Exploring Interdisciplinarity

courtesy of yodababy 26

As an ardent childhood fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers–one, in fact, who paid her dollar to keep the team in Brooklyn–it is perhaps natural that I viewed my recent trip to New York as a double header.

Fortunately, I was able to preface my participation in the Columbia University Conference, Changing Dynamics of Public Controversies, with a visit to my grand daughter Sophie’s kindergarten class, where the students were celebrating her 6th birthday. To my surprise, I discovered an interesting connection between the two events.  It was a link that–as it turned out–relates to norms.

I discovered an interesting connection between the two events–a link that relates to norms. 

Sophie’s class room is not only cozy and comfortable, it is also flush with excitement, enthusiasm, and riotous color–all of which is mirrored in the artwork and projects displayed in every nook and cranny.

Red a la Kindergarten (courtesy of Fun Monitor)

Thinking of my own experience with graduate students, I marveled at Sophie’s teacher’s ability to keep all of these somewhat hyper children consistently and cooperatively engaged while moving seamlessly from one set of activities to the next.   First there were art projects, then a general gathering with the children assembled on a bright rug at the front of the class, where I had the pleasure of reading to them.  Returning to their tables,  the children sang happy birthday; ate cupcakes topped with multi-colored icing, and played with their wind-up party favors.   Before orderly lining up to go home, they had one last chance to expel their energy, dancing together on the rug.

How, I wondered to myself, did Sophie’s teacher orchestrate this ensemble? Certainly her knowledge of, and empathy with, the children was key. But the children also did their part. They were following established norms, which were listed prominently on the classroom wall. Having committed to these few simple rules, each child was able to demonstrate his or her individuality, while working together as a group.  

My day and a half visit with my grandkids was far too short.  But it was full of special moments. By far the best was the interaction between Ben and Sophie in which they negotiated their behavior with respect to one another. Clearly, they had a common idea of what it meant to be  good. 

“Sophie,” said 8-year old Ben, “I am going to be nice to you today because it is your birthday,” “Ben,” Sophie responded: “I am going to be good today because it’s my birthday.”

Taking my leave, and driving into New York, my thoughts shifted from my childhood in New Jersey to my graduate days at Columbia University. Advancing down the Henry Hudson Parkway, and turning onto 125th Street and Broadway (a recurrent scene in my dreams) I felt like a student again, full of anticipation and excitement for the day’s events. Above all, I wanted to hear what Bruno Latour and Jochai Benkler had to say, not only to the audience, but also-and especially–to one other. Both speakers are featured in my classes, and the students from my Networked Economy class were waiting for a full report.

The conference focused on the question of whether and where effective public controversies will likely be aired, given the recent decline of the newspaper industry and the journalism profession. Participants were concerned lest, in the absence of robust newspapers, the public will lack the knowledge and wherewithal to foster societal norms much less hold the government accountable to them. Dean Nicholas Lemann of Columbia University’s School of Journalism and Paul Starr from Princeton University laid out the problem, while Bruno Latour and Jochai Benkler spoke to it.

Bruno Latour dismissed the problem, as it was defined. Echoing Walter Lippman‘s notion of the phantom public, he contended that neither the public–nor for that matter society–exist in reality. As Latour claims, there really is no social stuff–that is to say, norms–out there.  (See, for an in-depth discussion, Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor Network Theory 1995.) Instead, as Latour describes it, actors assemble sporadically when specific issues arise. Lacking in-depth knowledge, the public should not engage in the resolution of issues but rather  act like lighthouses, signaling their existence to policy actors.

In contrast, Jochai Benkler’s remarks were premised on the existence of norms.   As he described, using today’s digital technologies, individuals have a far greater opportunity to generate a public  than they did in the past. Digital technologies not only allow them to  gain greater access to knowledge; they can also employ these technologies to act on that knowledge is conjunction with others.  However, this collaboration is only possible, given the existence of norms such as trust and reciprocity, which sustain a gift economy.

Riding home on Amtrak, I reflected about the issue of norms, especially Latour’s assertion that they are ephemeral.  Questioning his perspective, I asked myself: Have I had not just witnessed their actual existence in my grand daughter’s classroom?  Moreover, have I not seen how norms are negotiated in the interchange between my two grandchildren Sophie and Ben?   As importantly, have I not witnessed via the current  financial crisis what happens when a society–in the name of deregulation–has renounced its norms?  These experiences lead me to believe that what is needed today is not only an economic stimulus “package”, but also–and more importantly-normative guidelines about how the American people’s monies should be spent.

On Technorati: Bruno Latour, Columbia School of Journalism, Columbia University, Grandchildren, Jochai Benkler, Nicholas Lemann, norms, Paul Starr, public controversies, Walter Lippman

(courtesy of babblingdweeb)

Needless to say, I love books: they are, for me, like comfort food. Perhaps that’s because they bring to mind my mother, with whom I spent many summer afternoons reading books and exchanging ideas about them, while happily ensconced in wicker chairs on the veranda at our house at Hawthorne Lake. These days my husband and I (together with our dog Sparky) continue in this tradition, sharing insights from our readings of the night before, while snuggled under our comforter in the morning, drinking our coffee in bed.

Novels function to map alternative pathways, helping us to situate ourselves in, and negotiate our ways through, difficult territories.

 

When not in an academic mode, I often turn to novels.  Over the years, I have come to appreciate not only how they provide a great source of pleasure, as well as a retreat from daily cares, but also, and as importantly, how they function to map alternative pathways, helping us to situate ourselves in, and negotiate our ways through, unknown territories. One book that has served me very well in this regard is James Michener‘s The Source.

Great historical fiction, The Source is a tale about the evolution of the various groups who occupied and interacted with each other in what the Jews of biblical times characterized as the promised land.  

Across the Promised Land (courtesy of Gaulis Caecillus)

The narrative, which takes place in the Galilee, is a story within a story. At the meta level, the main characters are three archeologists–a Catholic, a Jew, and an Arab–all digging at a tell called Makor.  The sub-narrative, and major story, is told through their diverse eyes, as they dig up and interpret–each from their own perspectives–artifacts from the sequential layers of history, dating back 9000 years to the beginning of monotheistic practices. Tracing the evolution and dispersal of the Family of Ur through each level of the dig, the investigators paint a continuous, and often tragic, picture.  At each level, someone, or group of people, from among the Christian, Jewish, and other Semitic communities, seek to reconcile the three populations, only to be stymied by some unanticipated consequence or event.  The three archeologists continue their investigation up the layers until they reach the top.  When they do, it is 1948, the time of the first official Arab-Israeli war.

The Source was one of the first books I packed when, in January 1998, my husband decided to accept an offer to teach The Politics of the Environment at the Arava Institute for Environmental Studies.  Situated on Kibbutz Ketura, in the Negev Desert, The Institute’s mission is quite in keeping with the theme of The Source: Specifically, it is devoted to bringing Arabs, Jews and Christians together around the common venue of the environment.  Thus, with Michener in mind, I was able to give far greater meaning to my own presence and participation there.  It was a transformative experience, to say the least.

In thinking back on it, one particular incident comes to mind.  It occurred during the holiday Purim, a time when Jews typically let down their hair in celebration of their rescue by  Queen Ester from the Persian Haman. And so, on Purim 1998, the vodka–which was otherwise rarely visible–flowed freely on Kibbutz Ketura.  Joining in the celebration, my husband, some of our students, and I dressed up as worker bees, and we partied and danced late into the night. Amidst the chaos, we stopped at one point and looked at each other, asking: What in heaven’s name are we doing here–two Episcopalians, together with a mishmash of Arab, Jewish and Christian students, celebrating Purim, on a kibbutz in the Negev?  Smiling knowingly, we said to each other–of course, we are the top layer!

Smiling knowingly, we said to each other–of course, we are the top layer! 

The recent collapse of the peace talks between the Palestinians and Israelis is sorrowfully reminiscent of the long history of the region that presages it.  When I first heard the news, a piece of my heart was broken.  My  hope is that, as Michener–were he alive–might agree, there will be another try for peace–that is to say, another layer.  And who knows, it may very well emerge from the on-going work of  the Arava Institute.

On Technorati: Add new tag, Arab/Israeli conflict, Arava Institute, Israel, Kibbutz Ketura, Mitchner, peace process, Purim, The Negev Desert, The Source, the wonder of books