ‚ ฮ•ฮบฮดฯŒฯƒฮตฯ‰ฯ‚ ฮ”ฮนฮดฮฑฮบฯ„ฮนฮบฯŽฮฝ ฮ’ฮนฮฒฮปฮฏฯ‰ฮฝ (Organismos Ekdoseos Didaktikon Vivlion, State Organisation for the Publication of School Textbooks), or ฮŸฮ•ฮ”ฮ’ for short. This organization was founded by the Metaxas dictatorship in 1937, which had close ties with Greek nationalism.2 ฮŸฮ•ฮ”ฮ’ has long played a crucial role in the propagation of state ideology, as might be expected from a state-sanctioned publisher.ย For example, ฮŸฮ•ฮ”ฮ’ is tasked with producing history textbooks by the Ministry of Education. The aims provided by the ministry include โ€œdeveloping an โ€˜awareness of Hellenic continuityโ€™โ€ and โ€œcultivating genuine national pride.โ€3 The role of ฮŸฮ•ฮ”ฮ’ in the construction of Hellenism intertwines state authority and the legacy of classical antiquity. Nowhere is this better symbolized than in ฮŸฮ•ฮ”ฮ’โ€™s logo, which is little more than a stylized version of the Athenian owl (see above). The owl was a symbol of Athena and of wisdom. In this role, the owl was famously used as the reverse of the tetradrachm โ€“ a type of silver coin โ€“ minted in Athens from at least 500 BCE.4 ฮŸฮ•ฮ”ฮ’ clearly paid homage to this coin in its choice of logo, thus also identifying classical Athens as the root of education in the modern Greek state.

Upson-Saia Critical Abstract

Upson-Saia, Kristi. โ€œWounded by Divine Love.โ€ In Melania: Early Christianity through the Life of One Family, edited by Catherine Chin and Caroline Schroeder, 86โ€“105. Oakland: University of California Press, 2017.

In this chapter, Upson-Saia investigates wound metaphors in the ascetic context. She argues that, because of their ubiquity, โ€œwounds and wounding provided a widely recognizable conceptual frame and an immediately meaningful linguistic deviceโ€ (87). Upson-Saia draws on various sources to demonstrate how ascetics used wound metaphors to construct โ€œa thoroughly medicalized notion of Christian pietyโ€ (87).

Upson-Saia notes that her analysis is indebted to Elizabeth Clarkโ€™s discussion of the celibate-bride metaphor in early ascetic discourse. However, Upson-Saia draws on cognitive linguistic theory (especially the work of George Lakoff and Mark Johnson) to strengthen and clarify the relationship between early Christian figurative language and the experiences of everyday life. She suggests that wound metaphors โ€œwere not merely linguistic flourishes but that the bodily experience of being wounded structured early Christiansโ€™ concepts of sin and heresyโ€ (88). In order to flesh out this connection, Upson-Saia recognizes that one must first define a relatively uniform set of properties and experiences related to wounding which can be โ€œmeaningfully exportedโ€ to โ€œconceptual categories of sin and heresyโ€ (88).

In Upson-Saiaโ€™s analysis, ancient medical typology split wounds into harmful results of accidents, injuries, and diseases on the one hand and the โ€œsalutaryโ€ wounds caused by the physician on the other. Of course, both types of wounds were painful and greatly feared. Ancient medical writers therefore recognized that the โ€œbest physiciansโ€ had the โ€œsharp rhetorical skills and easy bedside mannerโ€ (90) necessary to deal with even the most truculent patients.

Christian writers and preachers drew on this medical literature when discussing the concepts of sin and heresy. For example, they recognized that sin and heresy โ€“ like physical wounds โ€“ had a variety of sources. But whatever the origin, the sin corrupted and putrefied the soul just like a gangrenous, septic wound. If left untreated, the sinner will no longer even be able to feel the festering as the wound numbs and the patient becomes oblivious to sin. As Tertullian notes, heretics who suffer delirium and fevers for long will eventually dull their normal senses and lose the ability to perceive orthodoxy. This and other associations were evoked by describing the wounds of sin and heresy โ€œin lurid detail,โ€ including a strong emphasis on the โ€œfoul and repellent stench of putrefied fleshโ€ (92).

Christian writers were careful to maintain the dichotomy between salutary and malevolent wounds already established in ancient medical literature. In Upson-Saiaโ€™s analysis, โ€œthey structured an understanding of beneficent chastisement and ecclesial discipline on the physiciansโ€™ rewounding treatmentsโ€ (93). Spiritual treatments were painful, but the divine physician always โ€œwounds in order that he may healโ€ (93, echoing Deuteronomy 32:39).[1] Christians must be prepared to follow Godโ€™s example in treating โ€œtheir friendsโ€™ wounded soulsโ€ (94). For example, John Chrysostom urges his community to imitate the surgeon who heeds not his patientsโ€™ cries but cares only for their health (94, quoting Patrologia Graeca 63: 212).[2] At the same time, Chrysostom urges his community to model โ€œChristian reproof on a physicianโ€™s gentle persuasion and comforting bedside mannerโ€ (94). Thus, treatment of spiritual wounds must be adjusted to the sinnerโ€™s temperament.

Ascetics also suffered bodily afflictions because of sin and vice. Melania herself developed an inflammation from her worldly clothes. Upson-Saia reads this as โ€œa corporeal wound inflicted by the Great Physician, a wound that mirrors or manifests the wounding of Melaniaโ€™s soulโ€ (97). In order to be healed, Melania must adopt a healthier form of life โ€“ a more rigorous asceticism. As a good patient, an ascetic must be humble and obedient in order to experience true healing.

In sum, Upson-Saia provides a wide-ranging and lucid demonstration of how embodied experiences of wounding structured early Christian discourse surrounding sin, heresy, and repentance. The polyvalent wound metaphors also structured ascetic piety. In her conclusion, Upson-Saia uses her emphasis on the body โ€œas itself a vehicle for thinking, feeling, and actingโ€ (98, quoting Laurence Kirmayer) to suggest that these metaphors were at the core not only of Christian discourse but also of Christian concepts. This stronger claim seems to link up to Upson-Saiaโ€™s initial mention of cognitive linguistic theory, but she should have made this relationship more explicit in order to provide evidence for her stronger claim. Overall, however, this article is an outstanding synthesis of at least three distinct strands of literature โ€“ modern, medical, and ecclesiastical โ€“ to support a compelling and inventive thesis.


[1] NRSV: โ€œI kill and I make alive; / I wound and I heal; / and no one can deliver from my hand.โ€

[2] In English translation, available at http://www.newadvent.org/fathers/240230.htm (see the last two paragraphs).